Lavender-Green Magic (13 page)

To Holly's disappointment Mrs. Finch beckoned them to follow her, and the class had to file off to the museum. There was plenty there to see, and Holly went slowly. But her mind was only half on what she viewed and on Mrs. Finch's explanations. Rather, she was thinking of Seth Elkins's journal. Had Miss Noyes read it all the way through? Could she tell more about what happened at Dimsdale on that Halloween so very long ago? At that instant Holly knew what she was going to take for her project—Dimsdale itself.

Because of that, if Mrs. Finch agreed, she could ask questions. Maybe even learn what was in the journal, and what had happened to Tamar. Of course, she did not dare tell what she knew now. But she could use bits later, as if she had read them, such as the description of Tamar's house, and the maze, and the herb garden—

She was so lost in her plan that she walked right into a girl a little ahead who had stopped to show a friend a framed sampler hanging on the museum wall.

“See—right there—my name—Rebecca Eames. My grandmother
gave that to hang in the museum. 'Cause her great-great—I don't know how many times back now—made it. And—who do you think you're shoving?” Becky Eames whirled about toward Holly. “Just 'cause you come from Boston, you think you know everything! Well, you don't, see. Your great-great-great-grandmother hasn't got a sampler hanging up here, has she?”

Holly stiffened. Here it came at last, what she had been expecting ever since she had stepped aboard the school bus that first day. Now she would be told she lived in a dump, she was black, all the other things she knew she would have said to her, and about her, sooner or later.

Becky's friend (it was Martha Torrey, Holly saw, another one of them) pulled at Becky's sleeve. “Becky! Remember what Mrs. Finch said—”

Holly could guess what
that
was, and it made her even madder inside. She didn't need Mrs. Finch to go around warning people not to say this or that because she was black and lived in a dump.

“And just what did Mrs. Finch say?” she demanded fiercely. “Sure I live in a junkyard with the junk! And I'm black, too! You afraid some of that'll rub off on you? Well, it won't. I may be black but I'm not dirty, see! And you and your old Mrs. Finch can just mind your own business.”

She turned away as Martha said quickly, “No, Holly, you've got it all wrong, truly you—”

Scowling, Holly looked back over her shoulder. “I've got it all right. I have had, ever since I came to this stupid old school.”

She hurried on, to stand impatiently at the library door, ready to be gone just as soon as Mrs. Finch started them off. Inside, her anger grew. She had been going to take Dimsdale for her project—now she had a better idea. She was going to write about witches, about how that old Sexton Dimsdale had made trouble because he was greedy and ignorant, and how he got what he deserved. That was going to be her project! She hoped now that the legend was true—that Tamar had been a real witch and had cursed Sexton Dimsdale just as Miss Elvery had said. He deserved it! Everyone in this town should have been cursed—

It was noon when they got back to the school. Holly singled out Judy, who seemed reluctant to come. She was talking with that same Debbie who had wanted to share lunches with her before, as Holly bore grimly down upon them. Judy ought to know better; Holly had told her often enough what to expect. Now it looked almost as if Judy was not going to come along, even when Holly beckoned to her to hurry.

“I don't see why,” she burst out, “you never want to be friends with anybody. I like Debbie—”

“Be friends!” Holly exploded. “They don't want to be friends! Just like this morning—that Becky Eames was quick enough to say we had no right to be part of Sussex, we don't belong!”

“She said that—right out?” Judy looked troubled. “But—why, Holly?”

“You know why.” Holly scowled. Of course, Becky had not said quite that, but it was certainly what she had meant.
The sooner Judy realized the truth, the better for her. “We live in a junkyard, and we're black.”

“But Jimmie Little, and the Woods girls”—Judy stopped and pointed across the room—”they're black and no one seems to care. Jimmie goes around with Ralph Bingley and Jud Torrey all the time. And Sally and Betsy Woods sing in the junior choir and—look at Crock, he's over there now with Phil Noyes and the Byfield boys, and they like him!”

“He'll find out,” Holly said grimly. “And Jimmy and the Woods—they lived here a long time—maybe people forget. They don't live in a dump, either.”

