And the Trees Crept In Read online

  I squeezed my legs together and shoved my hand in between.

  Nonononoooooo—

  I was too comfy to get out of bed. The air on my face was an arctic blast, and the idea of pulling my duvet back was cringe-worthy. But my bladder constricted, threatening me, and I didn’t dare call its bluff.

  I left the bedroom on the balls of my feet, leaving the light off for Nori’s comfort, but as soon as I was in the hall, my body greeting a glacial wall of frosty air, I felt up and down the walls for a light switch. Nothing.

  “Bugger, bugger, bugger.”

  It was freezing. Even the floor felt like rough ice under my toes.

  I knew that the bathroom was at the end of the hall, but there was no toilet in that room. I had no idea if there even was a toilet here. To say the idea of having to go squat outside was both ridiculous and unappealing at this point was an understatement.

  I felt the darkness with my hand; it was as thick as blood pudding. Managing to get to the staircase and down without breaking my neck, I wandered blindly, taking slow and tentative steps, more convinced now than ever that I would just have to go in the middle of the floor in some random part of the house. All around me, the manor creaked and expanded, groaned and sighed.

  “You and me both,” I muttered.

  And then a lantern appeared, and Cath’s face behind it.

  “Oh, Silla! What are you doing up at a time like this?”

  “I… I needed to go to the bathroom. Couldn’t find it.”

  Cath laughed. “Oh, dear, you poor girl! I didn’t even think—come, let me show you.”

  And she chuckled the whole way there. We went into the kitchen, to a room off to the side. A tiny room, the size of a wash-closet, with a sink outside on the left-hand wall, oval shaped and more like a small fountain than a faucet.

  “Here you go,” Cath said, smiling. She left me with the lantern and closed the door.

  The room was big enough for the toilet and nothing else. The wallpaper gave me chills: a repeated pattern of a boy drawing water out of a well in a sunny pasture. He was like a cherub with a lamb in his arms—and he looked like he was going to glance up at me and grin at any moment.

  I was on the toilet, midstream, when I felt movement in the bowl. At first, I ignored it, but then I felt smoothness, tickling between my legs. I jolted with fright and looked down.

  And screamed.

  Scales, shining under the lamp, two territorial eyes—cold-blooded and cunning—and a forked tongue, darting out from between my legs.

  I screamed and screamed, launching myself off the toilet and slipping in my own urine, which was still coming, and scuttling back on my butt like a terrified spider.

  The snake just sat there on the rim of the bowl, its head resting. Tongue tasting the air. Eyes watching me. It looked bored.

  “What is it?” Cath cried, pulling the door open onto the scene. “Oh, my goodness!” She breathed heavily for a moment, and then smiled. “Look at that! My mother used to tell stories about snakes in the toilets in this place. I never believed her.” She laughed and took up the lantern. “Maybe we could keep him, huh? Name him Henry—or Peek-a-Boo!” She chortled some more. “We could let him live in this toilet, and have him as a party joke for guests.” Her laugh was intense—hawhawhawhaw!—while I lay in pee and stared at the thing and then at her.

  “Oh, Silla—are you all right?”

  I nodded, unable to speak, for the adrenaline draining from my body.

  “He’s gone,” she said, and he was. “Here,” she added, and kicked the lid down. “You finish up.”

  “I… I’m done.”

  “All right.” She stared at the toilet and shook her head. “Incredible. Do you think we dreamed him up?”

  “I hope so,” I muttered.

  “Well, don’t forget to flush.” And she turned to leave.

  I couldn’t find the cistern or the flusher. “I don’t…”

  Cath popped her head back in. “Oopsy! I forgot.” She climbed onto the toilet seat and reached up to the cistern mounted near the ceiling. “It’s an old one. Have to flush by pulling the chain.”

  “What chain?”

  “This one.” And she grasped a single link in what used to be a full length of chain and pulled down on it. “The only one left,” she added with a smile.

  As the water drained from the bowl, I could hear the entire house grumbling with the plumbing. It sounded like the manor was eating my waste.

