Black and Blue Ivy

Diversions

Mrs. Roche had warned me that breakfast was served at precisely 7:30 am each morning and if I missed it, I wouldn't eat again till noon. She had been faithful to her word about getting me an alarm clock. It was a small brass wind-up type that was probably a priceless antique for all I knew. The clock tinkled in my ear at 7 am, giving me enough time to use the toilet, splash some water on my face, and run damp fingers through my hair, which appeared worse by the day.

Who cares. I turned away from my sad reflection to pull on the same Target outfit I had left on the chair. When I didn't find it there, I headed for the small closet, thinking that perhaps in my overly tired state the previous night, I had hung it up in the closet. Recollections of last night were indeed fuzzy. Had I heard those horrible sounds? Had Bentley really clasped my hand or leaned so close to me that I could feel his warm breath on my neck? Smell his piney scent?

The closet door required a hard tug to open, and when I did, I found an entirely new wardrobe hanging there like eager new friends. These were not clothes I would ever choose for myself. A neat row of cotton blouses with peter pan collars ranging from white to pale shades of pink, yellow, and blue hung beside wool skirts in matching shades. At the far end of the closet were matching wool sweaters neatly folded on built-in shelves. I knew these were called Fair Isle sweaters because Morningstar had a picture of herself wearing one, and I had asked about it. They were from Ireland, she told me. And sure enough, when I examined the labels on the sweaters, they were indeed handmade in Ireland. I could tell from the fabrics' feel and the skirt's stitched pleats that the clothes were expensive. Never had I worn pastels in my life, but it beat that scratchy brown dress that I was forced to wear at St. Vincent's. The memory of that school and my short time there, of Joelle's kind face and Dolores' tyranny, had faded along with my days at our various Kensington apartments.

Since my Target outfit was nowhere to be found, whoever filled the closet with this stuff while I slept had taken it with them. I had no choice but to put on one of the pastel outfits. Playing eeny, meeny, miny, moe with my fingers, I chose the powder blue ensemble. I wondered if Gardenia would admonish me for mixing up the colors. Better play it safe, I thought.

I went downstairs, the deep carpets absorbing the sound of my footsteps, and found Mrs. Roche and the children in the dining room.

"Ivy!" Aileen and Lilly shouted in unison as they ran to greet me. Phillip, his face stuffed with pancakes, waved at me from his spot at the table.

The two girls led me to my chair.

"You look beautiful this morning, Ivy," Aileen said while Lilly tucked a napkin into my peter pan collar.

"Thank you, so do you."

I noticed the girls were also dressed in pale pastels. Lilly in a pink wool jumper with a matching blouse beneath, and Aileen in the same, only hers was a pale green.

Mrs. Roche, her face set in her usual scowl, cocked her head toward the buffet as she scooped some oatmeal from a pan into the toddler's bowls. "Breakfast is serve yourself."

I pushed back my chair.

"No," cried Lilly, her little mouth made an adorable little O beneath her pert nose sprinkled with freckles. "We'll serve you."

"All right," I said, shooting Mrs. Roche a look of amusement.

She turned her back on me to help Aileen and Lilly climb the little step stool in front of the buffet. I worried they would make a mess, but I didn't want to ruin their fun.

"I heard a scream last night," I said, reaching for the coffee urn.

This certainly got Mrs. Roche's attention. She wheeled from the buffet to give me a stern look. "You must have had a bad dream. Maybe something from your past haunts you."