The Girl Behind the Glass Read online

  Could the grown-ups explain the rotten smell of anger that never went away? Of course not. They just tried to breathe through their mouths.

  “There. Carved in the wood. Can you see?” Hannah pointed at the letters.

  “Did you girls do that?” Mrs. Zimmer said.

  “No, we told you before,” Hannah said.

  Emily leaned closer to the word. She smiled.

  Hannah thought she would shrink back in alarm.

  Even Anna was surprised. “Did you read it?”

  “Do you know what Ildred means?” Hannah said.

  Emily chuckled. “No, see there.” She pointed to a letter, much smaller than the others, right against the edge of the door.

  “Is that an M?” Hannah said.

  For murderer.

  “Mildred?” Anna said.

  “That’s my grandmother’s name.”

  Impossible. This woman couldn’t be Mildred’s granddaughter. Wait. She had the same blue eyes, the same perfect nose, and the same butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth smile.

  “This must have been her room when she lived here,” Emily said.

  “What an interesting coincidence,” Mrs. Zimmer said.

  “That explains that.” Emily closed the door and latched it.

  “Why would she scratch her name like that? Why would she be so angry?” Hannah said.

  “I don’t think the writing is angry. It’s messy. It can’t be easy to carve your name,” Emily said.

  It was angry. With good reason.

  Emily didn’t care. The door was shut, so she checked her appearance in the mirror.

  Hannah stepped between Emily and her reflection. “Did your grandmother die when she was young? Did she drown?”

  “Oh, no. Mildred is very much alive.” Emily smiled.

  Alive? She couldn’t be. After nearly eighty years?

  “Then who is the girl?” Hannah said.

  “What girl?” Emily said.

  “The one I saw. The one with wet hair,” Hannah said.

  Emily smiled a different kind of smile. “Well, Hannah, as I said—”

  Hannah interrupted her. “I know. Your grandmother had a sister.”

  A beloved sister. A girl who lived on in memory.

  “No,” Emily said.

  No?

  “Are you sure? Maybe she forgot to tell you,” Hannah said.

  Emily snorted in a most unattractive way. “My grandmother doesn’t forget a thing.”

  Mildred hadn’t forgotten. She was afraid. She wouldn’t dare speak that name. She had to hide what she had done.

  “You could ask her,” Hannah said.

  “I think she would have mentioned something as important as a sister.”

  “That’s right.” Mrs. Zimmer embraced her daughters and awkwardly brought them together.

  Now even Hannah wasn’t so sure. She glanced at the mirror and saw nothing but her own disappointed face.

  So that sister was really and truly dead. No, worse than dead. If nobody knew her name, then she never even existed.

  Emily walked away. As she left the room, her high heels clicked loudly against the wooden floor.

  No one heard anything else. No one listened to the voices of the dead. They stood on what might as well have been the bottom of the ocean and shouted up. No one heard a girl who wasn’t a girl anymore cry out with all her might, My name is Ruth.

  “Wait,” Hannah said. “Was her name Ruth?”

  Yes. I was Ruth.

  “Ruth?” Anna said. “How do you know?”

  I told her.

  “She told me,” Hannah said.

  Hannah had listened. Finally someone could. Now I had my name back. It wasn’t enough for me to know it. Someone else had to distinguish me from all the other shadows.

  “What do you mean, she told you?” Anna said.

  “I heard her.”

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  Because you don’t listen. You only care about superficial things.

  Anna didn’t hear that either.

  Hannah ran after Emily. “Call your grandmother and ask her if her sister is named Ruth.”

  Emily stopped just before she reached the front door. She watched Hannah stumble down the stairs, past the hall tree mirror. She didn’t ask to borrow the telephone. She thought about how painful it was to see such a troubled child. Hannah reminded her of her own daughter—except she thought Hannah was much worse.

  “Why won’t you ask her?” Hannah said.