  “Time for bed,” Cath said, pushing me gently on my lower back, not saying a word about how I was soaking wet—or about the smell.

  “Here,” she said, holding out the blanket that had been wrapped around her own shoulders. “This is no time to be awake. Straight to bed.”

  I nodded vaguely, flinching back when she leaned forward. She kept coming, until she had planted a little kiss on my cheek.

  “It’s so wonderful,” she whispered, “to have you here.”

  She wiped away the kiss in a caress and then turned toward the parlor.

  “Good night,” she called over her shoulder.

  I still had her lantern.

  I went up to bed and crawled straight in, not caring for a second that I was sleeping in my own pee or that the lantern was still burning. It was dark, I was freezing, there were snakes, and I didn’t feel safe.

  But the ghost of her kiss lingered on my cheek, and I closed my eyes with a smile.

  In the morning, Aunt Cath came upstairs with toothbrushes, toothpaste, pads (which she handed to me discreetly, and which I took with a burning face), one of her dresses (for me), and one of her shirts (for Nori). Plus a sash from some other garment for a belt.

  “Do you want me to cut it?” Cath asked later, when she saw me in the bathroom, looking in the mirror and tugging on my matted hair.

  I looked at her through the reflection and nodded. Somehow, I felt like we had gone through something together last night. Something weird, but something, together.

  “How short?” she asked.

  I indicated a line by the side of my cheek.

  “Lovely.” She gave me a warm smile. “You would look lovely like that. Just like Clara Bow.”

  “I love her,” I said, without thinking.

  Cath smiled. “Me too.” She heaved a sigh and lifted up the majority of the dreadlock my hair had become over the years. “They don’t make actresses like that anymore.”

  “I liked her in Wings and It.”

  “Two of her best.”

  She raised the scissors so I could see them in the reflection. “Ready?”

  “Very.”

  When she was done, my hair was cut into a very short bob, the way I had always wanted—à la Clara Bow—and Nori’s tangle of curls actually looked like curls, rather than a bird’s nest.

  “Come down when you like,” Cath said, putting my dreadlocked hair into her pocket. “I’ll have some breakfast ready.”

  I wiped Nori’s face, trying to clear some of the more hard-worn dirt and marker stains, and then turned to look at myself again.

  Who is this?

  I looked like a girl. I hadn’t looked like much of anything in so long.

  Cath had just put three teacups onto the kitchen table, along with warm tea cakes, jam, and butter, when we came in. When she turned to us, her face lit up. “Oh, my dears! Oh, my goodness. You look just like her,” she said to Nori, cupping her smile in her hands. She looked at me. “Presilla…”

  “Silla now.”

  She nodded. “Silla, of course. You look—”

  “Like him. I know.”

  “—beautiful. Better than Clara.”

  I smiled and looked away. I did look like my father. But he was not a beautiful person. Black hair. Black eyes. Pasty skin. We were not beautiful. That was an impossibility. I felt flawed. But Nori… Nori was perfect. Almost. Her teeth were… bad. And that was his fault, too.

  Still… Clara Bow. Inside, I glowed.

  Cath noticed my stare
leveled at the table. Probably noticed my scowl, too. That was my most recognizable feature, and in my opinion, my best. “Yes, come now—eat something. Have tea. You look starved half to death. And, Silla, tell me everything.”

  I sat down at the table and grabbed a tea cake for Nori. “Eat,” I told my sister, and then turned back to Aunt Cath. “Like I said last night: Nothing to tell. He got bad. We had no choice. Mum said this was a safe place.”

  Aunt Cath’s gaze changed. Not for long, but I saw it. It was sharper. “Really?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll have to phone her,” she muttered, her gaze drifting to the side, her fidgeting hand coming back up to squeeze her bottom lip.

  “No! You can’t. She’s… she’s busy.” I swallowed. “I mean, he might… get angry.”

  Cath nodded. “That’s true. It’s impossible anyway. I cut the phone lines years ago. Couldn’t stand all the sales calls. If it’s really very important, they’ll write or visit. No, I’ll simply have to use your cellular phone.”

