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

at school,” her grandmother said at last, glancing at her. “Peter used to say that you were such a clever girl, meant for great things.”

Katy knew her grandma meant her grandfather. His name was Peter. Peter Schmidt, the famous composer of the Pied Piper Symphony. It was his one great work. His Magnum Opus, he called it. But he always smirked when he said that, as if it were nothing more than a joke. Some joke. Every orchestra and every music chamber begged their family for permission to play the piece without having to fork over money for the royalty. Her grandfather had owned all rights, and now so did Grandma. It was a beautiful piece, and Katy could play most of the parts. It had been a game between her and her grandfather for her to at least know the Pied Piper’s solo pieces.

“If you don’t mind my asking, why did you do it?” Her grandmother looked at Katy in a frank stare.

Already feeling her ears get hot, Katy ducked her head. She knew her grandma meant the shoplifting. “I dunno. It was just a game.”

She could see that disapproving look return. “There are better games to play, Kathleen. Much better. Couldn’t you have suggested one?”

Katy had no answer to that. What could she say? She just shrugged.

“You know, sometimes I wonder where that clever girl went,” Grandma Schmidt murmured. She took the malted she was waiting for from the soda jerk. “Peter would have been disappointed.”

Katy knew that, but she didn’t like hearing it.

“So, why did you stop playing in the school orchestra?” Her grandmother asked.

Hearing that made Katy feel sick in the stomach. She didn’t want to lie to her grandma now. She said, “Music stopped being fun.”

Her grandmother looked surprised.

Saying nothing, Katy took her malted and started drinking from the straw.

With a shake of her head, Grandma Schmidt at last said, “It seems a shame. You were so talented. Peter said you were born to play the Symphony.”

Katy about dropped her malted. She fumbled with her grip, keeping it from clattering and spilling all over the tabletop.

“The kids picked on me, Grandma.” Katy set the glass hard on the table. “They said only dorks play in the orchestra.”

“They sound like idiots,” her grandma replied, and she continued to drink her malted.

“Order up!”

The soda jerk picked up the two burgers and the home-sliced fries and set them on the counter before the two. Katy just stared at her grandmother. Again Grandma Schmidt was talking in a way she never did. Her grandma always refrained from saying mean things, but here it was like a statement of fact.

“They’re my friends,” Katy said, almost tipping over her malted again as she pulled her hands into her lap.

Her grandmother leaned in closer. “Then perhaps you ought to get new friends. Real friends would like you for who you are.”

Katy rolled her eyes.

“And real friends would recognize how wonderfully talented you are and not make fun of you for doing something as wonderful as playing in the orchestra,” Grandma Schmidt said.

Slumping her shoulders, Katy replied frankly, “It isn’t cool.”

Her grandmother’s gaze was rather tired. “The word ‘cool’ is not too different from the word ‘fool.’ I think the meanings are synonymous.”

Having no idea what that meant, Katy just shook her head and reached for her burger.

They ate in silence for the rest of the hour. Her grandmother apparently realized that if she pressed the matter any further, she would probably have an argument on her hands, and Katy just might run off again. Katy was certainly sitting in discomfort, chewing her food without the usual enjoyment. It just didn’t taste as good as it should have. Mostly, Katy’s mind was occupied. It was true she had loved playing in the school orchestra. It was true she knew the parts to the Pied Piper better than anyone. But it was also true that lately people called her names for always carrying a musical instrument, asking her if she was planning on leading rats away to their doom or kidnapping kids. Her relation to that particular symphony had caused her agony. Of course, if she had played some other part in the symphony, or even another symphony, they would have found some other thing to tease her about.

“Kathleen,” she heard her grandmother say after the long silence. “I would like you to practice your flute, or one of the other instruments you can play, every day while you are here.”

Katy let out a moan. “Gramma….”

“No,” Grandma Schmidt said giving a firm shake of her head. “You heard me. No one will make fun of you here. You can play to your heart’s content.”

For some reason, Katy’s stiff shoulders relaxed some. “But the Gibsons—”

“Their opinion is inconsequential,” Grandma Schmidt said.

It was something Grandpa Schmidt would say. She was right, of course. Still, Katy could not bear having the Gibsons come around and tease her about playing her music. It was bad enough being teased at home.

But then an idea sort of floated into her head. The room. Were these particular Gibsons over in Nissa’s place? Perhaps not. Perhaps they were their descendants. That made Katy smile. It would be fun to play again, free, without pressure or criticism.

“I might,” Katy said, and she went back to eating more heartily than before.

*

They returned to the house after lunch, and Grandma Schmidt went into her room to take a nap. Katy was allowed to do the same, but she rolled her eyes and returned to the basement only to pick up the flute that her mother had packed in her bags.

Peeking out of the basement door with flute in hand, Katy listened to the silence in the kitchen, hoping her grandmother was asleep already. All she could hear was the fan blowing in the other room to circulate the air. The house got hot in the summer, and Grandma Schmidt didn’t like it getting too hot when she slept. She certainly seemed to be asleep.

