Lavender-Green Magic (18 page)

Hagar had said that they would not remember, that they would only think they had been lost in the maze. If that was so, she, Holly, must be very sure not to say anything to make them know more. Because—Hagar had said it would be bad if they did. Now she tried to choose words to satisfy Judy.

“We didn't find Tamar—we just got lost.”

“I don't like this place,” Judy cried. “I want to go home. I don't want to be here!”

“We're going,” Holly told her. “We're going just as fast as we can.”

“But we're lost—you brought us in the wrong way, Holly; you knew it was the wrong way!” Judy's mouth took on a stubborn set. “I'm not going to go any way you say. We'll only be more and more lost—”

“No—look there, Judy—I remember this.” Crock hurried on to the next division of paths. “Sure, it's this way.”

Judy pulled her hand out of Holly's and sped after him. For a moment Holly watched them go. She was cold outside, and she was cold inside, too. Judy, Crock, they acted as if they did not want to be with her any more.

What if they don't, said something else, you know more than they do. Hagar—she said that you had the power, they didn't. Holly did not know what that “power” might be. But thinking about it made her straighten up and feel an importance she had not known before. She pressed both hands against her chest and the bag within her jacket. Do what Hagar said and she could learn more and more—then just let Crock or Judy say she was wrong! See what would happen then!

“Well now, an' what do you think of that?” Grandma must have heard them come in, but she did not look around from the table. She had leaned back in her chair, was studying what stood before her.

The statue woman was whole. And she was—

Holly shook her head at her own first thought. Of course, that could not be a statue of Tamar! But it was of a woman who was dressed just like her, wide skirt drawn up on each side to show an underskirt almost as full, the apron, the collar, the laced bodice, and a cap covering most of her hair. Though the figure was all white, with no color to bring it to life.

“That's Tamar!” Before Holly could stop her, Judy had gone to the table and was gazing, fascinated, at the figure. “That
is
Tamar.”

Now Grandma did look around. “Tamar—an' who's Tamar? That's a queerish name, to be sure. Wherever did you hear that one?”

It was Crock who answered while Holly still stood in dismay. “She heard it in an old story about Dimsdale. Tamar was supposed to live here once.”

“That so?” Grandma was interested. “Somethin' Miss Sarah told you at the library, I suppose. Well, this here doesn't say no Tamar—let's see—” She pointed to some words at the foot of the base on which the repaired figure stood. “Now that says—” She stooped a little to see the better without having to touch the figure, holding her glasses very firmly in place as she did so. “Well, did you ever now!”

“What does it say?” Judy crowded closer, her own head strained forward. “Oh, look—there's Tomkit, too. Right down by her feet. It says”—Judy read the words aloud slowly—” ‘The Young Witch.' That's a lie,” she cried out. “Tamar's not a witch! She's good!”

“Judy!” Grandma spoke more sharply than she ever had to any of them before. “I did wrong in telling you all that there story of Miss Elvery's, that's plain. There ain't no such things as witches, 'cept in stories. Miss Elvery was so old, an' she had had so many troubles in her life—well, she didn't think too straight anymore. She read so much 'bout the old days, half the time she was livin' in them, rather than here an' now. I don't know about this here Tamar, but don't you go talking witches an' such.”

“They hung witches at Salem,” Crock broke in. “We saw the witch house where they had the trial. People did believe in witches then.”

Grandma looked beyond Judy to her twin. That displeased
note in her voice was even stronger as she continued, “They never hung no witches here.” She looked back at the figure she had repaired, but now there was no sign of satisfaction or pleasure in her face as there had been earlier. “An' this here statue is jus' what some person thought up for hisself.” She reached out for an old torn pillow slip (the one in which she had so carefully kept the broken pieces when she was working with them), and this she drew swiftly around the mended figure. “This goes out. Does Mr. Correy want it, he'll be entirely welcome!”

As she wrapped the figure she was still frowning. Then she arose and took it to the stall with the mended china, setting it down at the far back of the shelf. She might even be wishing now that she had not mended it or that it was no longer in the barn-house at all.

“That
was
Tamar,” Judy said in a low voice, her eyes still fixed on the table from which Grandma had lifted the statue. “And it said she was a witch! Something bad's going to happen to Tamar—I know it!”

