The Unadoptables Page 14

  Screeeeeeech!

  Speelman shrieked in surprise, covering her head, and Milou used the distraction to whisper to Egg.

  “Write a letter from Gassbeek saying she gave us more time to pay,” she hissed. “And sign it with her signature. Can you remember it?”

  Egg’s eyes grew round and frightened, but he took the paper and turned his back to the rest of the room to do as Milou had asked. Milou took the puppet’s strings again and lifted Puppet Papa’s left arm, just as Egg shoved the paper onto Puppet Papa’s lap.

  “Lotta,” Milou rasped. “Be a dear and pass Mevrouw Speelman this letter, would you?”

  Speelman stood. “I can—”

  “No, no,” Lotta said, pushing Speelman’s shoulders down to make her sit again. The agent landed on the seat with an “oof.” “Honestly, you do not want this sickness. Poor Papa, it’s not been pleasant for him.”

  Lotta hurried over, squeezed carefully past the curtain, and took the note from Puppet Papa’s lap.

  “Matron Gassbeek assured me that it was fine to settle the outstanding balance, once I was convinced these orphans would actually be suitable adoptees,” Milou croaked. “Matron Gassbeek said she was happy to wait for the money—”

  “As I said, Elinora Gassbeek is . . . uh . . . no longer in charge.” Speelman said, eyeing Mozart warily. “It is not at all usual to make such an arrangement with adoptions.”

  “Yes, well, these children are anything but usual,” Milou said hoarsely. “Matron Gassbeek was adamant that they were unadoptable. She said I would be doing the orphanage a favor by taking them off her hands. And I have to say, they are very useful around the mill, despite their peculiarities.”

  “I suppose they are a little peculiar,” Rose Speelman said, glancing at each one in turn.

  Lotta met her with a cold stare, Sem smiled unconvincingly, Fenna and Egg dipped their chins, and Milou wanted to roar in the woman’s face but bit the inside of her cheek instead. Speelman drummed her fingers on Egg’s letter. There was a long pause. She stared at Puppet Papa for so long that Milou was certain she’d realized something was amiss.

  “Oh, I suppose I can just add this to the file for now,” Speelman said at last, tucking the letter into the record book. “I should have my audit finished in a week or so, and as long as the fees are settled then—assuming you want to keep these peculiar children—then I see no harm in honoring Matron Gassbeek’s offer.”

  “That is most kind,” Milou croaked.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Meneer Poppenmaker. I shall return in ten days for the fees.”

  “Ten days it is,” Milou rasped. “Have a pleasant journey back to Amsterdam.”

  Speelman was only one step from the doorway when she turned, her brow furrowed. “Where is the fifth orphan?”

  Lotta flinched.

  “Milou is fetching medicine for me,” Milou said gruffly.

  “I see,” Speelman said. “I’m sure you’re taking as good care of her as she is of you. Anyway, I must be off. I have a long ride back with this beast.”

  She heaved the record book onto her shoulder and slipped out into the night.

  TWENTY-ONE

  THE FRONT DOOR CLOSED behind the Kinderbureau agent with a wind-slapped thunk. Milou dropped Puppet Papa’s strings and let out a long breath. She joined the others at the window above the table, and they watched as Speelman stuffed the record book into the front basket of her bicycle, then pedaled off through the gates, over the bridge, and off down the darkened road.

  Edda Finkelstein was still sitting by the flower garden, pulling weeds from the low wall as she watched the Poppenmill. The polder warden dipped her peaked cap as Speelman cycled past, and, even from this distance, Milou could see the Eyebrow of Curiosity raised high and indomitable.

  Milou growled. “That woman just can’t let us be, can she?”

  Lotta let the curtain fall closed again. “If Edda were on to us, Speelman would have had more suspicion about Puppet Papa. No, Milou, this is our fault. We were careless in forgetting about the fees.”

  “Fifty guilders,” Sem said, his voice small and hollow.

