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  “It’s a bird,” Maureen told Mark.

  He turned around, then stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat.

  “Actually, Ruthie’s a parrot. Franklin and I brought her back from the West Indies. My husband and I used to travel around the world together. He’s the one who taught her to talk.”

  Ruthie waddled over to her owner.

  “Why isn’t she in a cage?” Mark asked.

  “No need for that. She gets the run of the house since it’s only me and Bertha living here.”

  “She’s very good,” Maureen said. “Well, we’d best be leaving.” The instant kinship she’d felt toward Mrs. Hoag had changed. Seeing her laugh like that made the rumors seem a little more like the truth. Maybe Mrs. Hoag did have a crazy streak.

  “Were you expecting a reward for bringing my handbag to me?”

  “No,” Maureen answered at the same time that Mark said, “Yes.”

  “You’re an honest boy,” Mrs. Hoag said. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll be thinking about it. Come back Monday afternoon around three o’clock, and we’ll decide what to do about a reward.”

  CHAPTER 2

  So Many Changes

  Do you think she’ll give us money?” Mark asked as they walked to Maureen’s house.

  “I don’t know. Now that we’ve met her, do you think she’s crazy?”

  “No. Odd, maybe, but not crazy. Someone who was crazy wouldn’t think about giving us a reward.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that would be normal thinking, and crazy people don’t think normal. Wonder what the reward will be.”

  They turned up the long drive that led to the Stevensons’ new house.

  “Don’t you think her laugh sounded like a maniac’s?” Maureen asked.

  “No. That parrot was funny,” Mark said.

  It struck Maureen that she and Mark had switched positions on Mrs. Hoag’s sanity now that they had met her. Most of the time they were in agreement on things. Because of that, and because at ten, almost eleven, she was just a year older than Mark and he was the closest to her age of all her new cousins, he had become her best friend. On Saturdays they played together like this, except most days had been less adventurous than this one.

  “Uncle Theodore’s home,” Mark said and pointed to the automobile that was parked near the detached covered carriage house that had been specially built for it.

  That horseless carriage was another new change for Maureen. She’d become accustomed to riding in it now, but only a few months ago she’d never ridden in a contraption like that. It was noisy, but it gave her a grand feeling of elegance.

  The house also gave her a regal feeling. It wasn’t a huge mansion like Mrs. Hoag’s, but it was very large, especially for three people. Actually, there were four now, if she counted the new cook who’d been hired to take her mother’s job. Greta lived in Maureen’s old room, with the same furniture that Maureen and her mama had used, the same window, and the same door; but now all was different. The blackness of grief settled over Maureen, and she rubbed her forehead with her hand, as if the physical motion could wipe away the pain.

  “Better to concentrate on the moment,” Nadine Stevenson had told her. “Get through day by day, and each day will get easier.” Some days worked like that and moved life forward, and some days worked the opposite way and made Maureen look back too long. Had it been meeting Mrs. Hoag, another Irish woman, that had her thinking of her mama?

  The moment. Concentrate on the moment. She turned her attention back to what Mark was saying.

  “Do you think Uncle Theodore will let me drive? Father lets me drive the wagon when we get one from the livery.” Mark walked around the automobile, admiring the shiny metal.

  “I think handling horses and handling an engine are not the same thing,” Maureen said. “But I guess it’s up to you to be asking him.”

  She didn’t know Theodore Stevenson all that well, but he had always been kind to her. He left for the bank first thing in the morning. Although they shared breakfast and dinner, many nights he went into his study and his wife sometimes went to temperance meetings, leaving Maureen to entertain herself after she’d done her schoolwork. Other nights they’d all sit together, and one of them would read aloud from magazines. Most nights ended with reading one chapter from the Bible.

  Maureen knew they worked at being good parents, but they had busy lives that didn’t always include a daughter. After the adoption papers had been signed two months ago, the three of them had sat down and discussed their new lives. The Stevensons had assured Maureen that they wouldn’t try to take the place of her mama and they welcomed the responsibilities of being new parents.

