Mrs. Hucklebee smoothes her rich orange leaf, scarcely hearing. The kitchen smells of pine cleanser. When she opens the cupboard to reach for the plastic wrap, everything inside is neat and clean.
“Thank you, Crystalbell,” she says. “Thank you for my leaf. What a thoughtful thing for you to do.”
During the second week that Wolf and Crystalbell are with her, Mrs. Hucklebee discovers that Mr. Hucklebee’s gold watch is missing from her bureau drawer. It has lain there with her hankies since he passed away. Crystalbell is wearing a new red sweater and jeans but Mrs. Hucklebee is too distraught to notice.
The girl listens attentively. “And you think Wolf took it? He wouldn’t do that, Mrs. H.”
“Well, I don’t know what else to think. What should we do?”
Crystalbell looks apprehensive. “No telling what’ll happen if you just walk up and accuse him,” she says in a low voice. “You better let me talk to him.”
They’re huddled together in the kitchen. Across the hallway Wolf is sitting by the living room window, staring gloomily into the rain. He gets tense and edgy when he can’t go outside to dig.
While Crystalbell goes in to him, Mrs. Hucklebee stands at the kitchen door. She longs to go outside, to smell the rain, to stop and see Mrs. Gambrelli or buy her own food at the market. She’s growing ever more fond of Crystalbell, but the boy with those blank glass eyes — she shivers. She’s hurriedly tugging on her rain boots when Crystalbell returns.
The girl kneels at her feet. “What’re you doing, Mrs. H?”
Mrs. Hucklebee’s voice trembles. “I need some air. I haven’t been outside since I don’t know when. I want to take a walk.”
Crystalbell’s small hands stay hers. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.” Gently, she begins to remove the boots. “Wolf’s pretty mad that you think he stole Mr. H’s watch. You’d better make up with him before he does something.”
And Mrs. Hucklebee’s boots are off, aligned back on the floor. She looks at them, at the girl, and shivers again.
Crystalbell coaxes her to her feet. “Show me your wedding collection, okay? Come on, you can take a walk some other time.”
Wolf doesn’t look up as they settle together on the sofa. Hunched over, he’s staring at the jars of marbles on the window sill.
Crystalbell nudges her. “Maybe if you say something he’ll feel better,” she whispers. “You know, like you made a mistake about the watch.”
Mrs. Hucklebee’s heart knocks against her ribs. She moistens her lips. “I’m sorry, Wolf,” she manages in a small voice. “I’m sure I was mistaken about the watch.”
“Sure,” Crystalbell chimes in. “It’s going to show up, I bet.”
The big old room is silent. After a moment, Wolf’s head turns. Mrs. Hucklebee wants to close her eyes against those black pools facing her, but she forces a smile. He’s wearing a sweater that belonged to Mr. Hucklebee, and for a moment Mrs. Hucklebee wants to cry. Then he stands and walks slowly from the room without looking back. Footsteps on the stairs, then a door closes somewhere up there. Pacing, the sound of footfalls back and forth above their heads.
Mrs. Hucklebee clenches her hands. “When is he going to leave?”
Crystalbell pats her. “I’m working on it. Trust me, Mrs. H. And, honest, he really likes you. Now can I see your collection?”
After only a few moments, Mrs. Hucklebee is lost in the comfort of the scrapbook’s pages. Crystalbell seems interested in the X marks.
“So how do you do it — know which ones will work and which ones won’t?”
“The eyes,” Mrs. Hucklebee responds wisely. “Everything a person is — it’s all there in the eyes.”
The girl is bent low over a page. For a moment she’s silent. Then, “Of course, you could be wrong.”
Something amiss in her voice, an edge, a barb of amusement. Mrs. Hucklebee pauses, a page half turned. Then the young face lifts, eyes clear and guileless under the ragged bangs.
“I mean, you don’t really know what happens after, do you?”
Mrs. Hucklebee relaxes. “I know,” she answers a trifle smugly. “I’m very good at reading eyes.”
Crystalbell smiles, leans back, arms flung along the sofa’s back. “Well, that’s good, Mrs. H,” she says softly. “Real good. That must be a handy talent to have.”
Mrs. Hucklebee is too absorbed in the pages to hear. Everything else, the rain outside and the overhead footsteps, has faded away.
As Thanksgiving approaches, Crystalbell begins to plan a holiday feast.
“Turkey. Yams. Oh, and oyster stuffing, Mrs. H, we have to have that. Pumpkin pie. All that good family stuff, won’t it be fun?”
“Wouldn’t you rather be home with your real family?” Mrs. Hucklebee asks plaintively. “Where are they? How long have you been away from them?”
Crystalbell hugs her. “There you go again with nosy questions,” she chides, and darts away to the backyard to tell Wolf of the meal to come.
Mrs. Hucklebee looks after her helplessly. Crystalbell can’t seem to do enough for her. The old house preens from top to bottom, but she wants her old life back. Quiet days alone in her comfortable home, walks in the park, meals in her kitchen without a sinister blind-eyed boy sitting close beside her.
He has taken to walking the house at night. On several occasions she’s risen to find him standing at the head of the stairway or walking stealthily through the upstairs hall. The shadowy sight of him in the darkened house always sends her fleeing back to her bedroom, where she lies awake for hours, hands pressed flat across her thumping heart.
Once Mrs. Gambrelli comes to invite her over for coffee. Mrs. Hucklebee answers the door and suddenly he’s there, close to her shoulder, just out of sight behind the archway, his whole body rigid. Mrs. Hucklebee is so frightened that she hears herself saying, “No, thank you, my granddaughter is still here and I’m so enjoying her company. Maybe some other time.”
And coins are missing that were left to her by her father, rare old coins that have rested in a little wooden box since she was a child. The box is empty now, but Mrs. Hucklebee is too afraid to mention it. Only Crystalbell stands between her and the boy.
But it can’t continue. She must do something. After Thanksgiving, she promises herself fiercely. Then we’ll see.
Crystalbell is learning how to cook. She makes a cheese omelet for breakfast one morning and it turns out nicely. The sun is shining, thin and bright. Before Wolf goes outside to dig he sits for a while in the living room, watching marble rainbows creep across the floor. As Mrs. Hucklebee rises for more coffee, he looks through the hall at her and smiles, a white flash of sharp teeth before she looks away, trembling.
“Mrs. H,” Crystalbell whispers, leaning across the table, “tomorrow’s Wolf’s birthday. He’ll be sixteen. Why don’t we fix something special? What’s that thing you make with the apricot stuff? That’s his favorite — he told me.”
“Just pork roast with apricot glaze,” Mrs. Hucklebee answers.
Crystalbell leans back triumphantly. “That’s it. And I’ll make a cake. It’ll be fun.”
All Mrs. Hucklebee feels is dread.
Crystalbell makes the birthday cake, then leaves the kitchen to Mrs. Hucklebee to prepare the main course. Wolf is digging. Mrs. Hucklebee doesn’t like to look outside anymore — there are deep holes all over her backyard.
The weather is dark and cloudy, threatening rain or snow. By three in the afternoon the kitchen grows dim, but Mrs. Hucklebee is so intent on trimming the roast with one of her newly sharpened knives that she delays turning on lights until she’s finished. The pork is a good cut, rich and red. The long butcher knife easily pares marbled fat away from succulent lean.