  Mozart let out a sharp screeeeech.

  “You could probably buy a small house for that,” said Lotta.

  “Or some tickets to Asia,” said Egg.

  “Or five peculiar orphans,” Milou added.

  No one spoke for several long minutes. Outside, the wind was picking up, howling and wailing, much like the despairing thoughts in Milou’s head.

  “We’re going to have to buy our freedom then,” she said finally. “We have ten days to work it out. We’ll raise the money, pay her, and be rid of the Kinderbureau once and for all.”

  The others all looked at her as if she’d said something utterly stupid.

  Milou’s ears tingled softly. “I realize it’s an improbable feat, but—”

  “No,” Lotta said, and Milou could almost see the cogs of her mind scrambling for a solution. But then she shook her head. “It really is impossible this time.”

  “But—”

  “We should get some sleep,” Sem said. “We should make the most of these warm beds in the few days we have left. We can talk about where to go next in the morning.”

  Milou looked at each of them in turn, unbelieving that they could give up so easily. “You want to leave?”

  Egg shook his head. “We have to leave.”

  One by one, they turned away and headed to bed, except for Sem and Milou.

  They sat at the kitchen table, feet meeting in the middle, and stared out the window, watching the frost glisten.

  Neither spoke.

  Weariness gripped every inch of Milou.

  She couldn’t let all this be taken from her. She wouldn’t. She just had to be as brave and as clever as her parents and sister undoubtedly were, wherever they were.

  There had to be a way for the five of them to stay.

  The others were soon asleep, thin plumes of breath mist rising out of the blankets.

  “That theater . . . it’s the kind of thing you’ve always dreamed of, isn’t it?” Sem said eventually.

  “Almost,” Milou replied.

  She didn’t need to mention that it was missing one vital thing: her family. Sem would know how she felt. He always seemed to know how she felt. They sat there silently for several long minutes, watching the dust motes swirl and the frost glisten.

  “Do you want to know what my dream was?” Sem said quietly.

  Milou’s head snapped toward him.

  “Cirque du Lumière,” he said, smiling wistfully.

  Milou frowned. Three years ago, a Parisian circus troupe had come to Amsterdam. The five of them had risked Gassbeek’s cane by gathering on the street outside to watch the troupe parade down the street on their way to the park. They had each been given a poster for the show by a clown. The very same poster that was now one of her most treasured possessions: a keepsake of a moment of joy in an ocean of gloom. She still remembered the looks on all their faces that day. It was the first time she had ever seen Fenna really smile.

  “You want to be a clown?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Of course not. Though I’d probably make a good one.”

  “Well? What then?”

  “A few days after the parade, when I was cleaning the gutters out in the front, a few of the acrobats were walking past. They had long cloaks over their outfits, but I recognized them right away. One of them, a woman with skin darker than Egg’s, got the hem of her cloak torn by a passing tram. I ran over immediately and offered to stitch it up for her. We talked about the circus, and she said their costumes were always getting ripped; that there didn’t seem to be enough thread in the world to keep up with their costume-repair needs.”

  Sem’s voice trailed away. Milou waited quietly for him to conti
nue, wondering why he had never told her any of this before. When he started speaking again, his expression had darkened.

  “When I told her about some ideas I had for their costumes, she offered to take me on as an apprentice costume designer,” he said quietly. “She wanted to go into the orphanage that very moment and arrange it with Gassbeek. The circus was due to leave for Denmark the following day.”

  Milou tried to swallow, but found her mouth was completely dry. “What happened?”

  Sem gave a tight-lipped smile but refused to meet her gaze. “I told her I couldn’t go, of course.”

  “Sem! Why on earth did you tell her that?”

  Milou realized she already knew why he hadn’t gone.

