The Pantry Door - Julie Steimle (reading strategies book txt) 📗

the hill. The bushes scratched her, clawing at her like they also wanted her to get caught and beaten up. But Katy fought with all that she had, scraping up her legs, tearing her socks, and scratching up her arms and face. It was downhill all the way to the small, dry ravine that divided the land from the road. Tumbling to the dilapidated wooden fence mostly constructed out of dried and cracked tree trunks and metal wire, she slid though the slats and dropped down.

Katy scurried up the other side of the ravine and sprinted over the road. It was just one block away from her grandparents’ farm from there. Clenching her shoe in her hand, Katy ran with all that she had, pummeling the ground over the Hickerson’s lawn, across the Hinckley’s wide stubble where they normally grew wheat, and through the still growing patches of squash in the Layton’s yard. She could see the wooden barrier between their lots—an old farmer’s corral for a fence. Katy climbed it into her grandma’s yard, hearing the pairs of feet pounding the ground after her. Snatching up the first garden tool she could see, a hoe, Katy lifted it and swung around for a fight.

“Oh, so you decided to help me garden after all. That’s good.”

Dropping her shoe, Katy stared at her grandmother. She had not seen her weeding among the onions, but her grandmother was calmly doing so, her hat flopping over her face to keep out the sun. Carley and the two boys ran up to the fence, but screeched to a halt the moment their eyes fixed on Grandma Schmidt. They looked at Katy once more, hate on each of their faces as they turned back.

“We’ll get you—later.”

Katy did not let go of the hoe, watching them cross the Layton’s yard. Undoubtedly, they were going back to desecrate some graves.

“You know, if you are going to hold that hoe, I’d rather that you used it to weed out the beets.”

It had been easy to forget her grandmother was there. She was so silent. Katy was half tempted to just drop the hoe and go indoors. However, Katy sighed and did as Grandma Schmidt requested, searching for the beet marker in the ground.

“I’m glad you came back,” Grandma Schmidt said, bending over the carrots now. “I’d hate it if you missed lunch also.”

Katy blinked. Would her grandmother just do that? Make her miss lunch even though she didn’t have breakfast just because she wouldn’t do a stupid bit of weeding? Looking at her, Katy began to realize that she might.

“Now I don’t know what you have been doing with the Gibson boys, but I assume you came home to help me, so we’ll leave it at that,” Grandma Schmidt said.

Looking at her feet, Katy said, “I went to see Grandpa.”

Grandma paused in her weeding. Katy could hear her hold her breath some before releasing it in a sigh. “Of course.”

“I don’t even like the Gibsons,” Katy added.

That made her grandmother smile. “No good girl would. The Gibsons are nothing but trouble. Five generations I’ve seen, and they are all alike.”

Katy continued hoeing.

“That Hillerman girl, though, I’m sorry to say has gone that way from bad influence. I was hoping her parents would put a stop to it, but…” She continued to weed, silencing herself from saying any more. She believed it was wrong to talk badly about another person, said it wasn’t Christian to gossip. Unfortunately, it was very human to do so.

“So,” Grandma Schmidt changed the subject. “What are your favorite vegetables, Kathleen?”

Blinking at her, Katy stuttered for a moment as she answered. “Uh, I, um…carrots.”

Her grandmother smiled. “Good! You haven’t changed much. I had planted plenty of carrots!”

But Katy grimaced. “But I only like them raw. Cooked ones are gross.”

Blinking at her in return, her grandmother stood up. “Really? Why?”

“They’re all squishy and slimy like squash when they’re cooked,” Katy said, digging out a particularly large weed. “I hate that.”

Her grandmother just shrugged and moved on to the next row. “Any other food preferences I ought to know before this day is out?”

Katy eyed her, recognizing that tone of voice. She was being teased. “I don’t like rice or eggplant.”

“Not even rice pudding?”

“Especially not rice pudding.” Katy made another face.

There was silence in the garden. Though they could hear the echoes of the chickadees not far off in the trees and the calls of the quail that ran under the bushes like little scared rodents, they could hear nothing else but the wind. Both of them knew it would be a long time to go before they would be comfortable together.

“I’m done.” Katy tossed the hoe aside, turning towards the house.

“You barely hoed even a row of weeds, Kathleen.” Her grandmother looked tired.

Making a face at her, Katy snapped, “I didn’t want to be here in the first place. I was just running from the Gibsons. You can do your stupid gardening yourself.”

“You know,” Her grandmother went back to her weeding with a calm look on her lips. “There is an old saying.”

Katy stopped, having already turned to go, bracing herself for a lecture.

“Never bite the hand that feeds you.”

Inside her chest, Katy suddenly felt cold. Her stomach twisted sick. Bite the hand that fed her?

But Katy stomped off anyway. She was gone and back to the house before her grandmother could say another word. That was her mother’s plan, after all—to make her feel guilty. And who was perfect for dishing out heaping loads of guilt? Grandma Schmidt, the moralist. No one could get away with anything in her house. Her dad used to say it after sneaking cookies out of her cookie jar right before dinner, in a whisper of course, “Grandma Schmidt could make even the Pope feel like a sinner.”