  It was agreed that Maureen would call them Mother and Father. That was fine with her. She’d called her real parents Mama and Papa, so it wouldn’t be like she was calling the Stevensons by her parents’ names.

  “I’ll get Uncle Theodore to take us both for a ride,” Mark said, bringing her back to the present. He and his uncle shared a liking for newfangled things, and Maureen would certainly put the automobile in that category.

  They climbed the stairs to the porch and entered the house through the front door, another change that Maureen was getting used to. When they had first moved to the brand-new house eight months ago, she’d entered through the kitchen door in back.

  “Uncle Theodore,” Mark called and ran into the large front parlor.

  “Hey, young fellow, what are you up to?” Maureen’s new father stood tall and straight in front of the fireplace. His slender arm rested on the mantel, and he held a cup of coffee in his other hand. “Maureen, how are you this morning?”

  “I’m fine, Father,” Maureen answered. She wished she could talk to him in the same easy way that Mark did.

  “Will you take us for a ride, Uncle Theodore?” Mark asked. “How is she running? How fast have you got her to go?”

  “Too fast,” Maureen’s new mother said as she entered the room. “Mark, you’re talking about that automobile as if it were a person. Next thing I know, you’ll have named it. Maureen, have you had a pleasant morning?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Let’s name her,” Mark said. “We could call her something crazy. Like Racing Betty.” He glanced at Maureen as if he was sharing a secret. “Or Mrs. Hoag.”

  “Mrs. Hoag. Our neighbor?” Mother asked.

  “Yes. Mark and I were down by that little creek, and we found Mrs. Hoag’s handbag and took it to her. She said she knows you.”

  “Yes. We’ve met at some community functions, but I don’t really know her well. Her husband died a couple years ago, and she’s not come out of mourning yet. She rarely leaves her home.”

  “We know. Maureen told her she should get out more,” Mark said.

  “Our quiet Maureen?” Mother raised her eyebrows as if surprised that Maureen had said that. Maureen was surprised she’d said it, too, and she wouldn’t have if Mark hadn’t nearly told Mrs. Hoag what people said about her.

  “Mark called her ‘Crazy Old Lady Hoag.’ Do you think that’s true?” Maureen asked.

  “I’ll let you two talk about that,” Father said. “Mark, let’s go tinker with the engine a little. It ran a bit rough this morning. We’ll call you, Maureen, when we’re ready to take her out.” Father took big strides to catch up with Mark, who was running toward the door with a big grin on his face.

  “Maureen,” Mother said when they were the only ones left in the room, “tell me about your visit to Mrs. Hoag.”

  “She laughed about her parrot scaring us.”

  “She laughed? From what I’ve heard, she’s not done that in a long while, although she used to be quite a cheerful woman. When her husband was alive, they traveled a great deal. They went around the world a couple times. She spoke once at my women’s club meeting about her visit to China.” Mother’s dark eyes sparkled with curiosity. “I’ve never been in that mansion. What’s it like?”

  “Big. I don�
��t know much else. I looked at her the whole time we were there.” Maureen explained about the possibility of a reward on Monday. “Is it all right if I go back there? You don’t think she’s mad, do you, like people say?”

  “I think she’s still grieving for her husband like you are for your mama. That doesn’t make her mad, does it?”

  “No.” That was something Maureen could understand. “Mark’s been guessing what the reward will be.”

  As if he knew she’d mentioned him, Mark burst into the room.

  “We’re ready. Are you coming, Aunt Nadine?”

  “No, I’ve got some temperance committee work to do before our next meeting.”

  Maureen scurried out behind Mark. He climbed in the front seat beside Father, which left the backseat for her.

  They took off with a roar down the asphalt street at a sedate five miles an hour; but even at that speed, the wind chilled Maureen, and she pulled her coat tighter.