  “No phone,” I said, glad that this, at least, was true, and took the biggest bite of the tea cake I could manage.

  No phone. No one home.

  We were given separate rooms that night—our “forever” rooms, as Cath said with a smile. Mine was too big, too cold, and too empty—not to mention the floor was slanted and crooked in parts.

  I had spent years imagining this manor, this magical place where nothing could hurt or upset us. A place of plenty, of light, of riches and luxury. And yet… this place was barren. The wallpaper hung loose, old and peeling, the furniture skeletal. Almost everything I had seen so far was either repaired with tape and glue, or broken entirely. And everything was older and shabbier than could be called elegant or antique. Even the wall sconces flickered unsteadily.

  Still. All this space, all this room, and all I could do was stare at the ceiling.

  Is this what safety feels like? I wondered, because I was still afraid and I was still alone. Nothing had changed, except now I had more area to move in. An actual bed. Clean hair and clothes.

  But it was the same.

  Knocking at my door. Knock, knock, knock, knock; pause. Knock, knock.

  Scratch, scratch, knock.

  hi. me.

  For a four-year-old, Nori was gifted. I hated that she would never say the letters she knew so well. Despite my sadness, I was thrilled she had come. I knocked on the side of my bed frame.

  OK.

  My door creaked open and Nori slipped inside, dashing over the cold floorboards, hopping onto the bed and under my open duvet. She was a freezing little bundle, so I hugged her into me and rubbed her arms until she stopped shivering. The moon lit our room like silver.

  It’s big, she signed.

  I nodded.

  There are funny noises.

  “It’s just the wind,” I said. “Or maybe just the house cooling down.”

  Nori pursed her lips, uncertain. Sounds like this, she signed, and then reached down and scratched at the bed so that it sounded like mice scuttling.

  “Mice,” I told her. “Maybe we can make a pet of one.”

  She snuggled closer into me. Don’t like my room.

  “It’s bigger than you’re used to. But, trust me. When you get older you’ll be complaining that you have no space, just like we all do.”

  The thought comforted me.

  Her sleepy hands had more questions. What do you think Mama’s doing?

  “Go to sleep.”

  Silla?

  “Mm?”

  Are we safe?

  The same question again.

  “Yes,” I told her.

  Are we? I thought.

  2

  under the table

  Lookie here, why don’t you

  you family all around

  plenty of things to do

  dangers lurk and abound!

  Despite our fears, La Baume did become a haven. We went outside most mornings with Cath, into her prized garden. We’d watch her mow the lawn with an old-fashioned mechanical cutter, and then help her gather up the piles of grass. Nori would jump into them half the time, but Cath didn’t seem to mind. After a while, I loosened up and found myself laughing.

  Picking the gooseberries, rhubarb, and mustard greens was my favorite. Digging in the earth and planting new seeds, even better. But Cath was the only one who cooked.

  Days passed. A week. Three months.

  “Lasagna tonight!” she’d announce on the days we were kept outside until evening, and then we’d eat until we couldn’t stuff in a single forkful more. And dessert, always a dessert. My favorite was milk tart.

  It was paradise. It was almost a home.

  One night, after a long day tilling the soil, we sat in the library together, Nori curled up on Cath’s right, asleep with her head on Cath’s lap, and I on the other side, sitting close, but not touching. I stared into the fire and felt my muscles begin to loosen. I was dozing comfortably when the lights died with a thwack!

  I sat up, startled. Nori slept on.

  “Don’t worry,” Cath said, her voice sleepy and warm. Lit only by the fire, she reminded me of my mother. The way she used to be before Nori came. Before Dad got bad. “It’s only the generator. I’ll see to it in the morning.”

  “You run the power with a generator?” I whispered.

  “The wiring here is old. Too old to be useful or safe.”

  “I noticed my hair dryer cord didn’t fit in any of the plugs in my room.”

  Cath smiled. “Sorry.”

  We fell into a companionable silence.

