Willow House Chapter 7

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 Table Manners

   

     “Please pass the garlic bread,” I say to Dad. He gives me a big smile. He loves it when I use good manners.

     “How was your day?” he asks.

     “I survived. Thanks for asking.”

     “Surely you did better than just survive. What did you think of the house?”

     I look across the table at Mom who’s cutting Tommy’s spaghetti up into little pieces. Then I look back at Dad, and trying to use a polite voice, not one that might get me in trouble just for opening my mouth, I smile and say “Who’s idea was it to send us there?”

     I get the sense that Dad appreciated my effort. “As a matter of fact, it was I who had that marvelous idea.”

    “Oh.” I nod my head. “You sent your kids to the Witch House?” My polite voice is slipping a little.

     “The what?!”

     “Everyone in town knows the house is haunted,” I stopped myself from saying ‘and that Mrs. Hallovich is a witch.’

     “Everyone huh? I didn’t know that. So, tell me, Ella, did you see any ghosts?”

     “Not exactly. But you can tell they live there.”

     “Uh-huh.”

     “Mom, how could you let Dad talk you into taking us there?” My polite voice has disappeared entirely.

     “I didn’t talk her into anything, young lady.” 

     I’ve done it now. He brought out his ‘young lady’ voice.

     “I met Mrs. Hallovich at one of my job sites earlier this spring. She liked the work I did in the park, and wanted to meet me. I stopped by her house, at her request, to have a look at her property. We got to talking, and by the end of the conversation, she had offered to watch you and Tommy for a while until Heather gets home from college.”

     “You were in her house?”

     “Briefly. I was mostly in her back yard. There was so much overgrowth that I couldn’t get in very far. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s going to cost her a small fortune just to clear it out.”

     “Did you see the fountain?”

     “You were in her backyard?” Dad seems surprised. “I didn’t see any fountain. But, like I said, I didn’t go in very far.”

     “She has a weeping willow that’s 130 years old!”

     “Willows only live about 30 to 50 years, maybe 75 if you’re lucky and it has a good water supply. I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

     “That’s what Mrs. Hallovich said.”

     “Well, Mrs. Hallovich must be confused.”

     I decide not to get into the sleigh ride, her life before cars, the photos where people don’t smile, or her basic immortal-ness.

     “How far exactly did you guys go into the yard?” Dad asks.

     “We went clear back to the greenhouse.”

     “What greenhouse?”

     “The one in the second yard.”

     “Wait . . . what!? You guys were able to walk back to a second yard? Was it actually clear enough to get through that jungle?”

     “Well . . . yeah. Once we got a few steps away from the house it kind of opened up.”

     “Hmmm. She must have hired someone else to clear it.” Dad looks like his feelings are hurt. He’s trying to act like it’s no big deal, but I can tell it is.  

     “There’s still a lot to do,” I say. “Everything is full of weeds. I bet she can use your help planting nice flowers and stuff.” 

     “Thanks, Kiddo,” he says. “Maybe someone in her family helped clear it out so I can get back there and do the fun work. Save her a little money and such.”

     I nod my head enthusiastically. That’s the spirit! But, I’ll definitely ask her about it tomorrow.

     “Tell me more about this greenhouse,” Mom says.

     “Oh my gosh! It’s beautiful! It’s full of plants, even real lemon trees! There’s a stream with a bridge, and fishes, and statues, and a big weeping willow chandelier! And everything is all sparkly and nice. It’s nicer than the house.”

     “Today!” shouts Tommy.

     None of us know exactly how to respond, so we all nod enthusiastically and say, “Yes! Today, Tommy!”

     Mom looks at Dad. “Sounds like a good excuse for you to go back and see what’s going on.”

     I can tell Dad is feeling better. He winks at me. “Yes it does.”

     Mom leans across the table. “So, be honest, Ella. Today didn’t turn into the catastrophe you thought it was going to be, did it?” 

     Don’t you just hate it when parents are right? 

     “It wasn’t a catastrophe but. . . “ I search for something to get that satisfied look off her face. “The week just started. And there’s lots of weird things going on there. Lots.”

     “We’ll leave it to you to figure it all out,” Dad says.

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