  “Won’t she go faster than this?” Mark asked.

  Father laughed. “Yes. I’ve had her up to fifteen, but not today.”

  They rode along past Mrs. Hoag’s mansion. Once the smooth asphalt surface changed to brick, Maureen held on to the seat as the car jostled and the sound of the wheels changed to click, clack, click, click, clack.

  “Would you teach me to drive?” Mark asked. “My father lets me drive the wagon.”

  “There’s a difference between handling horses and driving an automobile.”

  “That’s what Maureen said, too.”

  Father turned his head and glanced back at Maureen. “Is that so? Well, we’re in agreement. You have to know what makes a car run before you get behind the driving wheel. But I’ll be glad to teach you. We’ll take it a little each time.” He explained the starting crank and brake and gas pedals and showed Mark how turning the driving wheel steered the wheels.

  They drove downtown, along the Mississippi River, and then he turned the car back toward home.

  “I suspect it’ll be a long time before all the streets are paved smooth, but it sure would be nice,” Father said.

  Maureen agreed. She had been jarred a powerful lot in the backseat.

  They were on the brick streets when the front left tire went flat. Father dug the toolbox out of the boot, and Maureen watched as he taught Mark how to patch the tube. Within half an hour they were back on the road.

  “You have to be prepared for things like that,” Father said.

  “Like when a horse throws a shoe,” Mark said.

  They detoured by Mark’s house and dropped him off, and Maureen climbed into the front seat. Near home, as they passed Mrs. Hoag’s house, Father shouted over the roar of the motor, “I don’t think she’s crazy.”

  Maureen nodded.

  Once they were in the driveway, Father shut off the engine but didn’t make a move to get out of the automobile, so Maureen sat still.

  “Mrs. Hoag’s account is at our bank. She has her housekeeper come in and make withdrawals for her whenever she needs money. That may be odd, but Mrs. Hoag knows so many people, and if she were out in public, she’d run into people she knows. She may not have the courage to face them yet. She may be afraid someone will mention her husband and she’ll get emotional. You’d think in two years’ time, the pain would have healed some. But it’s different for everyone.” He cleared his throat and continued. “She might have done better if she’d had someone to talk to about him. I want you to know that you can always talk to me about your mama or papa. I want to be a good father to you.”

  “Thank you,” Maureen said.

  Father opened his door, signaling an end to what Maureen considered an uncomfortable conversation.

  She wanted desperately to love the Stevensons. And she did love them in her own way. She’d known them for seven years, but as the kind employers of her mama, not as her parents.

  That evening, as if they were making a new effort to reach her, the Stevensons sat in the parlor with Maureen. Mother read aloud from Life on the Mississippi by Mark Twain.

  “I wonder if he was ever up this far north on the Mississippi,” Father mused.

  “I’ve read that he’s given a lecture tour in Europe. If he comes to Minneapolis, we should go hear him,” Mother said. “He’s supposed to be quite entertaining.” She read a few chapters, then picked up the Bible and flipped to the place where they’d left off the night before. She read a chapter, and they discussed it before they went upstairs to their bedrooms.

  Maureen climbed into her bed and stared up at the lovely pink canopy above her. She felt like a princess in this bed and in this room. The pink rose wallpaper was elegant. She even had her own bathroom. This was living a high life that she’d never dreamed of, but she would trade it all away and be quite happy downstairs in the servants’ quarters if only her mama were alive.

  She wiped her eyes as a quiet knock sounded on her door a moment before her new mother opened it.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  As was her custom each night, Mother knelt at the side of the bed with Maureen and they said a prayer. It always started out the same, “Dear Lord, thank You for this day. And please let us have cheerful moments tomorrow.”

  Maureen knew that sentence was for her. It fit in with Mother’s day-by-day, concentrate-on-the-moment way of getting through grief. Five years ago, Mother’s father had died; and three years ago, her mother had died. She’d confided in Maureen that she still had days when she cried about them. She understood the pain that sat like a weight on Maureen’s heart, and somehow that helped.