  Emily sighed. Then she took Mrs. Zimmer into the living room. “It’s probably none of my business. But I have a daughter. Lydia is younger than your girls. She’s been seeing a therapist for three or four years now. Dr. Vivian is such a nice person. Lydia loves their chats.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Mrs. Zimmer said.

  Emily opened her bag and found a small card in her wallet. She held it out to Mrs. Zimmer. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all need help coping. Especially when we live in gloomy houses.”

  “We’re going to move as soon as our new house is ready,” Mrs. Zimmer said.

  “Of course you are. However, the damage may already have been done,” Emily said.

  “Your grandmother is the one who needs to see the doctor. She’s the one who won’t talk about her sister,” Hannah said.

  “For the last time, she doesn’t have a sister,” Emily snapped.

  Mildred had always hated me. She wished I had never been born. She left me behind—forever. But she couldn’t deny me any longer. Hannah knew. She knew.

  The card quivered in Emily’s hand. Didn’t they see that? Didn’t that show them?

  Mrs. Zimmer’s gaze switched back and forth between Hannah and Anna, who leaned over the banister. She thought how troubled and unhappy Hannah had been ever since they came here, how she had no idea how to help her own daughter. Then she took the card from Emily.

  Hannah was shocked. Of course, my mother had also turned her back on her daughter. Hannah couldn’t take comfort in that. She started to cry and ran upstairs.

  “You’re making the right decision. Your daughter needs serious help,” Emily said.

  How could she be so cruel? Had I forgotten? She was Mildred’s granddaughter.

  Emily opened the door and marched out of the house. She left without regret. She thought she had done a good deed. She didn’t look back to see someone following her. She got into her shiny red car and turned on the engine. She was going home now. Sooner or later she would go to Mildred. And I would go with her.

  Yes, I would. I was sure of it. I had my name back. I was Ruth. Ruth, Ruth, Ruth. When I met Mildred again, she wouldn’t dare deny me. I would make her sorry she had tried.

  The red car crept along the driveway. Emily was a cautious driver. She stopped two feet before the road. She looked right, toward the house with the cats. She looked left. Did she notice the field? Did she wonder what was beneath the yellow grass? Of course not. Mildred had never told her what happened there. Mildred had never even told her my name.

  Emily waited while a black car passed like a shadow. Then she turned the wheel to the right and accelerated onto Hemlock Road.…

  And I was left behind.

  Again!

  Mildred had gotten married and had children. Those children had had children. Their children had more children. And so Mildred would live on and on.

  I hated her. I hated her.

  If only I could tell her how much.

  I paced angrily back and forth under the hemlock trees. Then I remembered I didn’t have to stew all alone anymore. I could go talk with my friend. Hannah could hear me now. After nearly eighty years, there was so much I wanted to say.

  I went back inside.

  Mrs. Zimmer was in the dining room. She wasn’t sewing; she was talking on the telephone. “I’d like to make an appointment for my daughter Hannah Zimmer. She’s having issues with—” Her voice broke off for a moment.

  A piece of
black fabric on the table billowed up.

  “She imagines she is seeing supernatural things. Only she isn’t. It’s just the wind.”

  Mrs. Zimmer slapped the cloth down. Her palm got stabbed by a pin. Ha!

  “We’d like to come as soon as possible. Dr. Vivian was recommended to us by a friend.”

  How could Mrs. Zimmer think someone like Emily was a friend? The fabric blew over Mrs. Zimmer’s face. She tore it off and threw it on the ground. She thought something not very nice even as the voice in the phone told her when and where to come. “Thank you. We’ll see you next Tuesday,” Mrs. Zimmer said.

  Anna came into the room. “Hannah says she won’t hear the voice ever again if you don’t make her go.”

  Hannah couldn’t have said that. She couldn’t have. Or if she had, then she was just trying to trick Anna. She couldn’t have meant it.

  The bedroom door was shut. Did they think that could keep me out? Hannah was lying on Anna’s bed with her head under a pillow. As if that made any difference. Little wires fed music into her ears. Anna must have borrowed Selena’s contraption. So what if the song was loud and cheerful. All that mattered was what was in Hannah’s head.