However, Katy refused to feel guilty. She had not volunteered for the trip. She was forced to come. And starving her to death to force her to do things was just plain mean.

Never bite the hand that feeds you.

Katy shuddered, reaching for the handle to back screen door. She knew what that meant. She would not be having lunch that day either.

The graham crackers were still in the cupboard. Katy took them out and leaned on the wall, munching on them one by one and not feeling the least bit guilty. If her grandmother was going to starve her, she was going to have to find a way around those rules.

Never bite the hand that feeds you. Bah! What a control freak! Katy stuffed her hand into the box, taking out the last package and tearing it open. She’d show her.

A small breeze tickled the side of Katy’s face, brushing her hair somewhat into her eyes. Glancing to the right, Katy saw the cupboard door was open again. Was there a hole in the roof through there? She stuck her head in the dark space and looked up.

Above her head, Katy focused her eyes on that crack of light she had seen the day before. It was there. It really was there. It was strange to her that her grandfather would build that house so well, and yet leave this one part unfinished. Wouldn’t the things in the cupboard get wet from the rain?

The space was large enough, so Katy climbed in to see for herself. It took a small hop to get up inside, but the space was just large enough for her to fit and slide around on her arms. She could actually stand completely upright, not bumping her head at all on any ceiling. In fact, it looked like the cupboard continued up forever into darkness. However, the crack of light was easier to see now. It was definitely there. In fact, it looked like another door was there. Another cupboard door.

She had the urge to go up and see what was beyond that door. All that time she had visited the old place, and she never knew about this secret passage. It was exciting. Katy wondered if her grandfather had built this secret cupboard on purpose. He was a man who liked secrets. He had that smirk in his eyes suggesting he kept a great many secrets. It played out in the music he composed and the way he played the flute. There was mystery and magic in the way he moved about. It only made sense that he would still have a few lingering secrets even after he was gone. Now Katy wanted to know them all.

Placing her hand on the two-by-four beams that made up the wall supports, Katy also scooted her foot on one. She stepped up, climbing them like a ladder to get higher. Up a foot. Then up another. She climbed up five feet and turned around to face what she really hoped to be a door to the roof. What she saw was a door exactly the same as the cupboard, covered in that same grapevine wallpaper that lined the entire cupboard shelves and walls. Swinging the door open, Katy prepared to have her first look at her new rooftop playground.

No rooftop.

No playground.

A room.

Katy reached in, stroking the floor.

It was carpet. Not even dusty.

Shifting one foot from one side to the other side of the door, Katy stepped higher. Pulling her torso up and into the doorway, she leaned into the room.

The walls were covered in that grapevine wallpaper, neatly hung in elegant rows from the gabled ceiling to carpet. The carpet was plush and pure white, soft like clouds. There was nothing else in the room. No electric outlets. No hanging light bulbs. Only the walls, the carpet, and one window.

Katy tipped herself face first into the room and crawled the rest of the way inside on her hands and knees. Looking up, she blinked then rolled over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

It was amazing. Grandpa Schmidt made this room and didn’t tell anyone? Why?

How did it remain so unused? Why did he put the door in the cupboard? How come the room was empty? Surely a man like him had old musical instruments to store or old sheet music or frustrated crumpled symphonies that just didn’t turn out right. And how come she missed knowing it was there when she had been in the house so many times? How come her grandfather, who told her nearly everything, didn’t tell her about this?

“Hello?”

Katy lifted her head wondering who was calling.

“Hello?”

Rolling over onto her stomach, she crawled to the window where she heard the voice.

“Hey there!”

Katy looked down, outside. She saw a girl, a stranger she had never seen before in that small town, on her grandmother’s walk. “Hi,” Katy said, peering down at her.

The girl had dark hair done up in pigtails. She blinked up at Katy as if she were a phantom, but grinned with excitement. “How did you get there?”

Looking around her, Katy just shrugged. “Don’t tell my Gran, but I climbed up through the cupboard.”

The girl blinked at her. “I don’t think I know your grandma.”

“You’re on her walk,” Katy said.

The girl’s eyes grew wider, and she stared down at the walkway to the back door with some surprise. Then she looked up again at Katy, tilting her head. “Are you a ghost?”

Katy made a face at her. “No, stupid. I’m staying here with my grandmother. What are you doing here?”

Not taking offence, the girl frowned and kicked the concrete under her feet. “It’s summer. I’ve nothing to do. And there’s no one to play with.”

For a moment, Katy felt her heart beat faster. A friend. Perhaps this summer was not going to be a waste after all.

Tilting her head, Katy asked, “You’re not a Gibson kid, are you?”

Making a sour face, the girl replied, “Of course not! They’re so mean!”

Katy smiled. “Then I’ll come down and play with you.”

“I’m Nissa!” the girl shouted up with a grin.

“Kathleen, I mean, Katy.” Katy’s heart thumped harder. This was great. Someone to be with. Someone to stand up