Free The Humming Room by Ellen Potter Page A

has enough to do,” Ms. Valentine replied. “And you’re the type who needs someone to keep a sharp eye on you.”
    Roo shot Mrs. Wixton a look of cold resentment. Mrs. Wixton didn’t seem to mind. She smiled brightly at Roo. Her lipstick was pale pink—the sort of lipstick that a young girl would wear—but her blue eyes were steady and shrewd.
    â€œOh, I predict that Roo and I will be best buddies before the week is out,” Mrs. Wixton said confidently. She held Roo’s angry gaze, undisturbed by Ms. Valentine’s impatient shuffling, until Roo finally turned away and looked back out at the river.
    Â 
    Having Mrs. Wixton around was very hard on Roo. No one had ever kept a sharp eye on her before. Mrs. Wixton never left her side. There were hours of lessons every day. Mrs. Wixton had once, many years before, been a middle-school teacher and in her suitcase were stacks of moldy schoolbooks that made Roo sneeze when the pages were turned. At first Roo simply refused to do the lessons, but the old lady was used to dealing with rebellious children. She patiently explained that if Roo continued to disobey her, she’d have to inform Ms. Valentine. “And that would be a pity, since I believe I’m what you would call your ‘last hurrah.’ If I don’t work out, they may not be able to keep you. Ms. Valentine tells me there is a family back where you came from that will take you in…”
    The threat of being sent back to the Burrows was enough. Roo did Mrs. Wixton’s lessons, first furiously, then sullenly. The lessons weren’t hard, only long and very dull. At first Roo sped through them quickly, in the hopes of being set free for the rest of the day. But Mrs. Wixton had been told to keep a sharp eye on Roo, and she did her job diligently. Even when Roo was given a break from work and allowed to go outside, Mrs. Wixton accompanied her, always hovering, following along behind her as Roo ran across the rocks. It was unbearable. Roo could not hide in her little cave and watch for the Faigne or listen to the earth. Even the black squirrel would not come out again to see her with Mrs. Wixton there.
    The nights were no better. The little room next to Roo’s had been hastily furnished and Mrs. Wixton was moved in. There was a narrow bed, a tiny dresser, and that was all. But Mrs. Wixton scrubbed the room and made it tidy and it seemed as if she would be perfectly content to stay there forever.
    The first night of Mrs. Wixton’s stay, Roo waited until she was sure the old lady was asleep. Then she tiptoed out of her room and started down the hall to listen for the humming. But as she passed Mrs. Wixton’s room, Mrs. Wixton called out, “Roo, dear, where are you going?”
    And then came the rustle of the old lady easing herself out of bed.
    As it turned out, Mrs. Wixton slept as lightly as a cat.
    Eventually Roo found a way to break up the monotony of the lessons during the day. She discovered that Mrs. Wixton was fascinated with the Fanshaw family. Every now and then she would interrupt her lesson to casually ask Roo a question about them. “Is this the only house they own?” “Why does your uncle stay all winter?”
    At first Roo only shrugged glumly. But soon she realized that Mrs. Wixton would rather hear about the Fanshaws than teach Roo a lesson about geometry. So Roo began to make things up.
    She told Mrs. Wixton that her uncle had a fear of birds, and in the spring he would have Ms. Valentine climb all the trees on the property and smash any birds’ eggs with a tiny silver hammer, and that one of her cousins had been born without eyebrows, and many other ridiculous things. Mrs. Wixton listened to it all without question. It seemed that there was nothing she wouldn’t believe about the Fanshaws, and she never tired of hearing about them.
    Sometimes Roo was certain that Mrs. Wixton tailored her lessons to bring up the