Judy looked mutinous, but she sat down beside Holly with a sigh and opened her lunch box. “You decided,” she asked as she unwrapped her topmost sandwich, “what you're going to do for your special project? I have. I told Mrs. Dale, and she thought mine was good enough to write up on the board—the first one.”

“What is it?” Holly delayed answering, by asking a question of her own.

“Herb gardens, like Tamar's—”

“Judy, you didn't tell?” Holly demanded.

“ 'Course not! But Grandma uses herbs, and lots of people do now—Grandma has some real, real old books about how they used such things even more in the olden days. I'm going to make rose beads, when there're roses, and one of those clove oranges which smell nice, and maybe sugared mint leaves. And I'm going to learn about those you can use as medicine like Tamar did to help people.” She was smiling
again, her disagreement with Holly forgotten. “I can write about Tamar's garden, even if I don't say where it was—”

Holly was surprised, and inwardly a little uneasy. Judy was so sure of herself now. Back in Boston she had listened to Holly, and she would have asked Holly what she thought before telling Mrs. Dale about her subject project. She was doing a lot of things for herself lately. There was the way she had taken command and found how to plant Tamar's gifts in what Holly acknowledged was a clever manner. Judy had always been the follower where Holly led; now it appeared that she was finding new paths for herself.

“You'd better be careful what you say,” Holly said with more emphasis than she really planned.

Judy's smile faded. “There you go again, Holly Wade. Always telling me what to do! I'm getting tired of you—”

Holly's irritation became alarm. Judy, if Judy was going to be stubborn—They had always done things together, things Holly had planned. Judy had seemed content enough to agree. Holly knew there were instances when Judy could not be pushed, but those had been rare and had not lasted long. What if Judy was going to be that way all the time? Quickly Holly tried to make matters better.

“I just was afraid you might say something without thinking.”

“The way you talk, you'd believe I wasn't any older than Lissy Jones back home. And she's three whole years younger than me. I don't go blabbing around everything I know, Holly Wade.”

“I know,” Holly answered. Judy might have to be coaxed
back into line again. “It's just that even if we stood up, all of us, and told all about Tamar, no one would believe us.”

“I suppose so. But she's real, I know that, Holly. And I'm going to learn some of the things she knows. Mrs. Dale said there're a lot of books about herbs and I'm going to ask Grandma to tell me, too. What are you going to take as your project?”

For a moment Holly hesitated. She was still very sure that she had a good plan—to show up that old Sexton Dimsdale, and make people living right here today understand what it meant to call people names which weren't true. Though Becky hadn't, of course, called any names, Holly could imagine right now the ones she might have used, and those made her madder every time she thought of them.

“What are you going to take? Or is it such a great big secret that—” Judy was beginning to get prickly again.

“I'm going to take witches,” Holly said in a rush. “How the people in the old times made trouble for people like Tamar and called them witches, and how the Dimsdales were cursed because they did—”

“You said not to tell about Tamar. And now you're going to!” Judy accused.

“I won't tell about us seeing her, nothing like that. I'm going to look it all up in the old books, and ask around. Miss Noyes, at the library this morning, she showed us a journal which she said had been written by Seth Elkins—”

“That Seth who came to see Tamar?” Judy interrupted, her eyes wide.

“I suppose so. Maybe he tells just what did happen. Not
that queer story about Tamar and the house disappearing and all.”

“But will Mrs. Finch let you write about witches?”

“I'm not going to tell her that I am going to do witches. I'm going to say I want to write about the people who were at Dimsdale, the man who built the big house that burned down.”

“I wish we could find out what happened to Tamar,” said Judy slowly.

“I know what we do have to do,” Holly replied with her old assertiveness. “We've got to get back there somehow and warn Tamar, let her know what Sexton Dimsdale is going to do on Halloween.”

“But that was a long time ago,” Judy objected. “He's already done it and you can't change anything now.”

“Maybe we can. Look here, Judy, we must have gone back in time to a day that was before Halloween—it was summer, wasn't it? Well, if we can get back to that day, we can tell Tamar to watch out—”

“Oh!” Now Judy was nodding vigorously. “Yes. I'll take the pillow Friday night and we'll go back again and tell her.”

