In the early years of her life, Darcy and Lala lived with Lala’s mother and her family in the Chicago suburb of Highland Park. Darcy’s maternal grandparents and aunts were glad to take care of her when Lala had a date, which was often; but they were a noisy, easily bored, boisterous bunch. They fought dramatically, throwing pots, weeping hysterically, yelling and stomping and then sitting down together to watch The Drew Carey Show. It was like living in a tornado, only occasionally being able to rest in the eye of the storm.
As a child, Darcy slept in three different homes, and she seldom knew which one until she was dropped off at the front door. Her main home was with Lala and Lala’s mother, Gwen, and overweight, grumbling father, Horace, who would not allow a cat in the house because of his allergies. Second, Darcy stayed with Lala’s brother’s ex-wife, Tracy, who also liked a good time and often went out to the movies or dancing or drinking with Lala while Darcy slept on a cot in the attic. Third, Darcy stayed with Lala’s sister Topaz, who was young and single and the most fun of the unruly family because when she put on her makeup, she often made up Darcy’s face, too. For Darcy to have someone’s attention directed solely to her was a kind of blessing, and Topaz’s light brisk dabs of eye shadow, blush, and lipstick were often the most affection she would receive for weeks. But Topaz worked as a bartender, and when Darcy was sent to her apartment for a few days, she spent most of her time alone. Topaz always gave her a bright purple air mattress to blow up for her bed, and instructed Darcy to put it on the far side of Topaz’s bedroom, so that if Topaz brought a “friend” home, they could use the couch in the living room. Topaz’s theory was that her bed would block any noises she and her friend made in the living room. Topaz was wrong, but Darcy never complained. She was glad to have a place to sleep and cookies and Diet Coke for breakfast.
For the first ten years of her life, Darcy hadn’t known at the end of the school day where she would go—to her grandmother’s house or to Tracy’s or Topaz’s.
Darcy became a quiet and resourceful girl who understood she had no single, steady place to call home. So she created her own home within books. If she had a book with her, she could withdraw into that world like a snail into its shell. When she was with adults, she could be quiet, almost invisible, remembering a book. When she was placed in a new school, she could shield herself from whispers and stares with thoughts of a book.
Everyone bumbled along. Darcy was cared for, in a hit-or-miss, slapdash way. By the time she was ten, her maternal grandparents were beginning to have health issues, and it all became more difficult. Then Lala met an architect from Boston who wanted to spend more time with her. So Lala packed up her things—she never collected much except clothes—and took Darcy with her to Boston. The architect wasn’t offering marriage. He found Darcy’s needs for school and food and clothes an annoying intrusion on his fun with Lala, so Lala came up with a genius idea: Darcy could live with Penelope, Darcy’s other grandmother, Lala’s ex-husband’s mother. After all, Nantucket was not far from Boston; it was in Massachusetts—it would be so easy for Darcy and Lala to see each other! Lala wrote a note to Penelope Cotterill, then phoned her, and then made the journey on the ferry to the island to introduce Darcy to her grandmother and the island.
“She’s not easy, like us,” Lala warned Darcy the day they boarded the ferry to cross the wide waters to the island. “She’s a loner, kind of eccentric, aloof. She doesn’t know how to have fun.” Worried that what she’d said would cause Darcy to refuse to live there made Lala add in a slightly frantic tone, “But she’s not mean. She’s just—quiet.”
Darcy grinned. Quiet!
Penelope Cotterill was seventy then, but was far from being a little old lady. She was tall and slender, with long silver hair she clasped to the back of her head with an amethyst hair clip. She had hazel eyes—like Darcy’s, not green or blue like her mother’s side of the family. Although she was quiet, she gave off an aura of tranquil unflappable contentment. Her clothes were expensive but simple. She wore long, slim dark skirts and long, loose cashmere sweaters for gardening; and when she visited the library or the local bookstores or attended the island’s concerts and plays and lectures, she simply brushed off any specks of dirt, added her own grandmother’s pearls to whatever she was wearing, and was ready.
Lala had met Penelope only three times, but she’d sized the older woman up quickly. And while Lala might have been unreliable, she was canny. For the visit to meet her grandmother, Lala made Darcy wear a black skirt and a white blouse. Darcy had looked like a pilgrim. A nervous pilgrim on the verge of vomiting. The ferry ride was rough. Darcy was suffering from nausea and nerves, and when she first saw her tall, elegant, meticulously dressed grandmother, it took all her courage to do what Lala had instructed, to hold out her hand.
Penelope bent forward to shake Darcy’s small quivering hand—and in an instant, with that touch, Penelope fell in love. She dropped to her knees, put her hands on Darcy’s shoulders, and pulled the girl to her. She hugged her hard.
“My dear,” Penelope said. “Welcome. I do believe you have come home.”
For the first time in her life, Darcy felt warm right down to the bottom of her soul.
After an obligatory hour of drinking tea and talking, Lala went back to Boston. After Lala left, Darcy’s grandmother took her upstairs to the room that was to be her very own. It had a brass bed with an antique quilt and sheets smelling of lavender. It had a cherrywood desk placed beneath the window that looked over the wide backyard where hedges surrounded Penelope’s garden. It had a large mahogany dresser and an amazing piece of furniture like a table with slender drawers and a stool with a needlepoint cushion and mirrors that could be folded in so that Darcy could see how she looked from both sides. Penelope called it a vanity.
The room had a bookcase.
It had books.
“I don’t know what you’ve read,” Penelope told Darcy. “Probably you’ve read all these books, but I thought I’d put them out just in case.”
Darcy knelt before the bookcase and carefully pulled out each volume. Little Women. Jane Eyre. Nancy Drew. The Secret Garden. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. She could live in this room forever!
Penelope took Darcy out the back door to introduce Darcy to Penelope’s own secret garden. She held her hand, urging Darcy to sniff the blossoms and touch the silky petals and learn the name of each flower. She took her around the small, picture-book town to introduce her to the librarians—for Penelope was a steadfast patron—and the shopkeepers. She drove Darcy to the grocery store and pushed a cart down the aisle, asking what Darcy liked for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Darcy hardly knew what to say. She’d never been asked that before.