  And I knew that she was thinking, Please go away, please don’t talk to me, please leave me alone, I don’t want to be crazy.

  That was crazy. Wasn’t I the only one who listened? Wasn’t I the only one who understood her? Wasn’t I the only one who truly cared about her?

  Hannah.

  She put her hands over her ears and rocked from side to side. “No.”

  Just then Anna came in. “Did you say something?”

  Hannah sat up and bobbed her head to the song’s rhythm. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t hear anything. I just said ‘whoa.’ To the music. Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

  She was a terrible liar.

  Even Anna knew that. She sat on the bed and hugged Hannah. She was worried about her sister. Hannah grabbed Anna and hung on for dear life. “I’m so scared,” she whispered.

  “It’ll be okay,” Anna said.

  It would not be okay. These Zimmers were doing too many terrible things. Wasn’t it bad enough that they planned to take away my bats? I wouldn’t let them destroy my friendship.

  What if Anna kept being nice to Hannah? What if she got close to Hannah again?

  I needn’t have worried. Anna got the red-shopping-bag book and read it out loud.

  Let Anna think she was helping Hannah. Let Hannah pretend to enjoy hearing about those cruel girls. I could wait. Sooner or later night would come, as it always did, to the house on Hemlock Road.

  Selena reclaimed her musical wires. Anna grew tired of reading to Hannah. Mr. and Mrs. Zimmer made one last check on Hannah. They returned to their bed, believing that Hannah slept peacefully on the top bunk.

  How little they knew.

  Hannah was awake. She was waiting, just as I had waited. She knew I would never abandon her. I wouldn’t let her be as alone as I had been for nearly eighty years.

  Hannah?

  She shook her head fiercely. She hugged her pillow. She thought, No no no.

  I can help you.

  She flipped over onto her stomach and put the pillow over her head. She thought, Why is this happening to me?

  Because you’re the only one who cares.

  “I don’t care anymore,” she whispered.

  She was lying. She had to be. I couldn’t bear it if she was telling the truth.

  You can prove there was a Ruth.

  “No one believes me.”

  I can show you something. Don’t you want to see?

  “What is it?”

  Anna turned in her sleep and heard Hannah.

  Shhh.

  Hannah should realize she didn’t need to talk. She couldn’t have any secrets from me. Nothing could come between us—not even Anna.

  “You okay?” Anna peeked over the edge of her sister’s mattress.

  “Mmmm?” Hannah said, as if she had been sleeping.

  “You want to come in bed with me?” Anna said.

  No.

  “Why not?” Anna said.

  Had she heard me?

  “Too tired,” Hannah said.

  Anna lowered herself back onto her bed.

  Hannah and I waited—and waited—until Anna fell back asleep.

  When it was quiet enough so that even the most nervous mouse found the courage to sniff at Anna’s shoe, I told Hannah what to do.

  Come to the attic.

  Humans were so noisy. Hannah hadn’t been up and down those steps often enough to know the third one had the squeak and the sixth had the bent nail, which could hurt a bare foot.

  By the time we got to the top, the bats had gone hunting for the night. That was a good thing. I didn’t want Hannah to be scared of them. They only had two days left. She could still save them—after I helped Hannah.

  “Now what?” she whispered.

  It was hard for her to get out of the habit of talking.

  Come ahead.

  She tentatively felt her way through the darkness. She was frightened and worried she would bump into a bat. I kept saying, Step, step, step. So she did.

  I wasn’t quite sure where I had hidden it. It had been almost eighty years. Besides, I had been in such a rush that day. I had heard them downstairs taking my books from the shelves in my room. I had heard my father shouting, Where is that Ruth? I had felt so smart to remember what I had left in the attic that very morning. Yes, I always thought I knew so much. I had even seen Mildred allow poor Whiskers to be murdered. So why hadn’t I known what else she would do?

  “Are you angry?” Hannah said.

  No.

  “Yes, you are.” Hannah was afraid.

