Jude's Music

Three

That night, the first after I'd met him, I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned in bed, wondering who Jude Wood was. I dreamed of ghosts when I did fall into fitful dozes, and I woke up frightened to be in my room. I couldn't call for anyone; I was too old to be scared of the dark. I wouldn't call for my mother. She wouldn't want to know her thirteen-year-old was too anxious of creeping shadows and the thought of white figures drifting through the room to be able to sleep. I was alone, and I knew it. I also knew that the reason for my nervousness had everything to do with that boy . . . that pale, dark boy. His black eyes would not leave my mind.

Still, nothing different happened the next day in school, or the rest of the week. I knew though, underneath everything else, that something was different with that boy. He almost never spoke to anyone. If he did give even a word, it was just that – a word. And it was always spoken under his breath and without a glance at the person he was talking to. I saw other, friendlier boys or girls attempt to invite him into a conversation. I even spotted Jillian trying. None of them succeeded, though. I couldn't make myself get too close to him. When I did, I felt something strange open inside me, and I wasn't ready to know what that something was.

"That boy," Jillian said to me during one lunch, referring to Jude, "is so ridiculous. He's been here forever, and every year I try to make friends. But he'll never speak a word to me! What good is a person who never says anything except to be rude?"

I agreed with her then, although secretly I was pondering exactly what she'd said. What was the good of someone who kept to themselves? I did the same thing, but I wasn't like Jude. I was shy, that's all. He was different. There was a secretiveness about him, but it wasn't the cunning or clever sort. I thought he looked like someone who kept secrets that he didn't want to keep. Like if someone told you that something bad was going to happen, but you weren't allowed to tell anybody about it. That's a little what Jude looked like, and it made me wonder about him even more.

Something happened not too far into the following week that made me think. I wasn't even in school when it happened. My mother had asked me to run down to the grocery store to pick up a carton of milk. That's how Mosspond was; it was so small that you could "run" just about anywhere in a matter of minutes. The grocery store was only a couple of blocks away, in the middle of the older part of town. That was where most of the other small shops and restaurants were, too. All the houses in the town centered around this main area, and ours was no exception. It wasn't a long way to go at all, but I hadn't thought she'd ask me to walk because, as usual, the sky looked like rain.

Handing me an umbrella from the stand by the front door, my mother said, "Now go on, Nat. It won't take you long. And besides, you need to get a better idea of the neighborhood. It won't be too many more days before you'll be wanting to head for ice cream or the movies or to friends' houses, and if you don't figure your way around now, you won't be able to go anywhere later. This is good practice for you."

I caught how she threw the words "to friends' houses" in there like that. My mother wanted me to make some friends more than I wanted me to make some friends. I knew that she thought it would make me start to get used to things. But I didn't tell her that nothing could ever make me get used to anything in Mosspond. I had already decided to hate it, and there wasn't a single thing that could change my mind – not even a friend or two.

Still, even though the last thing I wanted to do was go into town, I didn't want to argue with my mother. She had enough of that from my sisters every day. Arguing took too much effort, and I just didn't feel like wasting my time. So I took the money she gave me and headed out the door.

"Don't you want the umbrella, Nat? Honey?" she called after me, holding open the screen door.

I waved a hand back at her in silent reply. No, I didn't want it. Who cared if the entire world rained on me? Sometimes it was good to get soaking wet with all your clothes on. Maybe it would remind me of what the rain really felt like. I hadn't splashed around in a storm since before my father had gone away. Once, he took me to the park so we could fly a kite we'd made together. I didn't know why he took me that day, because it wasn't good weather. Storms were moving in, and the sky looked like somebody had painted it purple mixed with brown. But the wind was good; it was strong. So we went, and boy, did we fly that kite. It went so high that it was a dot against the dark clouds. We weren't there long, though, because we were worried about lightning. On the way home, the rain came, and we ran through it like we'd asked for it to come down, like we'd done a rain dance and caused the whole of the sky to open up just so we could play in it.

