outside.
So would he.
He tried not to think about it.
The best part of the day came at the end, when Mother tucked him in. She'd be relaxed then. She'd stay for an hour sometimes, asking him what he'd read that day, or telling him stories about the factory.
Then one night, when she was telling how her plastic glove had gotten stuck in a chicken she'd de-gutted that day, Mother suddenly stopped in the middle of a sentence.
'Mother?' Luke said.
She answered with a snore. She'd fallen asleep sitting up.
Luke studied her face, seeing lines of fatigue that hadn't been there before, noticing that the hair around her face now held as much gray as brown.
'Mother?' he said again, gently shaking her arm.
She jerked.'-but I cleaned that chicken al- oh. Sorry, Luke. You need tucking in, don't you?'
She fluffed his pillow, smoothed his sheet.
Luke sat up. 'That's okay, Mother. I'm getting too old for this any-' He swallowed a lump in his throat. '- anyway. I bet you weren't still tucking Matthew or Mark in when they were twelve.'
'No,' she said quietly.
'Then I don't need it, either.'
'Okay,' she said.
She kissed his forehead, anyhow, then turned out the light. Luke turned his face to the wall until she left.
CHAPTER EIGHT
One cool, rainy morning a few weeks later, Luke's family left in such a rush, they barely had time to say good- bye. They dashed out the door after breakfast, Matthew and Mark complaining about their packed lunches, Dad calling back, 'I'm going to that auction up at Chytlesville. Won't be home until supper.' Mother hurried back and handed Luke a bag of cracklings and three pears and some biscuits from the night before. She muttered, 'So you won't get hungry,' and gave him a quick kiss on the head. Then she was gone, too.
Luke peeked around the stairway door, surveying the chaos of dirty pans and crumb-covered plates left in the kitchen. He knew not to look out as far as the window, but he did, anyway. His heart gave a strange jump when he saw the window was covered. Someone must have pulled the shade the night before, to try to keep the kitchen warm, and then forgotten to raise it in the morning. Luke dared to lean out a little further-yes, the shade was down on the other window, too. For the first time in almost six months, he could step out into the kitchen and not worry about being seen. He could run, skip, jump-dance, even-on the vast linoleum without fear. He could clean up the kitchen and surprise Mother. He could do anything.
He put his right foot out, tentatively, not quite daring to put his full weight on it The floor squeaked. He froze. Nothing happened, but he retreated, anyway. He went back up the stairs, crawled along the second-floor hallway to avoid the windows, then climbed the stairs to the attic. He was so disgusted with himself, he could taste it.
He climbed up onto the stool on top of a trunk that served as his perch for watching out the back vents. The neighborhood behind his house was fully occupied now. He knew all the families and had come up with names for most of them. The Big Car Family had four expensive cars sitting in their driveway. The Gold Family all had hair the color of sunshine. The Birdbrain Family had set a row of thirty birdhouses along their backyard fence, even though Luke could have told them it was pointless to do that until spring. The house he could see best, right behind the Garners' backyard, was occupied by the Sports Family. Two teen-aged boys lived there, and their deck overflowed with soccer balls, baseball bats, tennis rackets, basketballs, hockey sticks, and apparatus from games Luke could only guess at.
Today, he wasn't interested in games. He was interested in seeing the families leave.
He had noticed before that all of the houses were empty by nine in the morning, with kids off to school and grown-ups off to work. Three or four of the women didn't seem to have jobs, but they left, too, returning late in the afternoon with shopping bags. Today, he just had to make sure no one was staying home sick.
The Gold Family left first, two blond heads in one car, two blond heads in another. The Sports Family was next, the boys carrying football pads and helmets, their mother teetering on high heels. Then there was a flurry of cars streaming from every driveway onto the still-sparkling new streets. Luke counted each person, keeping track so carefully that he made scratches on the wall, and counted the scratches twice again at the end. Yes-twenty-eight people gone. He was safe.
Luke scrambled down from his chair, his head spinning with plans. First, he'd clean up the kitchen; then he'd start some bread for supper. He'd never made bread before, but he'd watched Mother a million times. Then maybe he could pull the shades in the rest of the house and clean it thoroughly. He couldn't vacuum-that'd be too loud-but he could dust and scrub and polish. Mother would be so pleased. Then, in the afternoon, before Matthew or Mark or the kids in the neighborhood got back, he could put something on for supper. Maybe potato soup. Why, he could do this every day. He'd never considered housework or cooking particularly thrilling before-Matthew and Mark always scoffed at it as women's work-but it was better than nothing. And maybe, just maybe, if this worked, he could convince Dad to let him sneak out to the barn and help there, too.
Luke was so excited, he stepped into the kitchen without a second thought this time. Who cared if the floor creaked? No one was there to hear it. He gathered up dishes from the table and piled them into the sink; scrubbing everything with extraordinary zeal. He measured out flour and lard and milk and yeast and was putting it all in a bowl when it occurred to him it might be okay to turn on the radio, very softly. Nobody'd hear. And if they did, they'd just figure the family had forgotten to turn it off, just as they'd forgotten to raise the shades.
The bread was in the oven and Luke was picking up lint by hand from the living room rug when he heard tires on the gravel driveway. It was two o'clock in the afternoon, too early for the school bus or Mother or Dad. Luke sprinted for the stairs, hoping whoever it was would just go away.
No luck. He heard the side door creaking open, then Dad exclaiming, 'What the-'
He was back early. That shouldn't matter. But hiding on the staircase, Luke suddenly felt like the radio was as loud as an entire orchestra, like the smell of baking bread could fill three counties.
'Luke!' Dad yelled.
Luke heard his father's hand on the doorknob. He opened the door.
'I was just trying to help,' Luke blubbered. 'I was safe. You left the shades down, so I thought it was okay, and I made sure everyone was gone from the neighborhood, and-'
Dad glared. 'You can't be sure,' he snapped. 'People like that-they get deliveries all the time, they get sick and come home from work, they have maids come during the day-'
Luke could have protested, no, the maids never come before the kids get home from school. But he didn't want to give himself away any more than he already had.
'The shades were down,' he said. 'I didn't turn on a single light. Even if there were a thousand people back there, nobody would know I was here! Please-I've just got to do something. Look, I made bread, and cleaned up, and-'
'What if a Government inspector or someone had stopped by here?'
'I would have hidden. Like always.'
Dad was shaking his head. 'And leave them smelling bread baking in an empty house? You don't seem to understand,' he said. 'You can't take any chances. You can't. Because-'
At that precise moment, the buzzer on the oven went off
'I don't want you in the kitchen again,' he said. 'You stay hidden. That's an order.'
He went out the door without looking back.