  After a while, she turned to me with warm eyes.

  “I’m so glad you came, Silla.” The fire was reflected in her eyes. Mam’s eyes. I looked away. It was torture. I didn’t want to think of her, or Dad, or London—none of it.

  She took my hand, and the touch jolted me. So warm. So foreign. “I really am,” she said. “Things must have been… awful.”

  I nodded stiffly. What an understatement.

  “I want you to know, I’m your family, too. And family isn’t always such a higgledy-piggledy.” I stared at her, mouth open. Hearing the words higgledy-piggledy coming from her mouth—anyone’s mouth—surprised a bubble of laughter out of me. It rose without warning and escaped before I could pop it.

  “I like that,” Cath said, grinning down at me. “Your laugh is sweet. Did you know, I used to run an orphanage here, a while ago?” She stared deep into the fire. “You remind me of those children, Silla. So lost. Always afraid to laugh.” She looked down at me again. “Please don’t be afraid to be happy.”

  “I’m… not.”

  But she knew I was lying.

  The bubble came again, but this time it was a sob. I couldn’t stop it any more than I could stop the laugh. Before I knew it, she was hugging me, and the tears were coming too fast, and I didn’t want to wake Nori, but her hug was so warm, and I hadn’t been hugged in so long, and I dissolved into something between the child Silla and the broken Silla, and all the while, Cath kept kissing the top of my head, rubbing my back, and saying, “I’m here. I’m here, Silla. I’m not going anywhere.”

  We built forts in the dining room on a Tuesday morning. There was nothing particularly unusual about the day. Cath had mowed the lawn with her manual cutter, and I had stacked the grass into tall piles. Nori had jumped into half of them before I was done. Cath had laughed at the spectacle: Nori running back and forth in her white dress, and coming inside an hour later streaked with green, the leaves of grass poking through her curly hair.

  Then Cath had decided that a magical day of grass-fort invasion deserved a special kind of lunch. We stood at the kitchen counter and watched her prepare a large silver platter with raspberries, strawberries, gooseberries, and small tomatoes (all from the garden), as well as cured meats—chorizo, jamón Serrano, and turkey slices that she got at the village store. After adding some hot green peppers, sweet morello cherries, and two s
poonfuls of soft sobrasada that she had ordered in from Spain, we followed her into the dining room.

  Only, she didn’t sit down.

  Instead, she pulled out her chair, got down onto her knees, and crawled underneath the table, one-handed.

  I stared at Nori. “Okay…”

  Nori threw her hand over her mouth and began to giggle silently. I raised my eyebrows—This is not okay was the meaning supposed to be conveyed, but Nori just carried on laughing.

  “Where are my princesses?” Cath called from underneath us.

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine.”

  Underneath the plush tablecloth, which Cath had washed and placed the day after we arrived, we were in another world. Nori’s face glowed pink in the light from the lamps in the room above us, and we ate the food with our hands.

  “Barbarians,” Cath said, laughing. “Today we are barbarians!” A long red stain of cherry juice ran from the corner of her mouth to her chin. She wiped it away and then burst out laughing again, looking at the juice on her inner wrist.

  “My father would kill me right now if he could see this!”

  “Do you want me to get some paper towels or napkins?”

  “Rubbish!” Cath said, dismissing my offer with a flick of her wrist. “I can do whatever I want! La Baume is ours now.”

  She grinned at me like a child with a new toy, and I laughed in return.

  “In that case,” I said, popping the single cherry I was holding delicately between two fingers into my mouth and grabbing a fistful of sobrasada instead, “I’m going to take advantage!” I smeared the soft chorizo spread over some baguette and took the biggest bite I could manage.

  “Well, finally!” Cath declared, throwing up her hands, adding to Nori, “She gets it! She finally gets it!”

  Nori nodded furiously, grinning from ear to ear, her cheeks stuffed with one of each item on the tray combined.

  “We do not follow social conventions here,” Cath said. “All that formality? Ugh! Sickening.” She threw up her pinkie finger. “La-di-da!”