Free The House of Dies Drear by Virginia Hamilton Page B

She then poured a half cup for herself and sat down between them.
    The smell of coffee filled the room. It flooded Thomas’ mind with kitchen and coffee memories of long ago.
    Mr. Small raised his cup. “Happy birthday, Thomas,” he said quietly.
    “Yes,” Mrs. Small said, “happy birthday!”
    So it was that Thomas had his first full cup of bittersweet, black, black coffee. He felt so good sitting there in the new kitchen, in the new house, with his mother and father. He felt as though he were at the center of whatever would happen next. Talk would happen next. He could tell that by his mother’s excited face and his father’s solemn one. They would talk things out the way they always had. Late at night, he’d often heard them in the kitchen talking things out, with that pure, hot smell of coffee filtering up to his room.
    “Mama,” Thomas said after awhile. He had taken a few sips of coffee. “… do you think now you are here and have seen everything that you’ll ever want to go back home?”
    Mrs. Small sat very still. Thomas thought she looked tired. He knew he was tired—all of them were. But he had to know right now how she felt about staying in the new house. And he knew none of them wanted to think about Mr. Pluto just yet.
    “No, Thomas,” said Mrs. Small, “I don’t think so. Your father and I have moved around quite a bit, it’s true. We travelled this whole country in a camper we made ourselves.”
    “Looking … looking,” Mr. Small said quietly.
    “We finally settled in North Carolina,” said Mrs. Small, “and we stayed there a good long while. But it was never right for us. No. No, never go back.”
    “And you won’t be afraid of Mr. Pluto?” Thomas couldn’t help asking.
    “Thomas!” Mr. Small spoke sharply. “Nobody talking about ghosts and chanting verse is going to scare us out of this house. Nobody is going to take it away from us.”
    “Do you think he will try?” Thomas said.
    His father was silent. He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, but said nothing.
    “Well,” said Mrs. Small, as though to answer Thomas and clear their thinking at the same time. She looked searchingly at Mr. Small.
    “Mr. Pluto is the strangest man, isn’t he? I mean, you never ever told me he was such a huge man and such an odd-acting man.”
    “Well, he didn’t seem …” began Mr. Small, “I mean to say, he wasn’t at all …”
    For the second time this night, Thomas watched his father become rigid, his face controlled by an instant spasm. Mr. Small rose swiftly from the table.
    “We won’t talk anymore about Pluto tonight,” he said.
    “But, Papa,” Thomas protested, “we just got going on him.”
    “Tomorrow is Sunday, Thomas,” Mr. Small said sternly.
    Mrs. Small sucked in her breath. “Sunday,” she said. “My goodness, how in the world did I forget! I don’t have our clothes unpacked!” She looked worried. “I can’t remember where I put my hatboxes!”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” said Mr. Small. “There will be plenty of time for your hat-box search in the morning if we all get to bed now. Thomas, you go ahead. Your room is at the end of the hall, on the right side as you go down the hall. Get your pajamas out of the suitcase, and your towel, too. Don’t forget your toothbrush.”
    “It’s going to be Sunday all right,” Thomas said. “We’ll probably meet just everybody!”
    “I don’t doubt that,” said Mr. Small.
    “I did want to see the house tonight though,” Thomas said. He looked around at the lopsided kitchen. “I can tell straight off this room is smaller than it should be.”
    “That’s because you’ve had time to see the house from the outside,” Mr. Small said.
    “Let me see if I can figure it out,” said Thomas.
    “I want you to go to bed. Here,” his father said, “I’ll show you myself to save time.”
    On either side of the kitchen door there were sliding panels, which vanished into the wall at Mr. Small’s touch. Within were