The Stolen Child(105)

two Days, what we are, what we would be. Save for a flask of water, I fasted and reflected upon the

puzzle of existence. On the third day, my mind cleared and let in the answer. If the man who appeared as

my father was not my father, who was he? Whom did I meet in the mist? Who was the man by the creek

on the night we lost both Igel and Oscar Love? The one who chased us through the kitchen door? He

looked like my father. A deer, startled by the snap of my head, bolted through the fallen leaves. A bird

cried once; the note lingered, then disappeared. The clouds rolled on and revealed the pale sun. Who

had taken my place when they stole me away?

I knew. That man had what had been intended for me. The robber of my name, stealer of my story,

thief of my life: Henry Day.

• C H A P T E R 3 3 •

I had been one of them. My son had met one face-to-face on the other side of the country, and

there was no telling to what lengths they would go to follow us. The changelings had come for Edward

that night years before, and by going downstairs I had scared them off. But they would be back. They

were watching us, waiting for my son. He would not be safe as long as they prowled near our home.

Edward would not be safe with them in the world. Once they fixed on a child for the change, he was as

good as gone. I could not let Edward from my sight, and took to locking our doors and latching our

windows every evening. They circled around my imagination, infected my rest. The piano offered my

sole relief. By composing, I hoped to steady my sanity. False start followed false start. I struggled to

keep those two worlds separate.

Fortunately, I had Tess and Edward to keep me grounded. A delivery truck pulled into our

cul-de-sac on my birthday, and Edward, at the window, shouted, "It's here, it's here!" They insisted that

I remain in the bedroom with the shades drawn until my gift could be brought into the house, and I

duti-fully complied, mad with love at my son's jumpy exuberance and Tess's sexy, knowing smile. On the

bed in darkness, I closed my eyes, wondering if I de-served such love in return, worrying that it might be

stolen should the truth ever be revealed.

Edward bounded up the stairs and hammered on the closed door. Grab-bing my arm with his two

small hands, he pulled me to the studio. A great green bow stretched across the door, and with a

curtsey, Tess presented me with the scissors.

"As mayor of this city," I intoned, "I'd like my distinguished son to join me in the honors." We cut

the ribbon together and swung open the door.

The small organ was not new or elaborate, but it was beautiful from the love given. And it would

prove enough for me to approximate the sounds I was after. Edward fiddled with the stops, and I took

Tess aside and asked how she could afford such a luxury.

"Ever since San Francisco," she said, "or maybe since Czechoslovakia, I've been wanting to do this

for you. A penny here, a dollar there, and a woman who drives a hard bargain. Eddie and I found it for

sale at an old church up in Coudersport. Your mom and Charlie put us over the top, you should know,

but we all wanted you to have it. I know it's not perfect, but—"

"It's the best gift—"

"Don't worry about the cost. Just play the music, baby."

"I gived my allowances," Edward said.

I embraced them both and held tight, overcome by fortune, and then I sat down and played from

Bach's The Art of the Fugue, lost again to time.

Still enamored with the new machine days later, I returned with Edward from kindergarten to an

empty and quiet house. I gave him a snack, turned on Sesame Street, and went to my studio to work.

On the organ keyboard sat a single sheet of folded paper with a yellow sticky note affixed to the surface.

"Let's discuss!" she had scribbled. She had found the passenger list with the names of all the Ungerlands,

which I had hidden and locked up aim papers; I could only imagine how it wound up in Tess's hands.

The front door swung open with a screech and banged shut, and for a dark moment the thought

danced through my mind that they had come for Edward. I dashed to the front door just as Tess inched

her way into the dining room, arms laden with groceries. I took a few bags to lighten her load, and we

carried them into the kitchen and danced around each other in a pas de deux, putting food away. She

did not seem particularly concerned about anything other than the canned peas and carrots.

When we were done, she brushed imaginary dust from her palms. "Did you get my note?"

"About the Ungerlands? Where did you get the list?"

She blew her bangs out of her eyes. "What do you mean, where did I get it? You left it on the

sideboard by the phone. The question is: Where did you get it?"