POCO LAMBERT WAS A good person, and sometimes amazingly wise, but she was not always reliable. When she got onto bird talk, or happened to run into one of the five hundred rabbits she knew around town, she could forget about everything else in the world. At such times there had to be someone to step in—someone smart, sensible, and willing to work alone. (Georgina thought this masterfully to herself as she continued along the sidewalk.)
There had to be someone who was never distracted or afraid to take risks. (Georgina walked straight to Walter’s house and marched up the front path.) Someone to pound on doors (Georgina pounded on Walter’s door) and to coax stubborn people out of hiding for their own good.
“Walter Kew! I know you’re in there,” Georgina bellowed on the front porch. “Open up or I’ll start screaming!”
A muffled noise came from deep inside. Moments later the door drifted open and a white hand floated into the breach. It was followed by the pale figure of … a ghost! Georgina jumped and let out a shriek.
“Georgina! Good grief!” The ghost covered its ears.
“Walter? Is that you? Wait, don’t close the door.” She recovered in time to force her foot over the threshold. A brief struggle broke out. Walter’s face appeared from under his cap. He looked terrible, tired and rumpled, and so thin there seemed hardly anything left of him. Georgina was shocked. She grew more upset as the visit wore on. For despite his ghastly, ghostly appearance, Walter was no longer in touch with his invisible worlds.
“He’s stopped believing in spirits,” Georgina told Poco in hollow tones on the telephone that evening. “And he’s quitting school. Everyone hates him, he says.”
“That’s crazy. Where is Granny Docker?”
“She’s come out of her fog and is trying to talk to him. I think she’s really worried, but he won’t listen.”
“Did you tell him about the Match Girl’s ring?”
“Yes. He doesn’t care. He says he’ll never go there again. The mitten, the matches, everything was a lie.”
“A lie! What does he mean?”
“He said his ghost-mother was someone his own mind invented. The same with his spirits—he made them up. And the Match Girl’s message was a trick someone played. It could be Miss Bone or Granny—or us! He doesn’t trust anyone anymore. The baby mitten is too new to be his, he says. And the photo was never really of him.
Granny told him that to cover up the real truth.”
Poco’s heart sank. “What is the real truth?”
“That he wasn’t good enough.” Georgina took a deep breath. “Walter thinks he wasn’t good enough to be somebody’s child, and that’s why his parents gave him away. Oh, Poco, it’s just what you said—he’s lost all his stories. And now he’s too sad to invent any more, so I guess he’ll just slowly shrivel up and, you know … like the little rabbits.” Her voice trailed off. They sat in silence.
“Are you missing Juliette, by any chance?” Georgina remembered to ask after a while. “I thought I saw her running along the sidewalk when I was going to Walter’s. She looked as if she was heading for the park.”
“It couldn’t have been Juliette,” Poco said. “Juliette doesn’t run anywhere anymore. She just keeps getting older and slower. My mother is worried she won’t make it until Angela comes back from Mexico.”
This struck such a final dreary note that the friends shortly decided to hang up. Outside, spring rain had begun to fall again. All over town, homeowners closed their windows and braced for the new downpour. People passing on the sidewalks raised their umbrellas and lowered their eyes to avoid stepping in puddles. It was for this reason that no one saw the strange gray shadow that shot up the path to Walter’s house and paused by the mail basket next to the door. The rain came down harder. The shadow whisked away.