The Doldrums

Archer was slow getting out of bed. Not for the first time, he’d had a dream that he was the one stuck on the iceberg. He’d wandered the ice in search of the ocean, but frigid peaks shot up all around and no matter how far he traveled, he couldn’t find the sea. As always, he awoke before freezing to death and stayed under his covers, waiting till the sunlight made his eyelids glow a brilliant red, then stepped into the bathroom, attached the blindfold to the flamingo, and took a bath.

It was a week into summer, but Archer still had not made the request to leave his house. Today would be the day. Only he wasn’t sure how. He and Mrs. Helmsley were very different people.

It’s a fact of life that we all dream while we’re asleep. Try as you may, such a thing cannot be avoided. It’s when we wake up, however, that we see two types of people emerge. On the one hand are doers, and on the other are dreamers.

When doers wake up, that’s it, their dreams are over, and in general, they’re content with this. They wash their faces, brush their teeth, and go about their business hoping nothing strange or out of the ordinary will happen along the way. Doers don’t do much original thinking and they don’t do surprises and they won’t ever do anything unexpected or anything someone hasn’t already done before. But they are called doers, after all, so they must do something and they do. In fact, doers do the same something over and over and over again. This is called routine, and doers are very good at routine.

Dreamers are different.

When dreamers wake up, their dreams have only just begun. They wash their faces and brush their teeth and open the front door hoping everything strange and out of the ordinary is waiting for them. Dreamers like asking questions that have never been asked before and doing things that have never been done before in ways that no one has ever thought of before.

Archer was a dreamer. That was obvious. Even a pigeon somewhere in Rosewood knew that. Mrs. Helmsley was a doer.

♦ SIP OF RELIEF ♦

Archer made his way into the kitchen and ate his breakfast of tea with milk and toast with jam. He listened closely to the advice of his spoon, clanking the side of his cup, as he stirred in the sugar. “Chin up,” it said. “You’ll be out of here soon.” He was plotting just that when his mother entered, her arms filled with groceries. Mr. Helmsley’s head was buried in a newspaper.

“I’ve invited the new neighbors to dinner tonight,” Mrs. Helmsley announced. “Murkley—that’s their last name. I just met Mrs. Murkley on the sidewalk. She seems a little, well … I’m sure both her and her husband are lovely people.”

Lovely? thought Archer. After everything Oliver had told him about Mrs. Murkley, lovely was not a word he would use.

Mr. Helmsley lowered his newspaper and took a swig of coffee. He didn’t look terribly excited, either.

“What time are these murky people arriving?” he asked.

Archer smiled. That was the exact word he would use.

Mrs. Helmsley was less amused.

“It’s Murkley,” she said. “They’ll be here at seven. And Archer, I expect you to put your best foot forward tonight.”

“That would be the left foot,” Mr. Helmsley said, raising his newspaper once more. “Make it eight. I’m in meetings till seven.”

Mrs. Helmsley nodded and pointed a bundle of Russian white asparagus at Archer. “First impressions are most important,” she insisted. “We don’t need to review your past performances, do we? She won’t admit it, but I’m certain Mrs. Leperton is still afraid to come over here.”

Archer sighed. While it was true he nearly set Mrs. Leperton on fire during a dinner party a few years back, it was untrue that he did so on purpose. It was simply his first time trying to light candles.

“But he used the entire matchbook, Helena! And when it ignited, he threw it on my lap!”

No, there was no need for review. Archer was well aware of past dinner parties, which was why he wanted nothing to do with this one. He pressed his tea for advice but the cup was empty, leaving Archer flying solo.

“I’ll just stay upstairs,” he said, hoping that would put an end to it.

It didn’t.

“That would defeat the purpose,” his mother replied. “I’ve invited her to meet you.”

“Why?” Archer asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“She’ll be teaching at Willow Academy this fall. She used to teach up at Raven Wood. And I’d like her to meet you. Oh, don’t make that face. You need good influences!”

“But I’m not feeling well,” he lied.

“You’re sick?” asked Mr. Helmsley.

“He’s not sick.”

“I feel sick.”

“Then you had better get some rest before they arrive,” she said, and that was that. When Mrs. Helmsley put her foot down, she never left an inch of wiggle room.

Archer poked a finger at his toast and thought this over. Perhaps this was an opportunity. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. It was worth a shot. He turned to his mother and said matter-of-factly, “I’d like to leave the house this summer.”

Mrs. Helmsley dropped the asparagus.

“To go to Rosewood Park with Oliver,” he quickly added.

“I don’t see why not,” said Mr. Helmsley from behind the paper. “I see nothing here about iceberg sightings in Rosewood Park.”

“It’s not a joke,” Mrs. Helmsley said.

“I work in law. A sense of humor is required. Just yesterday a man came in wanting to sue his dog.”

“You can’t sue a dog,” said Archer.

“No,” Mr. Helmsley admitted. “But he was fed up with the creature burying the family’s fine silver in the backyard.”

Mrs. Helmsley stood silently at the sink, rinsing off the asparagus. Archer watched her from the corner of his eye. He was almost certain something was coming—something good? He didn’t hold his breath.

The interesting thing was that because Archer had spent much of the past few months buried in books, she thought perhaps his tendencies were not quite what they once were. Archer didn’t know this, but it explained what followed.

“If there are no episodes,” she said. “If you can give Mrs. Murkley a good first impression, then we’ll discuss what the summer will look like. But I’m not promising anything.”

She didn’t have to. That was enough. Archer was practically beaming. He was actually going to be free! He quickly retreated from the kitchen before he could ruin this. “Your best foot,” she yelled after him, but Archer was already up the stairs.

♦ ELEPHANT HOUSE ♦

Archer stepped into his closet and scanned the secret boxes. He removed number 17: Elephant House, sat down on the rug near the balcony doors, and pulled the red string.

ARCHER B. HELMSLEY

375 WILLOW STREET

DEAR ARCHER,

I WROTE THIS TO YOU FROM THE BACK OF AN ELEPHANT. WE WERE IN A SMALL COUNTRY WHERE THE INHABITANTS BUILT THEIR HOUSES ON THE BACKS OF THEM. THEY WERE BEAUTIFUL AND HOSPITABLE PEOPLE AND WELCOMED US TO STAY AWHILE. THEY WERE ALSO KIND ENOUGH TO STRAP ME DOWN AT NIGHT. (I HAVE A TENDENCY TO SLEEPWALK.)

A MAN NAMED AYYAPPIN SCULPTED THIS ELEPHANT HOUSE AS A GIFT. THE STONE IS JADE. BEAUTIFUL, ISN’T IT? WE THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE IT.