Jude's Music

Six

I didn't want to knock on the door, but my mother had told me to cross the street to Mrs. McBride's house and ask her if she'd like anything from the grocery store. Mrs. McBride was an old woman. She didn't drive, and sometimes she couldn't go into town to shop. She'd told my mother that. And so now here I was, holding my hand ready to drop the knocker and summon the old woman to her door. What I felt like doing was turning and walking the other way; what I did was let go of the knocker. The heavy metal thing banged against the thick, hinged slab of wood.

"Door's open, come on in!" came a voice from inside.

I hesitated. I didn't want to go inside. Why couldn't she just come to her door, answer my question, and let me go back home? But I had to be polite, so, with what little courage I had, I went on in.

The lights were on in the hall even though it was the middle of the day. That was because the weather was so cloudy. There wasn't much noise in the house. I didn't hear a TV or any music. It was so quiet that I worried for a minute that no one was home and that I'd never even heard the voice telling me to enter. My fears lifted when a woman said, "In here, dear. I'm right here," and directed my attention to a room on the left. "How are you, Nat? I've been expecting you. Took you long enough to knock – I was beginning to wonder if you were thinking about going back home."

My cheeks flushed. How had she known that I wanted to leave? Mrs. McBride was probably in her seventies, but she was very energetic. Sometimes when I looked out my window in the mornings I'd see her out in her yard, stretching and warming up to go on her daily walk. Right then she was sitting on the floor in her living room, surrounded like an island by a sea of old photographs, magazine cuttings, and other scraps of odds and ends. I thought it would be rude to ask her what she was doing. Actually, I wasn't sure what to say to her at all, but she solved the silence.

"Are you wondering how I knew you were at my door?" she asked me, looking up from her island. I half-nodded. "I could see you there, from my window. Plain as day."

I glanced at the window in the room, realizing it gave a perfectly clear view of the front porch through its sheer curtains. My cheeks felt hot again. Turning my eyes to the carpet, I said, "My mother wants to know if you need anything from the grocery store, because she's going today."

"Well that's very nice of her. But I was just there. Walked into town yesterday morning, actually."

"Oh," I replied. "OK. I'll tell her, then."

I was starting to step back into the hall when Mrs. McBride said, "Hold on, dear. We can just give her a call."

Confused, I wondered if maybe she'd forgotten where I lived. "That's all right," I told her, motioning toward the door. "I just live across the street."

"Do you really live there?" she asked with a sharp look in her lined face. "Or do you just reside there?" I had no idea what she was asking me. The dazed look on my face probably told her my thoughts. Standing up with some difficulty, she passed out of the room and waved at me to follow her as she set off down the hall. I didn't want to go, but I couldn't not go.

She led me into her kitchen and picked up the phone receiver. She dialed my house, and I listened as she said, "Allison? Hello, dear. This is Mrs. McBride. May I speak with your mother? Thank you . . . Hi Diane . . . I'm fine, thanks. Listen. I was just calling to see if it would be all right if Nat stayed here for a little while and had a cup of tea with me. I'd just love to have a little company . . . All right, that's great. Oh! And Diane? Thanks about the groceries; I won't be needing any . . . Uh huh. All right. I'll talk to you later, then."

Mrs. McBride hung up. What had happened? Had my mother just agreed to let me be tortured for half an hour of conversation with an unknown old lady?

"Now then," she said, sitting me down at the table. "Tell me what you think about Mosspond." Moving to the stove, she turned on a burner and put the kettle on. I knew there was no way I could get out of spending part of my afternoon there.

Nearly an hour later, Mrs. McBride and I were still talking. I should say that she did most of the talking. I mainly answered the questions that she asked me. And she asked me a lot. Over my hot chocolate and her green tea, we discussed school, food, siblings, great-grandparents, and middle names. She asked me about where I used to live and what sort of things I liked to do in my free time. We didn't talk about anything serious. That is, until she asked me whether I'd met any friends yet.

I didn't know what to say. By that point, I sort of felt that I didn't know anybody outside my family as well as I knew her. But I couldn't call Mrs. McBride a friend. She was an old woman – probably somebody's grandmother. And even though I wanted to know Jude Wood, I didn't want to bring him up. Even if I had considered him a friend, I don't think I would've said anything about him. It had only been the day before that I'd found him playing the school's piano, and I was still troubling over that.

Something had to be said, though, so I satisfied her by replying, "There's a girl at school. Jill. She's all right."

"Oh yes. Jillian Lee. I've known the Lees for years." Mrs. McBride smiled. "She's a whimsical one, isn't she?" I nodded. "Quite a little bird. That's good. She's a unique sort of friend."

I wondered about Jill for a minute. She was definitely a unique person. Whether that was good or bad, I didn't know.

"Anyone else you find interesting?" Mrs. McBride said. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I detected an undertone in her voice.

I knew it was time I left. I really was beginning to enjoy talking to Mrs. McBride, but she was a smart old woman. I didn't want her to sense that there was someone else I found interesting — someone I wasn't willing to talk about yet.

"Not really. No – no one." I hurried in my answer. Then, pushing back from the table, I added, "I think I'd better be getting home now. I have to do some schoolwork."

Mrs. McBride wasn't upset. She smiled and stood up. "All right. That's one thing I don't miss about my younger days – homework. Come along, I'll show you to the door." We walked through the hall toward the front of the house. "I'd like to thank you for chatting with me for a bit, Nat. It was nice to have you."

To my surprise, I found myself saying, "Maybe I can come over again sometime."

"I'd like that. I've been real busy working on some art projects. If you want, you can help me out with them. Come over any time you want to, all right?"

I nodded, then stepped out the door into the cool air.

Jogging across the street, I reentered my own house. My mother was in town with Vanessa, and Allison was taking a nap. Everything seemed so quiet all of a sudden. In Mrs. McBride's house it had been quiet, but it was different. Hers was a peaceful sort of quiet. In my house, the silence seemed like it was smirking at me – like it knew something that I didn't and it wanted to rub it in my face. I felt almost afraid as I trekked up the stairs to my bedroom. Once there, I flopped onto my bed, my arms crossed behind my head.

Just lying there with my eyes closed on the unsettling calmness, I began to really wonder about Mosspond. Since we'd moved in barely a month ago, I'd met some of the strangest people. There was Jillian Lee, the curly-haired girl with big eyes who was something like an imp or a bird. And Mrs. McBride, the old woman across the street who, strangely enough, felt like the best friend I had at the moment. Then, of course, there was Jude Wood. The odd-looking boy who never spoke to anyone and played the piano so well that it had brought me close to tears.

Still, the more my thoughts wandered, the less I began to believe in what I'd heard the day before. Jude's music couldn't have been what made me feel so sad; maybe it was just some passing sadness. I couldn't even recall the melody of Jude's song. Why in the world would it have had such an effect on me? I must have been dreaming it. I'd heard the music, but it was some memory that made me sad. Maybe the dreariness of the weather was getting to me. Maybe the fact that I was determined to hate Mosspond was part of it. Whatever the case, I was certain that my own mind had been running away with itself. A piece of music couldn't make you feel so strongly, could it?