  Not anymore. Instead I thought about which board.

  It’s there. Reach under.

  She knelt down and stuck her arm in the gap where the floor crossed the eaves. She pulled out a fluffy mess.

  Those mice, those dim-witted mice. What had they done?

  “It’s a book.”

  It used to be. It wasn’t anymore. It was a horrible mess.

  She brushed off the fluff. “It doesn’t have a cover or a title page.”

  Half the first page was gone. So the best book in the whole world began—

  We are the Bastables. There are six of us besides Father. Our mother is dead, and if you think we don’t care because I don’t tell you much about her, you only show that you do not understand people at all.

  We couldn’t read much that night. The attic was too dark and smelly for Hannah to stay up there long. The very next day, Hannah said she wasn’t able to go to school. Mrs. Zimmer didn’t argue. So Hannah lay on her bed. We read the entire book all in one gulp. The Bastable children were exactly the same after nearly eighty years. They hadn’t died. They hadn’t even aged. Their adventures were still funny and scary and sad. And the children still found their treasure and lived happily ever after in the end. That is the magic of books.

  I had the best day ever. Hannah loved their story too. She told me that she knew E. Nesbit because she had read something called Five Children and It, which didn’t sound nearly so nice but Hannah said it was good too.

  No one could be as happy as I was, not even the Bastable children after they made friends with the uncle from India.

  The only bad part was when Mrs. Zimmer came upstairs to see what Hannah wanted for lunch. “What are you reading?” she asked.

  “Oh, just a book I found,” Hannah said.

  That was her chance to say, A book that Ruth hid in the attic nearly eighty years ago when she was alive.

  Only Hannah didn’t. Hannah, in fact, was deliberately not saying it. As she was going to bed, she told her parents she hadn’t heard any voices all day and so she didn’t have to go see Dr. Vivian because she was cured.

  Didn’t she understand? They wouldn’t think she was crazy if she proved that I was there.

  At seven o’clock in the morning, Mrs. Zimmer m
ade Hannah get up and get dressed.

  “I think school will still be too upsetting for me,” Hannah said.

  “The pest-control people are coming. That will be even more upsetting,” Mrs. Zimmer said.

  The day had come.

  Hannah had to stay home. Together we could outwit the enemy. We could be as brave as Oswald when he battled the burglar. We could save the bats.

  Save the bats.

  “Don’t let those people hurt the bats. Please, Mom. We’re going to be moving soon anyway. Why can’t we leave the bats alone?” Hannah said.

  “No one is going to hurt them. I’m sure the pest-control people have a safe way to persuade them to leave,” Mrs. Zimmer said.

  How?

  “How?” Hannah said.

  “I don’t know. I just know that there are laws to protect bats.”

  What good was that? There are laws against murder too.

  “Hurry up and get dressed. And please don’t wear that T-shirt again.”

  Hannah disobeyed her mother by putting on the Park Slope shirt, but she had to go to school.

  I couldn’t be mad at her. She tried. She also left my book lying open on her bed so I could move the pages.

  How could I read? The day would be too terrible.

  The parents thought that too. Mrs. Zimmer drove off. Mr. Zimmer had to stay home to deal with the pest-control people. He escaped into his music. He turned it up so loud the windows vibrated. He danced around and pretended to play instruments until someone knocked on the front door.

  Two men stood on the porch. One was tall; the other was wide. If nothing bad was going to happen, why were they wearing masks around their necks and thick gloves?

  Mr. Zimmer led them to the attic. Heavy boots clomped on the stairs.

  “Are you going to trap them?” Mr. Zimmer said.

  “We don’t need to,” the tall man said.

  “You mean you just …” Mr. Zimmer didn’t know how to say the word kill, even though he was perfectly capable of paying these men to do it.

  The wide man laughed. “Can’t anymore.”

  “We plug all the holes around your attic—except one. We put a one-way door in that. The bats go out to hunt just like always,” the tall man said.

  “Except they can’t get back in.”

  Both men laughed.