The Magic Half Page 4

  After a second, Miri looked over to the bed. “You know what?”

  “This glass,” said Molly slowly. There was another silence.

  “What?” said Miri. “What about it?”

  “It’s mine.”

  Miri sat up. “What do you mean?”

  Molly remained draped over the bed, squinting through the glass. “It’s mine. It’s from my glasses.”

  “You don’t have glasses,” said Miri.

  “Yes I do.” Molly grinned. “I just lost ’em last week, and Aunt Flo says she ain’t going to get me any more cause I lost the last pair, too.” She made her voice sharp and shrill, “Just plain irresponsible, that’s what it is, do you think we’re made of money, there’s a Depression going on, miss, in case you hadn’t noticed it.” She gave a snort and then fell back into her own voice, “But anyway, I don’t know how I lost them. I was trying to take real good care of them ’cause Flo like to have a fit last time. I can’t see more’n a couple feet away without glasses.” She sighed, and then looked at the lens. “Too bad you just got the one. Where’d you find it again?”

  “It was taped to the wall of my room. Your room. Just down there,” said Miri, pointing at the wooden baseboard.

  Molly stuck her index finger in her mouth and began to chew on it thoughtfully. “Wonder how it got there? Who put it there? And when?”

  Miri felt her scalp wrinkle again, but this time her shivers didn’t come from panic. This time they came from the spooky feeling that someone had taped the lens onto the wall of her room for a reason, someone who knew that the glass would take her back in time. The idea of magic had become somewhat less thrilling now that she couldn’t get home, but Miri felt comforted by the thought that someone was guiding this adventure, that she was part of a plan instead of a freak accident.

  Molly, pulling her finger out of her mouth, said, “Maybe it’s spirits.”

  Spirits. Miri wrapped her arms around her knees. “You believe in ghosts, too?”

  “Sure,” said Molly with confidence. “Don’t you?” Miri rocked back and forth, thinking. “Yeah, I do. But not ghosts like most people think of them— spooks in sheets wandering around scaring people. I think they’re more like echoes of people who aren’t there anymore. You know?”

  Molly turned her great gray eyes to Miri’s. “Grandma May said something like that once. Back when she could talk, she said that some places can hold on to the past. In some places, everything that ever happened there is still happening, but just an echo of it.” Molly smiled. “I didn’t really understand what she was talking about, but maybe she was right. Maybe this is one of those places.”

  Miri stopped rocking. “Weird. Everything that ever happened is still going on?” She looked around the room. “Like if fifty years ago someone woke up in this room, that’s still happening now?”

  “Only ghost-like,” said Molly solemnly. “Not solid-like.”

  There was a silence while they both thought about that.

  “Kind of creepy,” said Miri. “Now I feel like someone’s breathing on me.”

  Molly giggled. “Give him a swat.”

  Miri batted the air. “Move aside,” she said in a dignified way. “You’re invading my personal space.”

  “Your what?” said Molly.

  Before Miri could answer, the sharp clang of a bell sounded from below.

  “Supper!” exclaimed Molly, jumping up from the bed. “Don’t you fuss. I’m good at sneaking food. I’ll bring you plenty.”

  “But aren’t you going to get in trouble down there?” asked Miri uneasily. “Isn’t Horst after you?” “He never does anything real bad in front of his mama. She thinks he’s a model boy, and he makes sure she keeps on thinking so.” Molly gave a little smile. “ ’Sides, he’s too busy stuffing his face to whop me. He don’t put his fork down for anything. I’ll be back soon.” She slipped through the door, and Miri heard her steps patter away.

  Miri looked around once more at the faded wallpaper. Trying to ignore her growling stomach, she inspected a small wicker bookshelf and found several tattered old friends. Little Women, Eight Cousins, and Five Children and It. She considered the fact that several of her favorite books would not be published for seventy more years. “Great,” she muttered. “When I’m in my eighties, I’ll find out what happens to Harry Potter.”

  Maybe she could even see her family then. But, her mind continued, maybe they won’t know me. I wonder if I’m gone from their minds like I never existed or if it’s like I just suddenly disappeared. The thought of them looking for her—calling her name in the woods, wondering where she could be, tears on her mother’s cheeks, her father pale and worried—made Miri’s stomach feel queasy again.