So Katy crept out. Hearing the door creak uncomfortably louder than she wanted, Katy paused and then cautiously stepped, but the floor moaned with every step she took towards the pantry door. It was already cracked open as though that mysterious wind had blown it open to invite her in. With a cautious step and a silent hand, Katy opened it further with a strangely well-oiled squeak. She stared at the spices on the shelves and the nearly empty box of graham crackers. She stuck her head in and looked up. The light above was still there. The room had to be also, even though when she had been outside, she had checked, and there was no upper window let alone space for an extra room. Drawing in a breath, Katy heaved herself into the cupboard and climbed.

Back up in the room, Katy looked around herself. The air was much cooler here. A small breeze blew in from the window. Setting her flute case on the carpet, Katy looked out to see if Nissa was there still playing on the walk. She wasn’t.

Sighing, Katy leaned on the wall and looked out at the clear summer sky above. Wherever this was, whenever this was, it was the most peaceful place Katy had ever been. It felt safe, like being wrapped in her grandfather’s arms and rocked after she had fallen down and scraped her knees. In a way, she could hear him hum the song he always had on his lips when things went wrong. Taking her flute out of the case, she pieced it together and put it to her lips, taking a deep breath.

But she stopped, staring at it. Her flute was dirty and not set right. She had been so neglectful lately. Pulling the instrument apart, she started to clean it with the rag that she had stashed in her flute case for the job. Grandpa Schmidt always said to keep her instruments in good repair. She supposed that if he had been there, he would have been disappointed in her. So, Katy cleaned her flute out, rubbing each part until it shined. Piecing it together again, she tuned it and adjusted it until it played right. Once more she set her flute to her lips, and she began to play the tune her grandfather always hummed. Back in her heart, she hoped Nissa would hear her and call up to her.

But she never did. Down below, instead, another woodwind accompanied her. The melody floated up like a lullaby and intermingled with her tune, almost married to it. And together they filled the air until Katy got sleepy and lay down on the carpet to rest, just for one minute.

 

Katy awoke, and the sun was setting outside the window. She could hear her grandmother calling to her. Rubbing her eyes, Katy nearly struck her head with her flute, which somehow she had never let go of when she had fallen asleep. Crawling to the small door, Katy listened to see if her grandmother was calling her from inside or outside. She was sure if her grandmother saw her climbing out of the cupboard, she’d never be allowed near it again. It would be locked up like the refrigerator.

The sound of her grandmother’s voice grew more distant. That meant she was outside. As quickly as possible, Katy took her flute apart and set it back in the case, shoving it aside next to the door. She would come back for it there. No one needed know she had been practicing. Not even Grandma.

Rushing down the cupboard as silently as possible, Katy dropped to the bottom and hopped out. Dusting herself off of cobwebs, she crept behind Grandma Schmidt and drew in a deep breath.

“I’m here.”

Her grandmother jumped, clutching her chest and staggering back. “Goodness gracious! Don’t do that! You’ll give your old granny a heart attack.”

But she walked right around Katy straight to the kitchen with a renewed breath and reached for her apron. “Your grandpa used to do that, and it always gave me a start. He thought it was funny—the silly coot.”

Blinking at her, Katy said nothing. Yes, she missed Grandpa too.

They made dinner. It was beef stew and soda bread. Katy helped clean up the dishes afterward, and Grandma Schmidt took out a pre-made cake from the freezer, slicing off two thin pieces for them both, ladling sweetened strawberries and jam on top. As they ate their dessert, Grandma was unusually silent.

“I thought I heard you playing this afternoon while I was asleep. Where did you go?”

Katy looked up. Should she tell her grandmother about the cupboard and the room upstairs? Yesterday she had said the room had not existed.

Just shrugging, she said, “Oh, around.”

Her grandmother was silent as before.

The clock in the other room struck seven. The light shining in from the windows had gone dim. Since they had yet to turn on the kitchen light, they could barely see their plates now, but neither of them moved.

“Tomorrow Mrs. Tippets is coming over. After we work in the garden, we should make some cake for her visit,” Grandma Schmidt said.

Katy lifted her eyes and narrowly stared at her grandmother. “We’re working in the garden again?”

Her grandmother’s eyes crinkled with knowing mischief. “Oh yes. Tomorrow. The day after that. And the day after that. And the day after that. It is a vicious cycle.”

Katy knew she was being teased and frowned.

“My dear sweetie,” Grandmother ruffled her hair, “here we work the garden in the morning before the sun gets high, and in the afternoon, we run errands. Believe it or not, but Granny is a busy woman.”

“Like today?” Katy said with some sarcasm, pulling from her grandmother’s reach.

Grandma Schmidt smirked with the advantage of age. “Today I cleared free for you to adjust. Besides, everyone could use a good rest.”

There was no point in arguing that. The day had been exhausting even though they had done so little. Too much had already happened.

“Now, when Mrs. Tippets comes over,