Laura C Stevenson - Castle In The Window

Contents

About the Book

A wonderful, magical medieval castle looms in a window of an old house. For Erin, it is a perfect dream world to disappear into. But it is also a way into another world a world where a boy plays the piano wonderfully, his hands flying up and down the keyboard. How is he connected to the world of the castle and to Erin? Is music the answer ?

To Kristine and Hanna
Auribus et manibus meis

ERIN CURLED UP on the window seat, looking out between the drops that slid down the window at the old-fashioned, shabby houses across the street and wishing she could disappear. Not just hide disappear. Absolutely. Completely. Poof.

That was a dumb thing to wish, of course. Mom and Dad always said they loved her just as much as they loved Rob, who had graduated highest in his class and had a scholarship to Harvard next year. But if she were like Rob, shed be on a plane right now, taking off for Europe with the rest of the family, instead of sitting here in Aunt Joans house, which was as old-fashioned and shabby as the ones across the street.

Heck, she wouldnt even have had to be as super as Rob. It would have been enough if shed passed fifth grade, like everybody else in her class. But though shed struggled all year, her reading skills and test scores were considerably below grade level, so she was going to be held back. Thats what the principal had said when hed called Mom and Dad, and hed stuck to it, even though theyd gone in together to confront him. The best theyd been able to do was get him to promise if Erins reading improved from second- to fifth-grade level by fall, she could be promoted. He suggested a camp that had worked miracles with children like her, and Mom and Dad had been so happy to hear there was hope, of course shed said she didnt want to drag around Europe anyway, and camp would be fun. Which it might have been, if shed gotten in; but shed been on the waiting list, and nobody had cancelled out, so at the very last minute theyd had to arrange for her to go someplace else.

Here. With Aunt Joan. She wasnt really an aunt; the Family was so complicated that kids called all the grown-ups aunt or uncle and other kids cousins. But even the grown-ups called her Aunt Joan, because everybody was so afraid of her. When Aunt Joan disapproved of something (and she disapproved of some very ordinary things), she said so, right out, even at Family gatherings. Not always, of course, but you never knew when something was going to set her off, and even when nothing did, Mom sometimes went home upset about little things Aunt Joan had said. So when Aunt Joan had called, offering to take Erin over because shed heard from Aunt Agatha that the camp hadnt worked out, Mom had said no at least, at first. But shed given in, finally, because Dad said Aunt Joan might be the perfect solution; once upon a time, she had been some kind of teacher. Nobody had asked how many of her students had survived.

What had happened was exactly what youd expect. At lunch today Mom had given Aunt Joan the daily schedule and a backpack of things theyd been working with and told her children like Erin needed rigorously structured time, with regular activities to develop concentration span: five short reading lessons a day to aid visual perception, and several short sessions with the puzzles to build spatial abilities. Aunt Joan had smiled and nodded and said that would be fine. But the moment Mom and Dad and Rob had left for the airport, Aunt Joan had chucked the backpack into a corner and positively stormed at Uncle Druce over dishes. Five short reading lessons a day! Spatial abilities! Structured time! Good lord, no wonder the poor child slipped around like a ghost! Uncle Druce had pointed out that the poor child was standing right there, but all that had done was turn the fire-hose of words onto her. The only schedule here, Erin, is breakfast at eight, lunch at twelve thirty and dinner at seven. Nobodys going to look over your shoulder all the time in this house! Children like you indeed! Every child needs freedom and privacy! That was the end, but shed muttered to herself even after Uncle Druce slipped away to his study.

Uncle Druce was Aunt Joans half-brother, and there was something wrong with him. Nobody said so, but nobody had to. All the other uncles in the Family (even some of the aunts) were bankers or stockbrokers or lawyers or vice-presidents; Uncle Druce was one of the guys who collected your money if you left your car in the parking garage downtown. Whats more, parking-ticket money wasnt all he collected: there were the bottle caps. The cousins said that was why hed moved in with Aunt Joan after her husband died: the bottle caps had filled everything in his apartment but his bed. Of course you didnt believe lots of stuff the cousins said, and Erin hadnt believed that until shed come here.

As Aunt Joan put it this morning, the bottle caps had begun to wander out of Uncle Druces study ten years ago, then gradually taken up residence in every corner of the house. They had. Erin looked out from behind the curtains. Except where her bed was, every wall of her room was lined with boxes labelled PEPSI or COKE with the year theyd been made. Outside the door, the little hallway that led to the stairs was lined with sagging shelves of boxed ginger ale and 7-Up caps. The shelves ended at the staircase, but the caps didnt; they were piled along the steps in boxes that took up so much space you had to go up and down very carefully. Downstairs, the walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, all filled with special wood containers Uncle Druce had made especially for what hed told Rob (without smiling) was the crowning glory of his collection: his beer-bottle caps. And except for a big empty space in the living rooms bay window, every corner that didnt have old-fashioned, shabby furniture in it was filled with cartons, and every surface was covered with flat boxes filled with caps that hadnt been sorted yet.

Erin sighed and looked at her watch, which was digital because she couldnt tell time on a regular clock. 3:34. It had been almost two hours since shed finished unpacking and found a place to disappear, expecting somebody to un-disappear her any minute by giving her an assignment. But Aunt Joan had apparently meant what shed said about freedom and privacy, because nobody had even come to find her, and it looked like nobody would. OK, said Dads lets-make-life-a-lesson voice in her head, if its 3:34, and dinner is at 7:00, how much longer will Erin have to sit here, doing nothing, before dinner? She stared at the dial, hearing the roaring sound her ears made when her mind froze; but when she looked up, hoping to find some clue in Dads imaginary face, all she saw was her own face in the grey glass, vibrating with the sound of a real roar.

Peering through her reflection, she saw a truck ease its way around the corner and stop just shy of a sports car parked along the side. A man in a yellow slicker jumped out of the cab, checked the sports car, made the driver back a little, then slowly, slowly, waved him on. This time, the truck cleared the car, drove down the street and stopped in front of the house. The driver jumped out and started up the walk, while the yellow-slicker guy opened the back of the truck.

Slowly, Erin spelled out the words on the side of the truck: M-C-C no, words that began like that were names, so she didnt need to finish that one. M-O-V-E-R-S. A moving van, then, like shed thought. Maybe it was coming to haul some of the bottle caps away? She tiptoed through the narrow hall and halfway down the stairs, stopping as Aunt Joan opened the front door and signed the piece of paper on the drivers clipboard. When the driver left, Aunt Joan looked up. Erin ducked back behind the banister, but it was too late.