The Keeper of Lost Things(44)
Marvin was the umbrella man. He would take all the broken umbrellas that were thrown in the trash at the New York Subway Lost Property Department and fix them up back in the dark and dingy room that was his only home.
It wasn’t raining yet, but it was forecast. Marvin loved the rain. It washed the world clean and made everything shine; made the grass smell like heaven. Gun-smoke clouds rolled in across the blue sky above. It wouldn’t be long. Marvin was a giant of a man. He strode along Fifth Avenue, his heavy boots thudding on the sidewalk and his long, gray coat billowing behind him like a cloak. His wild, black dreadlocks were frosted with gray and his eyes were never still; flashing whites like a frightened mustang.
“Free umbrellas!”
Central Park was his favorite place to work. He took the entrance on Seventy-Second Street and headed for Conservatory Water. He liked to watch the pond yachts gliding across the water like swans. The boating season had only just begun, and despite the threat of rain, a sizable fleet had already set sail. Marvin’s regular pitch was by the Alice in Wonderland sculpture. The children who played there didn’t seem to mind him like some of the grown-ups did. Maybe they thought he looked like something out of a story too. There were no children today. Marvin set his bag of umbrellas down by the smallest mushroom on the sculpture, just as the first spots of rain began to polka-dot its smooth, bronze cap.
“Free umbrellas!”
His deep voice boomed like thunder through the rain. People scurried past but looked away when he offered them one of his gifts. He could never figure it out. He was just trying to be a good person. The umbrellas were free. Why did most people scaredy-cat away from him like he was the devil? Still, he stood his ground.
“Free umbrellas!”
A young guy on a skateboard skidded to a halt in front of him. Sopping wet in just a T-shirt, jeans, and baseball boots, he was still grinning like the Cheshire cat peeping over Alice’s shoulder. He took the umbrella that Marvin was offering and high-fived his gratitude.
“Thanks, dude!”
He sped away, his board splashing through the puddles, holding a huge pink umbrella aloft. The rain slowed to a drizzle and the people in the park slowed to a stroll. Marvin didn’t see her at first. A little girl in a red raincoat. She was missing one of her front teeth and had freckles across her nose.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Alice, like the statue.” She pointed to her namesake. Marvin hunkered down so he could see her better and offered her his hand.
“I’m Marvin. Pleased to meet you.”
She was British. Marvin recognized the accent from TV. He always thought that Britain would be a good place for him, with his crooked teeth and fondness for rain.
“There you are, Alice! What have I told you about talking to strangers?”
The woman who had joined them was looking at him as though he might bite.
“He’s not a stranger. He’s Marvin.”
Marvin smiled his best smile and offered the woman the best from his bag.
“Free umbrellas.”
The woman ignored him. She snatched Alice’s hand and tried to drag her away. Trash. That’s how she was treating him; like he was trash. Marvin’s face grew hot. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and his ears began to ring. He was not trash.
“Take it!” he roared, thrusting the umbrella at her.
“Don’t touch me, you moron,” she hissed as she turned on her heel, towing a tearful Alice with her. As soon as her mother’s grip slackened, Alice pulled free and ran back toward the sculpture.
“Marvin!” she yelled, desperately wanting to make things right. Their eyes met, and before her mother could retrieve her, Alice blew him a kiss. And he caught it. Before he went home he left a white umbrella with red hearts leaning against the White Rabbit. Just in case she came back.
Laura yawned and stretched back into her chair. She checked her watch. Three hours in front of the screen was more than enough for today. She needed some air.
“Come on, Carrot,” she said. “Time for a walk.”
Outside, the sky was marbled gray.
“Looks like rain,” she said to the reluctant Carrot. “I think we might need an umbrella.”
CHAPTER 29
The dining room looked like something out of a fairy tale. The table was laid with a snow-white linen tablecloth and napkins. Silver cutlery framed each place setting and cut-crystal glasses winked and sparkled under the light from the chandelier. It was her first Christmas as mistress of Padua and Laura wanted to do the house justice. If she did, perhaps it would banish the unwelcome thoughts that crept into her head like black ants through a crack in the wall of a pantry. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that the previous mistress still hadn’t quite gone. She pulled the silver and white crackers from their cardboard box and set one on top of each precisely folded napkin.
That morning, even in the dark, she knew that something in the bedroom had changed. It was the same feeling which, as a child on Christmas morning, had told her that the stocking at the foot of her bed, empty when she had fallen asleep, was now full. She could sense, somehow, the alteration. As she padded over to the window in bare feet, she trod on things which were not the carpet; soft, hard, sharp, smooth. Daylight confirmed that the drawers of the dressing table had been pulled out and their contents strewn across the floor.