Later, after the dishes are washed and lights are out, Mrs. Hucklebee lies upstairs in her safe warm house, her head spinning. The girl did too ask nosy questions — about who lived in the house and where was her family. She remembers Mr. Hucklebee saying not long before he died, “I’m worried about you, Edwina. You’re so flighty. You don’t know how to handle things. What will happen to you when I’m not here to take care of you?”
Mrs. Hucklebee sits up in bed. Then, heart skidding, she rises and creeps down the back stairs to the kitchen, wishing she’d had the good sense to have a telephone installed on the second floor. The house is dead black but she feels her way with ease, knowing every inch of the way even in the dark.
As the stairway door creaks open and she steps down into the kitchen, Crystalbell’s voice reaches through the dark.
“I hope you’re not planning to make a phone call, Mrs. H. Wolf cut the wires. Something about a telephone ringing makes him nuts.”
Mrs. Hucklebee stands frozen, trying to calm her breathing. “I want you to leave tomorrow,” she says finally, but even she can hear the lack of conviction in her voice.
“You know, you’re lucky I’m here,” Crystalbell confides softly. “I’m the only one knows how to handle Wolf. Go on, you better get back to bed before you catch cold.”
Feeling tottery, recognizing every one of her seventy-two years, Mrs. Hucklebee obeys.
She wakes in the morning to the faint smell of coffee and her heart instantly begins to quiver. They’re down there, waiting for her in the kitchen. She can think of nothing else to do but join them.
Crystalbell’s clean, her short spiky hair soft and shining. She’s still wearing the ragged blue sweater and worn jeans, but Wolf has taken off his coat. Mrs. Hucklebee eyes the flannel shirt he wears, too large for him, billowing across his bony chest. She makes a little sound.
“Where did you get that shirt? That’s Mr. Hucklebee’s!”
Wolf freezes for a moment, then begins to turn toward her. Crystalbell lays a hand on his arm. Her smile twinkles across the room.
“It was in an old box of stuff in one of the back rooms. We didn’t think you’d care. After all, Mr. H is dead, isn’t he?” She darts across the room to seize Mrs. Hucklebee’s hand. “Come on, I fixed breakfast. The coffee’s good, but the eggs — well, I can’t cook worth a damn. You’ll have to teach me.”
Suddenly Mrs. Hucklebee sees the long carving knife Wolf holds in his hand. All her kitchen knives are spread across the drainboard. Her throat tries to close. “What are you doing with my knives?” she asks helplessly, knowing he won’t answer.
Crystalbell takes the knife from him and urges him to the table. “They were all dull. Wolf sharpened them for you. Wasn’t that nice of him?” Her eyes flash an unmistakable warning.
“Very nice, yes,” Mrs. Hucklebee says quickly. She feels the sting of tears as she adds, “Thank you, Wolf.”
A smile opens suddenly beneath the black glasses. Wide and toothy, canines sharp as needles. Mrs. Hucklebee suddenly imagines herself dashing for the door, fleeing down the steps and into the street. But Crystalbell’s firm hands are seating her at the table and they are once more gathered to eat.
“Mrs. H,” Crystalbell says with a grin, “I think I got the perfect name for you. Feather. What do you think?”
Mrs. Hucklebee can’t respond. Eggs stick in her throat and her knees tremble. She shakes her head, mute.
“Well, maybe not,” Crystalbell concedes brightly. “But don’t worry. I’ll come up with the right one yet.”
After breakfast, while Crystalbell cleans the kitchen cabinets and Wolf goes out to the walled backyard, Mrs. Hucklebee sits in her living room, hands tightly folded in her lap. The day is gray and cheerless — the marbles in the windows send no rainbows chasing each other across the floor. Periodically, Mrs. Hucklebee stares longingly at the front door. Once, as she does this, she sees Crystalbell watching her from the hall archway.
“Why you looking at the door like that, Mrs. H?”
When she receives no answer the girl comes to her, kneels, and takes both her hands.
“Wolf and me just want to stay awhile, that’s all,” she says softly.
Mrs. Hucklebee gazes down into the warm brown eyes. “This is my house,” she answers stoutly. “I don’t want you here.”
Crystalbell sighs heavily. “Well, we’re here, so we’ll all just have to make the best of it until Wolf’s ready to leave. The thing is, he likes it, especially all those pretty marbles you got.”
“How can you tell?” Mrs. Hucklebee asks in despair. “The boy doesn’t even talk?”
“He does sometimes, to me. But mostly I just been with him so long I know what he’s thinking.” The girl leans closer. “I’ll tell you something for your own good, Mrs. H. You got to be careful with Wolf. I didn’t tell you this before, but I think he might’ve killed someone before we got together.”
Mrs. Hucklebee’s breath catches. “No!”
The girl nods. “Least he says he did. So you got to go easy. Say you decide to sneak out and call the police or something. Well, I don’t know what he’d do.” She glances up at the shelves ringing the room. “If he couldn’t do something bad to you, I bet he’d at least do something to all this stuff you save. Probably set it on fire.”
For a moment, Mrs. Hucklebee fears her heart has stopped. She squeezes the girl’s hand, hard. “Not my collections! Crystalbell, you’ve got to get away from him. We both do!”
Crystalbell looks serious. “I’ve been thinking that very same thing. Hang on, Mrs. H, let me figure something out.”
They are suddenly allies and Mrs. Hucklebee feels better. “But right now,” Crystalbell says, jumping up, “I got to go to the store for you. You’re low on some things, you know. Come on, you help me decide what to get.”
“You don’t have to go,” Mrs. Hucklebee answers. “I always just call the market and they—” She stops, remembering her disabled phone.
“I don’t mind,” the girl says gently. “It’s too cold out for you anyway. Can I help cook supper tonight? I really need to learn.”
“But if you go — don’t leave me here alone with him.”
“I told you,” Crystalbell repeats patiently, “you’ll be okay if you just don’t hassle him. Come on, Mrs. H, you and me are in this together now.”
After the girl is gone and Mrs. Hucklebee is alone in the house, she parts the kitchen curtains and peeps into the backyard. Wolf is spading up her dying vegetable garden, the strength in his arms belying their puny size. There are piles of fresh dirt lying everywhere. Before she can close the gap in the curtains the white head lifts and turns toward her, as if he feels her watching. Mrs. Hucklebee scurries back to the living room. She wants to run, but her collections — what would he do to them? She’s still sitting in the living room when Crystalbell returns.
“Guess what I got for you!” the girl greets her. Her hair is ruffled, her eyes shining. She holds up a deep orange leaf, a perfect specimen, and waves it before Mrs. Hucklebee’s delighted eyes. “Look at that. Not even one little chunk missing.”
Cradling the leaf, Mrs. Hucklebee follows her into the kitchen. Crystalbell lifts a hand-wrapped package from her grocery bag.
“I met the lady from the park yesterday. She was bringing you some homemade cookies.” The girl busies herself putting groceries away. “I hope you don’t care, but I said I was your granddaughter. She wondered why we didn’t recognize each other yesterday, so I told her we hadn’t seen each other since I was a baby, you know, with your son living so far away and all. Anyway, she says she won’t bother you while you have company — she’ll see you some other time.”