encountered—of all people—Mr. Haversall, the old man who ate lunch every day with his dog. He was wearing a neon pink shirt. The dog wore an illuminated collar.
“Hey, there!” he called to me, waving broadly. “Are ye lost in this pea soup?”
“Hi, Mr. Haversall,” I said, hoping I didn’t look too teary. “Hi, Dingo.”
“Ah, it’s one of our own,” he said, tipping his cap. “Couldn’t see you at first.”
“Well, I can sure see you.” I gave Dingo a scratch behind his ears.
The old man chuckled. “Ayuh, these here’re my docent clothes.”
“Docent?” I asked.
“A guide,” he said.
“Oh. You’re directing people to the party.”
He laughed so hard his knee twitched. “No, you goose of a girl! Them as wants to go to the party just has to follow their feet.” He raised his eyebrows and spoke in a whisper. “I’m directing them
out
of the Meadow. You know . . .” His rheumy eyes scanned the horizon suspiciously from left to right. “. . . the cowen.”
“Cows?” I asked.
He screeched with laughter. “Off with you, Miss Ainsworth! Cows, indeed!” Dingo jumped up and down, barking joyfully. “Tell Miss Hattie to save us a seat!”
“Okay,” I said doubtfully, although he had alreadydisappeared in the fog. For a while I heard Dingo barking in the distance, but before long that, too, fell into silence.
“Follow your feet,” I muttered. “What’s that supposed to mean? For all I know, I could be walking in a gigantic . . .”
And suddenly there it was. Light and laughter and music, and people everywhere.
“Gracious, girl,” Hattie said, grabbing my arm and hauling me into the kitchen. “We need fifteen salads in the next half hour. Start with the crab.”
I nodded. “Uh, is Peter—”
“Yes, yes. He beat you by five minutes, and I have a piece of my mind to give both of you,” she said, handing me a wooden spoon. “But right now, we all have to get to work.”
Somehow we got all the food made. Hattie gave me a black bistro apron to serve in. I guess Peter got one too. I couldn’t look at him.
There must have been ten dishes, all different, all for specific guests, on the tray that Hattie helped me hoist onto my shoulder. “Go clockwise, starting with the table in front of the band,” she said.
“What band?”
“Just go.” She pushed me through the swinging doors.
When I saw the place, it took all of my self-control not to drop the tray. Hattie’s postage stamp-sized dining room had somehow transformed into a vast reception hall with nearly a hundred tables illuminated by tall candles and occasional fountains glowing with unearthly light. The view from the windows was of the Meadow, where deer grazed beneath a full moon. Beyond it was the fog, rising like a luminous blue-white hedge.
“How did you do it?” I asked when I came back into the kitchen.
“Glamour,” Hattie said, immediately starting to fill the tray with new dishes.
“But the place actually is bigger,” I went on doggedly. “It’s not just an illusion.”
“Everything is an illusion, m’dear,” Hattie said. “Good and bad, right and wrong. Life itself. And death. Illusion, all of it.”
I swallowed.
“Then again, the dining room would have to be bigger, wouldn’t it?” She shrugged as she shook the water out of a bunch of leaf lettuce. “How else would it fit all those people?”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. It was the sort of logic only people like Miss P could follow. “Er . . . right,” I said. I forced myself to think about nothing except which table was getting which dishes. Anything deeper than that would be dangerous, I knew.
Concentrate on the food
.
Just concentrate on the food,
I told myself.
Just then, Peter swooshed through the doors. The band’s version of “Witch Queen of New Orleans” momentarily swelled. Peter and I avoided each other’s eyes as the three of us filled our trays with both hands.
“All the twenty-seven families are
“Hey, there!” he called to me, waving broadly. “Are ye lost in this pea soup?”
“Hi, Mr. Haversall,” I said, hoping I didn’t look too teary. “Hi, Dingo.”
“Ah, it’s one of our own,” he said, tipping his cap. “Couldn’t see you at first.”
“Well, I can sure see you.” I gave Dingo a scratch behind his ears.
The old man chuckled. “Ayuh, these here’re my docent clothes.”
“Docent?” I asked.
“A guide,” he said.
“Oh. You’re directing people to the party.”
He laughed so hard his knee twitched. “No, you goose of a girl! Them as wants to go to the party just has to follow their feet.” He raised his eyebrows and spoke in a whisper. “I’m directing them
out
of the Meadow. You know . . .” His rheumy eyes scanned the horizon suspiciously from left to right. “. . . the cowen.”
“Cows?” I asked.
He screeched with laughter. “Off with you, Miss Ainsworth! Cows, indeed!” Dingo jumped up and down, barking joyfully. “Tell Miss Hattie to save us a seat!”
“Okay,” I said doubtfully, although he had alreadydisappeared in the fog. For a while I heard Dingo barking in the distance, but before long that, too, fell into silence.
“Follow your feet,” I muttered. “What’s that supposed to mean? For all I know, I could be walking in a gigantic . . .”
And suddenly there it was. Light and laughter and music, and people everywhere.
“Gracious, girl,” Hattie said, grabbing my arm and hauling me into the kitchen. “We need fifteen salads in the next half hour. Start with the crab.”
I nodded. “Uh, is Peter—”
“Yes, yes. He beat you by five minutes, and I have a piece of my mind to give both of you,” she said, handing me a wooden spoon. “But right now, we all have to get to work.”
Somehow we got all the food made. Hattie gave me a black bistro apron to serve in. I guess Peter got one too. I couldn’t look at him.
There must have been ten dishes, all different, all for specific guests, on the tray that Hattie helped me hoist onto my shoulder. “Go clockwise, starting with the table in front of the band,” she said.
“What band?”
“Just go.” She pushed me through the swinging doors.
When I saw the place, it took all of my self-control not to drop the tray. Hattie’s postage stamp-sized dining room had somehow transformed into a vast reception hall with nearly a hundred tables illuminated by tall candles and occasional fountains glowing with unearthly light. The view from the windows was of the Meadow, where deer grazed beneath a full moon. Beyond it was the fog, rising like a luminous blue-white hedge.
“How did you do it?” I asked when I came back into the kitchen.
“Glamour,” Hattie said, immediately starting to fill the tray with new dishes.
“But the place actually is bigger,” I went on doggedly. “It’s not just an illusion.”
“Everything is an illusion, m’dear,” Hattie said. “Good and bad, right and wrong. Life itself. And death. Illusion, all of it.”
I swallowed.
“Then again, the dining room would have to be bigger, wouldn’t it?” She shrugged as she shook the water out of a bunch of leaf lettuce. “How else would it fit all those people?”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. It was the sort of logic only people like Miss P could follow. “Er . . . right,” I said. I forced myself to think about nothing except which table was getting which dishes. Anything deeper than that would be dangerous, I knew.
Concentrate on the food
.
Just concentrate on the food,
I told myself.
Just then, Peter swooshed through the doors. The band’s version of “Witch Queen of New Orleans” momentarily swelled. Peter and I avoided each other’s eyes as the three of us filled our trays with both hands.
“All the twenty-seven families are
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