  “I couldn’t leave you four. I wanted to wait until each of you had a family before I left. And, well, I guess some things just aren’t meant to be.” He gave her a rueful smile. “You weren’t the only one trying not to get adopted, you know. Although, to be honest, I didn’t have to try very hard. These ears did most of the work for me.”

  All Milou could do was stare at him. Sem had given up his dream for them?

  “I’m telling you this because you need to decide what’s most important to you,” Sem said. “We followed you here because it was our only chance at getting out of that place. Now we all risk getting sent back in ten days. Perhaps your family will come back for you one day, but the rest of us don’t have that hope to cling on to. The freedom we have now is the only thing we’ve ever had that belongs to us.”

  “My family—”

  “Your family abandoned you, Milou.” Sem squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. When he opened them again, he looked nothing short of weary. “I’m not sure I’ll ever understand why you are so fixated on finding those people. I couldn’t care less if my birth family left me because they couldn’t stand the sight of me or because they had other reasons. The fact is they left me, in a bucket no less, to live in the most miserable orphanage imaginable. The last thing I’ll ever do is set foot in that place again.”

  “I won’t let Speelman take you back there,” Milou said.

  “Then you agree that we will probably have to leave this place?”

  Milou looked from Sem to the flickering flames in the middle of the room, at the five pairs of boots Fenna had hung neatly along the wall beside the front door.

  This was her home.

  It was their home.

  Then she looked back at Sem, the boy who had given up his dream to stay with them and make sure they were looked after.

  “I promise I will do whatever I must to keep all five of us safe,” Milou said, wiping at a warm tear. “Even if that means leaving.”

  MILOU’S BOOK OF THEORIES

  THEORY REANALYSIS

  Werewolf Hunter Theory

  New clues: claw marks in the theater and in Edda’s workroom. A story, written by my sister, which includes a werewolf boy.

  Theory viability: still possible.

  Spy Theory

  New clues: no sign of my mother, unexplained desertion of the windmill, no photographs or personal documents; my family was reclusive and clearly very secretive.

  Theory viability: still possible.

  Baby-Phobia Theory

  New clues: no sign of a baby or any baby stuff.

  Theory viability: still possible.

  Unthinkable Theory

  Clues: no dead bodies, no ghosts, no bloodstains.

  Theory viability: There is still no point thinking about this one until the others are disproven or further evidence comes to light.

  TWENTY-TWO

  MILOU WOKE SHIVERING. SHE was still lying on the kitchen table, cheek against the window frame, with a blanket that Sem must have wrapped around her now tangled around her ankles. She pulled it up to her shoulders and peeked out the curtain.

  Despite the frosty morning, the fields, canals, and main road were still bustling with activity. Her gaze settled on one particularly tall, long-legged figure that was weaving around the bonnet-clad farmwives, nodding to passing cyclists, and looking all too officious.

  Edda Finkelstein.

  There was a shuffling noise from the room next door, then Egg appeared, his raven hair sticking up at all angles and his dark eyes squinting at the morning light.

  “We should be packed and ready to run at a moment’s notice,” he said, rolling his polder map carefully and tucking it into his coal bucket.

  “You’re right,” Milou said glumly, turning her attention back to the polder warden, who seemed to be keeping within eyeshot of Poppenmill at all times.

  Egg continued to scour the kitchen for items to pack. “I’ve been thinking, perhaps we could head south, to France or Spain. At least it’ll be warmer down there.”

  “Hmm-mmm.”

  Edda had paused to talk to the same group of women who had stood at the gates of Poppenmill just a couple of days previously. They huddled together. Sly glances were cast to the mill, eyebrows were raised, and Milou groaned and let the curtain fall closed.

  “You’re having second thoughts about leaving, aren’t you?” Egg asked flatly.

  “Surely you understand why I can’t just leave here with nothing, Egg,” she whispered. “You’ve always wanted answers just as much as I have. You want to find your family too, don’t you?”

  Egg sighed. “For me, it’s never been about finding out who my parents are. It’s about finding out who I am; it’s hard to know for certain when I’ve never even met anyone else who looks like me.”

