Girl From the Tree House, стр. 51
I long to sneak over to my room, but I have to let the others know what happened tonight. I pull the black notebook over to me and read. There is not much written in there. Most stuff is from Lilly. She’s got the reputation of a troublemaker, but her heart is in the right place. And she puts us all to shame with her effort to get the communication between us and Elise flowing.
So far, it’s a conversation between Elise and Lilly. We can do better than that.
First, I have to get the Tribe interested in writing into the black book.
This is for EVERYONE. We are in Danger! We need to come up with a plan. Tonight, Maddie left her room, and nobody noticed it. That’s not okay. She came down to weave on the loom when a man looked through the window. If I hadn’t been there, he might have taken her. Thanks to Amadeus and Prince he ran away. He hurt Prince, so it was a bad man. Maddie recognized him as one from the white house where bad things happened. It means the abusers from the Gateway Community know where we live, and they are watching us. Sky
Chapter Nineteen
Elise: 30 November 2015, Morning, Wright’s Homestead
It’s still early, but I’m already late. When I agree to be somewhere at nine o’clock, I’m there at nine sharp and not at nine-o-six or heaven forbid at nine-fifteen. I could be a few minutes early; in which case I’ll wait in the car until it’s the right time.
“Let’s meet at 9.30 so you can avoid peak traffic,” was Patrick Armstrong’s advice when he rang this morning after I came back from my run with Prince. I almost spilled my tea avoiding bursting into laughter. So much I’ve already learned on the remote West Coast, a man and his dog classify as a crowd and three cars on the road are considered peak traffic.
It should’ve been child’s play to get to Port Somers in time had I not wasted precious minutes in front of my wardrobe choosing what to wear. Being late causes my stomach to twist and my heartbeat to race. In my childhood running late was never an option and came with unpleasant consequences. I hoped that wouldn’t be an issue anymore since I’m free of Horace and Helen.
Wrong. The fear of getting punished is spreading like wildfire through me until breathing becomes hard labor. That was the end of my quiet morning. I fed Prince, had a shower, and stood in front of my wardrobe, trying on clothes I then discarded quicker than you could say hold on a minute.
That’s ridiculous. What sane person spends thirty minutes unable to decide what to wear? I’m not a TV presenter or a public figure that has to look impeccable every minute of the day. It’s just little old me. I know what’s going on and I would stamp my foot if it would do me any good. Rather than continue taking part in the battle of the parts about what to wear, I take a deep breath and wait.
“Will someone please pick an outfit and be done with it?”
Why didn’t I ask the Tribe earlier? I still have a choir inside my head, but we’ve made huge strides in the black book. Life has become a little easier with less time-robbery and more time-sharing. In the twinkling of an eye, I find myself clothed in a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, a blazer, and a blue scarf. It’s not what I would’ve chosen, but it looks… fresh and confident. Much more confident than I feel. From what I’ve learned in the last week about the Tribe, I guess Lizette dressed me this morning.
“Thank you, Lizette. Merci.”
All I get back is a giggle. But at least it’s some kind of communication, isn’t it? I have twenty minutes left to get to the lawyer on time. That’s not much, but I can make up time once I’m on the State Highway. I let Prince into the backseat of the van and start the motor.
The rest is a blur.
I must have driven like a race driver, because I arrive at Patrick’s office, sweating, out of breath as if I ran all the way, but with three minutes to spare. Heather, Patrick’s secretary surprises me by jumping up with much more vigor than I expected from a woman her age. She ushers me through with a wide beam on her wrinkled face and winks as she opens the door to his office.
“Patrick is ready for you.”
“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Elise. Please take a seat,” He points to the armchair and beams almost as much as his secretary. What should I make of such early-morning-cheerfulness? I’m surprised. That’s a good word for it. Something is happening or has happened, and I don’t have the smidgeon of a clue. On first glance it looks like good news.
“I’m having a coffee; may I offer you one too?”
“Yes, thank you.” My response is automatic. I don’t really want a coffee. What brought Patrick to call me in so early?
He pushes the intercom. “Heather, please bring a coffee for me and Ms. Seagar.”
“Mrs. Reid.” Before I can stop myself, I turn my head to see if someone else is standing behind me. Perhaps my mother’s ghost?
Patrick chuckles and rubs his hands. “There is no way to say it any other way, Elise, you are still Ms. Seagar.”
“Pardon me?”
“Yes, dear, you are still Ms. Seagar. I discovered that the marriage between you and Horace Reid is not legal.” He pauses and studies my face as if he’s looking for a sign of a nervous breakdown or something. I admit I feel a bit lost at sea and numb. Yes, numb is a good word to use.
“I don’t understand.”
“I checked the register. There is no mention of a marriage between you and Horace Reid.”
Does he think I’m soft in the head? “I don’t