“Did you see that sign, Bernie? This road has our name on it!” Bernie just looked at her. He was still mad at Mama, breaking her promises and almost leaving him behind at least twice, but Angel couldn’t help being excited. Morgan Farm Road. It was hard to imagine relatives so important that a whole road would be named after them. That was like Washington Street or Ethan Allen Boulevard. She wanted to ask Mama if they were going to the actual Morgan Farm that the road was named after, but Verna was leaning out of the window, looking for a left-hand turn. Better not to bother her with questions right now.
“Okay, this is it,” Verna said.
The mailbox with MORGAN in faded blue paint was almost hidden by bushes. You’d wonder how the mailman would get to it and put mail in it. Angel’s tummy began to tighten up. She wanted to grab Bernie’s hand, but she grabbed her own instead. This was the place, she knew it. Their new home. The dirt driveway was shorter than the one in Burlington. Almost at once they were sitting in front of a house that—was it possible?—that Angel knew she had seen before.
“Have I ever been here?” she asked.
“Both you kids been here, but Bernie wouldn’t remember. You ought to, though.”
“Yeah,” said Angel. This was where that trailer was. She was sure of it. Instinctively, she looked to the right. Yes, on the other side of the junk-filled front yard, just beyond what was left of the fence, there was the trailer, paint peeling, with weeds all around its base, but there it was. The house didn’t look in much better condition than the trailer. It had been white once, or gray. It wasn’t much of anything now but bare wood. There were panes broken in several of the windows. Someone had taped newspaper to cover the holes.
“It looks like a haunted house,” said Bernie, and it did look spooky in the twilight.
“Okay, kids. Wait here a minute. I’ll be right back, but first I got to talk to Grandma.” Verna jumped out of the cab but slowed as she climbed the steps to the porch and approached the door. Angel could see her, her fist in the air, just holding it back, as though trying to get up the nerve to knock. I bet she didn’t even say we were coming. I bet this Grandma person doesn’t even know we’re coming to live with her.
“I don’t want to live here, Angel.” Bernie had jammed himself against her, and although Verna had by now disappeared behind the shabby door, he was whispering, “I don’t like it here.”
“It’ll be okay, Bernie,” she said, and as she said the words, she almost believed them herself, because she found herself remembering something. She couldn’t have said what it was. It was more like a smell you recognize but can’t name. Something good had happened to her here. In all the craziness before Wayne went to jail, something good had happened here.
It seemed ages before the door opened and Verna came out alone to the car. Angel was already steeling herself for a trip back to the city, but instead Verna said, “Okay. We can stay, but you kids gotta be quiet as bunny rabbits. Your great-grandma is an old lady. She won’t tolerate any of your screaming and carrying on.”
“I don’t want to stay here,” Bernie said. His voice was quiet but stubborn. “I want to go home.”
Verna ignored him. She was getting the suitcases out of the back and waving with her head for the children to follow her. Angel unbuckled them both and nudged her brother. “Don’t worry, Bernie. I’ll be here with you. Haven’t I always taken care of you?”
“I don’t wanta...’’he started, then bit his lip and clambered down out of the cab.
Angel pulled Grizzle off the floor. “Here,” she said. “You want to hold on to Grizzle? Just for a little while? I can’t give him to you. It would hurt Daddy’s feelings if I gave him away, but you can sleep with him for a while if you want to.”
He grabbed Grizzle’s fat neck and buried his face in the blue plush. Angel took his free hand, and together they walked up the rickety steps, across the porch crammed so full of junk that there was only a narrow path to the door. “Stand up straight, Bernie.” She took a deep breath and stood up straighter herself. “We got to make a good impression.”
FIVE
Hansel and Grizzle
They stepped through the front door into a hall. Ahead of them was a dark staircase, on one side a closed door, on the other an open one. “In here,” Verna called. They followed her voice to the open door. At first, neither of them saw the old lady. Although it was still twilight outside, the house was as dark as night. Angel blinked and looked around. It seemed to be a kitchen. The room was hot and stuffy, as though no one ever opened the windows. If they walked straight in they would walk into a table, so she stood still in the doorway, holding Bernie’s hand, waiting for Verna to tell them what to do. It was too easy to start off wrong in a strange situation. She wanted to warn Bernie not to whine or ask for a milk shake, but she didn’t dare speak out loud.
“Who’s that, Angel?” See? She should have told Bernie to keep quiet, and now it was too late. Up until then his left arm had been squeezed around Grizzle’s neck in a death grip and his right hand tight in Angel’s hand, but he dropped the bear on the floor and let go of Angel’s hand at the same time. His curiosity had overcome his fear. “Angel, I said, ‘Who’s that?’” He pointed at something beyond the left side of the table.
“Shh, Bernie. And don’t point. It’s not polite.” Angel grabbed his outstretched finger, but he wrenched free and headed around the table for a closer look.
“So these are the kids, huh?” The voice was coming from a rocker tucked between a huge black woodstove, which didn’t seem to be lit, and a long, rough wooden counter with cabinets above and below and a sink three-quarters of the way to the opposite wall. The person in the rocker seemed to be bundled up in blankets. “Wouldn’t of known them.”
“Well, you can’t really
see them now, can you, Grandma?” Verna said. Her voice was fakey cheerful. “Don’t you ever pull up the shades?”
The old woman shook her head. “You leave my shades be, Verna.”
“Well, just let me turn on a light, okay? They’re pretty cute kids, if I do say so myself.” There was a bare light-bulb hanging not quite over the center of the table. Verna fiddled with the wall switch and got a faint glow from the dusty bulb. “You behave yourself now, Bernie,” she said through gritted teeth.
By this time Bernie was standing squarely in front of the rocker. “Are you cold?” he asked.
“I’m always cold,” the old woman snapped. “That’s what happens to you when you get old like me. You ain’t never warm. Not even in the summer.”
“Oh. Then why don’t you turn on your furnace?”
“Because I ain’t got one.”