I'll
take the pillow this time, Holly assured herself. Judy had had her turn. Anyway it was her idea, not Judy's. Yes, if anyone slept with the herb pillow this week it was going to be Holly Wade.

She handed in the description of her project, the history of Dimsdale, and Mrs. Finch noted it down in her project book with a nod of agreement.

“It's a pity Miss Dimsdale's family papers were all destroyed
in that unfortunate fire,” she commented. “The board of the historical museum had asked her several times to deposit them at the library, but she seemed to have a distaste for letting anyone see them. Yet the Dimsdales were a very important part of Sussex. It was on a tract obtained from King Charles by the Dimsdales that Sussex was laid out, you know. You must consult with Miss Noyes; she will know several excellent references for you to use, Holly.

“I wonder if any of the old garden still exists—it was the first formal and carefully planted garden ever to be laid out here, you know. And there is a legend that there even was a maze!”

“Grandma said it's all grown up so tight no one can get in,” Holly answered quickly. Mrs. Finch was showing such an interest in her idea that she began to fear she might be
too
interested. Enough to ask some questions Holly was neither prepared to answer nor wanted asked at all.

Mrs. Finch gazed a little beyond Holly, as if seeing the wild part of Dimsdale rather than the wall of the classroom. “I suppose so. But, Holly, if you can make us see Dimsdale as it once was—then you are adding to our picture of Sussex at its beginning. That will be an excellent project.”

She paused for a moment before she asked, in a slightly different tone of voice, “Holly, what do you think of Sussex?” Now she looked straight at Holly herself as if she could see into her mind and sort out Holly's thoughts.

“It's—it's different—from Boston, I mean.” Holly tried to find words which would not give away her real feelings about all that had happened to her since the telegram had arrived.
It was none of Mrs. Finch's business how she felt anyway, she thought. As if Mrs. Finch would really care!

“I imagine so.” Mrs. Finch sounded a little sharp, almost as if Holly were being stupid in class. “You've an interesting project, Holly; it is up to you to show what you can do with it.”

As Holly went out to the bus, she wondered just what Mrs. Finch would have said if she had told her the
real
project—the cursing of Dimsdale. She glanced along the line of children waiting for the ride home. Grandma had said that people in town talked about the curse, that they'd hear stories. Suppose she would start asking questions? No, probably the kids here wouldn't know. But old people, like Mrs. Pigot who had talked about it the very first time they had mentioned Dimsdale—she ought to know something. And there ought to be other old people who'd remember things. She would have to be mighty careful asking, though.

“Holly!” Judy's voice right in her ear made her jump. “Holly, didn't you hear me? I asked about the Halloween party. It's going to be dress-up, Debbie said. What do you suppose I can wear?”

Holly was drawn entirely out of her plans for detecting the past. “What party?”

“The big school one. They have it every year and everyone dresses up. From four to seven on Halloween. Debbie said we could ride in with her. So you see, Holly, you're not so always right. Debbie likes me and she'd like you, too, if you'd let her. You know what I'd like to be—I've been thinking it over ever since she told me about it—I'd like to be a
cat, like Tomkit, gray with big green eyes and a long tail. That would be fun!”

“If it's in town at night, Grandpa and Grandma won't want us to come in.” Holly brought out her most formidable argument quickly.

Judy made an impish face. “That's where you're wrong again, Holly. Grandma, she comes every year, she rides in with Debbie's mom, and she tells fortunes the old way. She makes special doughnuts, too. So there! Do you suppose Grandma could help me make a cat costume, Holly?”

Grandma going to a school party! Holly was surprised all right, surprised and resentful. Grandma had taken lately to asking if Holly knew that girl or this one, and seeming surprised when Holly said just in school. As if she expected Holly to be the most popular girl in the class or something. She did not want to hurt Grandma's feelings by telling the truth—that they weren't wanted. Because Grandma seemed so sure that they would be. Holly had to dodge a lot of questions lately. There could be no appealing to Grandma to stay home from the party, not if things were the way Judy said that they were.