We hadn't needed umbrellas then – my father and I – and I didn't need one now. Umbrellas protect you from the rain, but I didn't want to be protected. I was fine just on my own.

The walk into town was easy. I just followed the street our house was on, and it took me right to the main street, which was real close to the town square. When I reached the square, I considered the fact that it looked more like a rectangle to me. It was long, with the main street splitting into two around it. Between the parts of the street was a long bricked area with chairs, tables, a couple of restaurants, and a fountain. There was also a big green gazebo, which I guessed was where somebody would make speeches on hot summer days whenever they had picnics or a parade. Right then, my world had never seemed further from a summer day, or a parade, for that matter.

There weren't a whole lot of people out. Cars were pretty steady on both sides of the street, though, so I had to watch them as I crossed over the main square to where the grocery store was. The lights were on inside, and it looked strange against the gray day around it. In I went, and I got the milk my mother wanted.

When I was checking out, the old man behind the register looked hard at me. "You're from the family that just moved into the old Johnson house on Briary, aren't you?"

I stared at him for half a minute before I realized I probably apperaed rude. "We just moved into a house on Briary. But I don't know who the people were that lived there before us." It was funny – I hadn't thought much about anyone ever living in the house we were in. It seemed so deserted, so alone.

"Seven kids in that Johnson family. It was a start when they moved; they'd been here since the oldest was born, and he was seventeen."

I didn't want to hear about the Johnsons, whoever they were. They were too remote for me to care about. "Thanks," was all I said as he handed me my milk carton in a plastic bag.

He stopped me as I turned to go. "You didn't walk all the way up Main Street, did you?"

Looking back, I nodded, saying, "It's not so far." It had only taken me fifteen minutes at the most.

"Just to let you know, there's a shortcut past Sue's Bakery. You just hop down that alley next to her shop and keep on straight back until you meet a fence. It runs all the way down until it hits Briary, and you'll be nearly at the old Johnson place by then. Takes half the time!" He grinned, assuming he'd been a real help to me.

Trying to smile as enthusiastically as I figured he wanted me to, I nodded again. "Thanks, sir. I'll see about that shortcut."

Outside, a wind had started. The trees in the square were fluttering their leaves, but I could guess that soon they'd be getting whipped around hard. Holding the bag under one arm, I jogged across the street, through the square, and then over the other half of Main Street. The bakery was some way down and to the left. I hadn't known that the person who owned it was named Sue, but I did know where the bakery was, because I'd been into it a couple of times already with my mother. The old man was right: There was a narrow alley between that building and a clothes shop to the right of it.

I was interested to see if the grocer was telling the truth about the easier route, so I took off down the alley. Against the brick walls on both sides were doors, and by the door next to the bakery were several trash cans. A staircase wound upward to another door as well; I wondered if Sue lived there.

The wind swept through the alley, ruffling my hair. A chill went down my spine. I went faster. By the time I emerged from the alley, I was running. A brownish-green field opened behind the line of buildings I'd just passed through. Some way into it, I spotted the long fence that the man had mentioned. If he was right, I would be back to the house in a couple of minutes. I headed across the grass, looking at the backs of houses as I passed them.

The fence was on my left, and rows of dark trees were to my right. I didn't really like the look of them. I wouldn't have even gone near them, but as I was jogging, something came from those trees that made me stop. I stood very still for a minute, wondering if I'd heard right. The wind was noisy, but when it died down briefly, I caught the sound again. Although it was faint, I knew that it was some sort of music. All I could hear was a trail of notes; it was too hard to make out a melody of any sort. As soon as the wind picked up again, the sound was lost. Still, I knew it had come from the trees – from somewhere in the little wooded area behind that line of fence I was following. It didn't even strike me as strange that music would be coming from some trees. Not yet, anyway.

By the time I got home and had the chance to really ponder the matter, I realized how strange it was. I began to wonder whether I'd actually heard anything at all.