  They finished the prayer, and Mother kissed Maureen on the cheek.

  “Good night, my daughter,” she said.

  “Good night, Mother,” Maureen said.

  The next morning the family went to church together, which had been another change for Maureen. The church she had attended with her mama was steeped in ritual. The burning incense, the lighted candles, and the Latin words that the parishioners recited by heart were what Maureen associated with church. The Stevensons’ church lacked these traditions. Other children her age were in her new Sunday school class, which met before she sat in the hard wooden pew with her new parents for the church service. When a member of the congregation had shouted out “Amen” at the end of the parson’s prayer the first time Maureen had attended the church, she had been horrified.

  “We all worship the same God,” Mother had told her after that service. “We just do it in different ways. The important thing is to love the Lord and accept Him as your Savior.”

  The asking for saving part was a new concept to Maureen; but after it was explained to her, she believed it and was baptized into the Stevensons’ church just a month after she’d been adopted. This Sunday she stood in the hallway that led to the sanctuary, waiting for Mother and Father to come out of their Sunday school class.

  “Good morning, Maureen,” Mark’s mother said as she walked toward her.

  “Good morning, Aunt Annie,” Maureen said. She had liked Mark’s mother from the moment she had met her. She was plump—full-figured, Maureen’s mama had called her—and she loved everyone. It showed in her smile and in her eyes.

  “I understand you and Mark are going to see Mrs. Hoag tomorrow after school. That should be most interesting.”

  “Do you know her?” Maureen asked.

  “I met her once. She’s quite a traveler. A few years ago, she was always in the middle of whatever was happening in Minneapolis. But since her husband died, her personality has changed. She’s the opposite of the woman she used to be.”

  The opposite, Maureen thought. Was that another way of saying she was crazy?

  CHAPTER 3

  Spreading Rumors

  Monday morning Maureen walked to school, dragging her feet. She didn’t fit in with the others. The change hadn’t come when the Stevensons had moved to the brand-new house on Mrs. Hoag’s street, because Maureen had continued to go to the same public school as when
she and her mama had lived with the Stevensons in their old house.

  But as Maureen O’Callaghan, she’d been friends with the group of girls who were daughters of other servants. Now that she was Maureen Stevenson, her former friends treated her as if they thought she was too good for them.

  It had been a gradual change. At first the girls had felt sorry for her because her mama had died. But when Maureen’s wardrobe changed from altered secondhand clothing to new store-bought dresses, their attitudes toward her changed as well.

  She was pushed out of one social group, but the wealthier girls wouldn’t accept her into their circle, either. They teased her about her Irish brogue, which was the same as telling her she didn’t belong.

  Maureen just wanted to fit in. She needed friends, and again she latched on to Mark Bowman, even though he was a year behind her in school. At outdoor playtimes, she talked to him since no one else included her. Several times she noticed odd looks from other boys Mark’s age. She knew she should leave him alone so he could play with them, but she needed someone. And he seemed willing to be with her—especially today.

  “Mother said I could walk home with you so we could go straight to Crazy Old Lady Hoag’s,” he said when the students were outside playing after eating their noon meal. Maureen and Mark stood in the bright sunlight on the side of the school building that blocked the wind. Other children milled close by. One girl stopped and stared at them.

  “You’re going to Crazy Old Lady Hoag’s?” Sarah Noble asked with disbelief in her voice. She was in Maureen’s grade, and she was from one of the wealthier families in Minneapolis.

  “We’re going there after school,” Maureen said. “What do you know about Mrs. Hoag?”

  Some of Sarah’s other friends gathered around them.

  “They say she’s quite mad,” Sarah said. “She never comes out of her house except to feed birds. They call her the bird woman.”

  “She only has one servant in that mansion,” another girl said. “She does everything for Crazy Old Lady Hoag, who sits and stares out the window. She doesn’t talk to anybody.”