  “I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m here. I’ll be fine.” She didn’t feel fine. She wanted her mother. She wanted to go home. She wanted it so much that it hurt. I have to get out of this room, she thought. I’m going to throw up if I stay in this room.

  She opened the door as silently as she could. There was the narrow staircase and the hallway leading to the other bedrooms, just as they were in her own time. Summer-evening light drifted through the fan-shaped window above the landing. Miri descended the ladderlike stairs without one creak and ventured down the hall. A door stood slightly ajar, and through the gap Miri could see a dressing table with a ruffled skirt and a careful arrangement of glass perfume bottles set before a large mirror. That room must belong to Horst’s sister, the one Molly called Sissy, thought Miri. What a goony name. I’d never let anyone call me Sissy.

  Just as she always did, she brushed her fingertips along the smooth wood of the walls as she walked toward the large staircase that led to the first floor and felt the same surge of satisfaction that she was used to. The satiny surface was the same, the rooms were in the same places, and even the funny little gusts of cool air were the same. But it was definitely a different time. Nothing buzzed or beeped or rang. The air smelled less like cars and more like animals. Now she could hear voices and the clinking of forks against plates. Her stomach rumbled loudly, switching from queasy to hungry in a split second, and she wondered what would happen if she just walked into the dining room and demanded some food. Thinking of Horst, she decided against it.

  She could hear him now, growling like her stomach. I wonder what he looks like, she thought. A bear, probably. She stood at the top of the stairs, hesitating. At the bottom was a large, square hallway—the same as in her time. Straight ahead was the front door, leading to the porch and the cool evening air beyond; on the left was the arched entrance to the dining room; and on the right was a twin arch leading to the living room. If I can get into the living room, Miri plotted, I can sneak around to the kitchen and get a look at Horst through the hole in the sideboard. She began to sidle down the stairs slowly, choosing moments when the conversation in the dining room would cover the random squawks of the wooden stairs.

  A thin, whiney voice was complaining, “. . . told me it was on sale for seventeen cents a yard, but when I got there, it was twenty-one cents. Well, I said to her, Lottie, I guess it don’t make much difference to me, but the one thing I don’t care for . . .” As silent and agile as a spider, Miri glided down the stairs and turned into the living room.

  There was only one problem. It was the dining room.

  CHAPTER

  6

  FOR AN INSTANT, she faced them. They were so close, she could see them even without glasses. There was Aunt Flo, her black hair pulled sharply away from her face, her eyes on her plate, her long jaw moving in brisk, methodical jerks. Next was Sissy, a younger, prettier version of her mother with dark cropped hair and a floppy, brightly painted mouth. At her side was a bulky figure that had to be Horst. Molly said that he ate a lot, but even so, Miri was amazed by the size of him. His clothes seemed to stretch and strain to hold him in, and his wide legs threatened to crush the chair underneath him. His face was flat and flushed, and in his thick, meaty hands were a slab of bread and a
chicken leg.

  It was luck alone that kept them from seeing her. Luck and the fact that only Molly faced the doorway. She sat at the far end of the table, and at the moment Miri walked in the door, she happened to be gazing at the hallway, a view that was suddenly obstructed by the appearance of Miri. Miri saw her face freeze in horror; she saw that the others, interested only in their food and their complaints, had not noticed her; and she saw that they were about one second away from doing so.

  Crash! Molly knocked her water glass to the floor. Miri whirled backward out of the room as the first sharp cries arose. Leaping out the front door, she heard the sound of a quick slap delivered to Molly’s cheek and Aunt Flo’s furious hiss, “Sloppy girl! Go get a towel—and pick up this glass! Do you have to break everything you touch, you worthless child?” Molly said nothing, but obediently scraped her chair back and trotted into the kitchen. With a pail and cloth, she returned and knelt to pluck the glass shards from the puddle of water.