  “I know who you are. You’re Egbert Poppenmaker, a boy destined to be the greatest cartographer the world has ever known. What does it matter if you look a little different from the people around you?”

  “It matters a great deal,” Egg said. “Because knowing where in the world I come from is just the first of the many answers I need.”

  Milou swallowed, then nodded in understanding.

  “Perhaps we could head east to Bavaria,” Egg said, changing the subject. “They have huge, ancient forests there we could hide in.”

  “I don’t suppose it matters much where we go,” Milou said glumly.

  If they really were going to have to leave, it would mean she’d come all this way for nothing.

  * * *

  As they ate more potato stew for breakfast, the others discussed where they could go, how they might find food and shelter, and when they should leave. Milou nodded and hmm-mmmed along to the discussion, but her ears were tingling and rushing, her mind whirling with despair, and she didn’t really hear them. After clearing the dishes, she slipped quietly away to the upper floors.

  If they had to leave the windmill, then Milou was determined to find something, anything, that might help her eventually locate her family.

  Milou spent the afternoon scouring the windmill from top to bottom, then from bottom to top and back down again, certain that her mother or father or sister must have left a clue hidden for her somewhere; anything that would tell her where the three of them had disappeared to. But all she had to show for her efforts several hours later was hair full of cobwebs, three fingers full of splinters, and a heart full of growing doubt.

  Perhaps they didn’t want to be found.

  Perhaps Gassbeek had been right all along.

  Perhaps her parents really hadn’t wanted her.

  By the time night fell once more, and despite the roaring hearth and warm blankets, Milou was shivering with unease, her ears prickling incessantly.

  As the others got themselves ready for bed, Milou curled up once more on the kitchen table, peering carefully out the window as the polder warden continued her reign of scrutiny outside, if not on the road talking to their neighbors, then in her garden or tending to her pigs and chickens, but always within eyeshot and always looking as curious as ever.

 
“Here,” Egg said, suddenly on the table beside her. He put the Carnival of Nightmares notebook in Milou’s hands. “We should travel light, but I don’t see why you couldn’t take this.”

  Milou’s ears tingled as she ran a hand over the etched drawing of the Night Tree. “Thank you.”

  He peeked through the other end of the curtain.

  “Once we leave, you’ll never have to worry about her again,” Egg said, looking very worried. “Though she . . . she still has my shawl. I can’t leave without it.”

  “If she doesn’t return it tomorrow, I’ll get it back for you,” Milou promised. “Even if I have to knock her door down to get it.”

  Egg smiled. “That won’t draw attention to us in the slightest.”

  They watched silently as Edda handed a basket of eggs to Arno, then waved goodbye. She crossed the little bridge over the canal, her eyes never leaving the mill. Then, halfway down her stone path, she stopped, turned, and walked up to the oak tree.

  Milou pressed her face a little closer to the glass.

  The polder warden stood in front of the tree, placing one hand against the trunk. Her shoulders seemed to sag slightly. Then, just as abruptly, she dropped her hand, stood up tall, and walked all the way to her house without a single glance back at the mill. Milou was still frowning in confusion long after Edda’s front door had closed behind her.

  “Hmm,” Egg said.

  “What?”

  “I hadn’t noticed before, but this tree”—he tapped Liesel’s book, lying beside her—“looks an awful lot like that tree.” Then he tapped the window.

  Prickles spread from her ears down her back.

  Egg was right.

  The oak tree was the Night Tree.

  * * *

  Milou waited until all the lights in Edda’s house were out before slipping out the front door and hurrying toward the tree. She didn’t light the lantern she’d brought with her until she was safely hidden beneath the oak’s skeletal canopy.

  The tingling on her ears intensified the closer she got, spreading to the back of her neck as she reached out, just like Edda had, and touched it. Goose bumps erupted all up her arms.