  “Hey, Mama,” began Horst, giving Molly’s back an unfriendly shove with his boot. “Do you reckon old Molly’s got an allergic to glass? She broke this here cup today, and din’t she lose her specs just last week?” Molly shot him a tense look, but he continued, “Seems like glass and her just don’t get along.” He grinned and took a giant bite off his chicken leg.

  Her aunt glared at Molly. “She ain’t got an allergy—she’s just plain careless, is what. Can’t be troubled to mind what she’s doing. Can’t be troubled to mind what it costs me. Molly Gardner thinks she’s too important to pay attention to little things like money, I guess. Nothing’s too good for Molly; anything our darling Molly wants—that’s what your daddy always said. Wasn’t it?” Molly, wiping water, kept her head down and did not reply.

  “Well?”

  “My father never said that,” replied Molly in a low voice.

  Her aunt’s voice was higher and thinner than ever. “Don’t tell fibs! Acting like you were a princess! Too bad for you that Pat Gardner never kept a promise in his life. Leaving you on my doorstep like a kitten. ‘Just for a month, Flo,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back in a month.’ Should have known better than to listen to that man. Gone for good, and I’m stuck with you. Stuck with you.” She spit the words.

  “And you’ve never gotten a penny for her keep, have you, Ma?” asked Horst. Out on the front porch where she was crouched listening, Miri could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Not a penny. For six years, I feed her, put clothes on her back, keep her in my own house—and what do I see from it?”

  “Nothing,” said Horst, sounding eager.

  “Nothing,” said Sissy, sounding bored.

  Aunt Flo leaned back against her chair as if she was tired. “Well, it’s too much. It surely is. It can’t go on forever.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Molly quickly, looking up from her wiping.

  Her aunt’s face was cold and closed. “I’m not made of money,” Flo snapped. “There’s places for kids like you—kids whose parents run out on them. Nobody’d think twice if I took you down to the county and turned you over to the orphan institute. You can see how you like it there, miss. You won’t be getting fancy new eyeglasses from them.”

  “Not much to eat, either,” said Horst gleefully. “Those kids look like skeletons.”

  “They don’t coddle ’em,” said Flo. “Probably do her a world of good.”

  “Oh, Mother,” sighed Sissy. “Really.”

  “Really, yourself,” snorted Flo. “I mean to do it. One fine day in the near future . . .” Her voice drifted off as if she were in a lovely daydream.

  “Hey, Molly,” said Horst lazily. “I dropped my bread. Pick it up.”

  Molly picked up the bread and handed it to him in silence.

  “Now wipe up that butter spot, girl. Just down there near my foot.”

  “Wipe up your own grease, Horst,” said Molly quietly.

  “What’s that you say?” he choked, food spraying. “Did you hear her, Mama? Did you hear her sassing me? You’d better let me teach her a lesson, Mama— you’d better—” He stumbled over the words in his excitement

  “You wipe up that butter, girl,” said Flo, her voice deadly. “And then you can take your supper into the kitchen and eat it there. I don’t want to see your face anymore.”

  Molly didn’t reply. Miri heard her footsteps moving toward the kitchen door. As it closed behind her, Sissy mumbled, “She’s not that bad, I don’t think.”

  “She’s bad enough,” replied her mother. Then, louder, she called, “You’ll be mopping the floor tonight to make up for breaking that glass. After the dishes.”

  Horst snickered.

  • • •

  Miri slipped quietly down the front stairs and around the side of the house. The sky was still light in the west, and she guessed it was around seven o’clock. Shadowy rhododendron bushes clustered against the side of the house and she heard the soft complaining sound of sleepy chickens nearby. Cautiously, she crept up the back steps and opened the porch door. The back porch was different from the one Miri knew; it was smaller and shakier, with a hulking item that looked like a giant meat grinder in one corner. Miri knew what it was: an old-fashioned washing machine. It looked like it ate arms, and she hoped that the automatic kind would be invented soon.

  Having learned the lesson of the dining room, Miri peered carefully into the kitchen window before she entered. Squinting, she saw Molly at the sink, scrubbing a large black cooking pot with a rag. That was another thing that was a lot easier in her time. Too bad I didn’t bring a Brillo pad along, thought Miri, watching Molly’s arm pump up and down. Then she whispered, “Hey!”

  The pot nearly slipped out of Molly’s hands. “Oh my gosh!” she gasped. “You scared me!” She pulled Miri into the kitchen. “Why’d you go in the dining room? Golly Moses! I thought they were going to catch you for sure! I had to knock over that glass!”

  “I’m sorry,” said Miri earnestly. “In my house— or in my time, I guess I mean—that room is the living room. I didn’t think your family would be eating in there. I’m really sorry I got you in so much trouble.” Now that she was next to Molly, she could see that her eyes were red. “Your aunt and Horst are horrible.”

  “Yeah,” said Molly simply. She took a deep breath. “I’m going to run away.”

  “Jeez. I can see why,” said Miri.

  “And you should come with me.” Molly’s eyes were pleading.

  Run away? Miri’s eyes slid down to the floor and then up to the sharp glare of the bare lightbulb that lit the kitchen. Suddenly, Miri realized something. She had been seeing Molly’s life as something separate from hers. But it wasn’t. Here in the world of 1935, Miri had a one-person family, and it was Molly. If she was going to grow up in this strange, unfamiliar world, she wanted to do it with Molly. What happened to Molly happened to her. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I think I will.” She gazed through the screened porch to the weathered barn. If she ran away, she would be leaving the last connection to her world. The only place that looked like home. But what good was it? It wasn’t home; it only looked like it. And not even that much. And if they ran away, she wouldn’t have to spend the rest of her life hiding from Horst and Aunt Flo. “Okay,” she said again.

  “You’ll do it?” Molly exclaimed. “Oh, that’s swell! I was afraid you wouldn’t.” She smiled hugely at Miri. “Here, let me make you some bread and butter. I didn’t get to sneak any food from supper because of the glass.” She turned busily from the sink to the countertop.

  “Where are we going to run to?” asked Miri thoughtfully.

  Molly hadn’t figured that out. “I don’t know yet. The woods, maybe?” She jerked her head to the dark trees beyond the barn.

  “Hmm. What would we eat?” Miri asked. “You know how to trap animals?”

  “No. Maybe I could learn. Or we could eat berries—but not in the winter, I guess. I heard New York City is nice,” said Molly. “My daddy sent me a postcard
from there once. Hey! Maybe we could find my daddy and live with him.”

  “Maybe.” Miri remembered pictures she had seen of people selling apples on street corners during the Depression. “Might be kind of hard to get to New York City, though. Unless—do you have any money?”

  “Ha! Any money I get, she takes it.” Molly handed her a generous slice of bread, slathered with butter. Miri took a large bite and tried to think. The magic had brought her here—maybe they would magically find money if they ran away. Maybe. Probably not. Running away without any money in the middle of the Depression didn’t seem like a very good plan.

  “I got an idea where I can get some money, though,” said Molly, her eyes bright and determined. Miri thought that this was probably how she looked when she sawed the passageway into the attic.

  “Where?”

  “I’ll steal it!”

  “How?”

  Molly grinned. “From Horst. He’s got loads of money stashed away somewhere. I know he does, but I don’t know where. I’ve been searching his room when he’s not home, but he’s such a loafer he spends half the day on that dumb bed.”

  “How come you think he’s got money?” asked Miri. “I mean, where would he get it if he doesn’t work?”

  Molly looked over her shoulder and then leaned her head toward Miri’s. “He’s a thief,” she said in a low voice.

  “A thief?” Miri, chewing, was doubtful. “I thought thieves were supposed to be smart. Why do you think so?”

  “For one, he’s always got money. Nobody roundabout here has much money, but Horst always has a big roll of greenbacks in his pocket,” Molly explained excitedly, looping one of her crooked braids over her ears. “Not that he gives his ma or his sister any, but I seen him take it out at the store to get his own stuff. And second, there was a bunch of things getting stolen in Paxton last winter, and when I went to town in June I heard from Mrs. Baker—you know what’s funny? She works in the bakery—she said that Judge Kent’s house got robbed and the robber took Mrs. Kent’s pink gold bracelet.” Molly ran out of breath, and looked at Miri in triumph, as though she had proved that Horst had done it.