“No, it won't!” Holly had not loosened her jacket; she still held her arm protectingly across her middle, feeling between it and her chest the bag Hagar had given her. Judy was really silly—just a child. Hagar was Tamar's sister, even though she had hinted that she did not like her much. But it was Ha-gar's house, too. And she would not let old Sexton Dimsdale burn it down. Hagar knew how to stop him—

Only she had made very clear that she needed Holly's help. Holly had to plant what she had been given. She could
not understand how planting things in pots was going to help, but she was confident that Hagar knew, or she would not have told Holly to do just that.

Judy never looked around, nor did she answer her sister. Again Holly had that queer feeling, as if Judy were behind a kind of glass wall. She could see her sister, touch her, hear her, but Judy just was not close anymore.

Well, who needed her? A surge of confidence gathered in Holly, sweeping away her bewilderment again. No one needed Judy, but Hagar needed Holly. What she did was going to be very important indeed. And she must do it soon.

Grandma was inspecting other broken things along the shelf. She might be choosing another piece to try her skill on. Judy had turned away from the table, was heading up the stairs. And Crock was just going out the door. No one was watching, no one would come snooping around if she went right now.

Holly felt a small shiver of excitement as she slipped out behind her brother. Only one thing could spoil her plan. That would be if Grandpa was working in the fix-it shed. But Crock was not heading in that direction; he was going around to the other side of the barn where the driveway was.

Holly scuttled along the bare flower beds, where a few stalks, dried and dark, still stood, reminding her of the garden in the maze. The clouds were almost as heavy and bleak-looking here as those which had been hanging over Hagar's house.

She had her hand on the latch of the shed door when she
jumped at a loud blast of sound. Someone was blowing a horn, a car horn, on the other side of the barn. Did that mean that Grandpa was in the shop and he was being called? Holly pulled the door cautiously open.

No, the workbench had some tools laid out there, and on the floor stood one of the old trunks they had brought from the Elkins place, its lid off. Maybe Grandpa was trying to fix it. But there was no one here.

Holly slipped through to the green side where Grandma's protected plants stood in their rows. She pulled the bag out from under her jacket and went down on her hands and knees to peer under the table. Yes, she was in luck, there were more empty pots there. She had to crawl under the table to pull them out, but she got them.

Spider webs—ugh! Holly wiped her hands down her jeans. She hated spiders, they made her feel all crawly when she saw them. But Grandma did not believe in killing them, ever. She said that they caught a lot of bugs as had no business being in houses and annoying folks.

Now, Holly remembered, she'd have to go outside and get the dirt, as she had before. That was going to be risky. The one window of her and Judy's bedroom looked out in this direction. What if Judy saw her and wanted to know what she was doing? But Holly did not see how else she was going to get those pots filled.

With the basket and trowel, she went out quickly. No one was around. A glance up at the window—the curtain hung straight there. Better not take any more soil from the flower
beds. It was more risky walking toward the maze out in the open this way, but she was sure she could dig up more at a time from along there and no one would notice it.

Holly worked as fast as she could, but the ground was hard and there were tough grass-roots and stones. She dug with energy, all the time alert to any sound. That car horn had stopped blowing, but now and then she thought she could hear voices. Mostly they seemed to come from the direction of the old cellars Grandpa had filled up with the unusable junk. It was his plan to get as much of the waste inside those cellars as he could and then floor them over with rocks so they would look better. It was like his planting trees: He wanted to keep Dimsdale looking as nice as he could.

But who could really make a dump look like anything but what it was? Holly used the point of her trowel like a pick to loosen up the tough clods. This dirt did not look very promising, but it was the best she could do. Maybe she could get some of those plant vitamins they sold at the dime store—the kind Mom had fed her African violets. Those would make up for not having any good soil. The point was she had to plant the things Hagar had given her—plant them and hide them, as quickly as she could. Without anyone learning about them.

For she was as sure as if Hagar had openly warned her that no one must know she had brought these seeds and the long, odd-looking root back from the maze. If Crock and Judy never remembered what had happened in Hagar's house, she was safe.

Holly now thought of the place in the maze as Hagar's house, though they had seen Tamar there, too. Only Holly found it increasingly difficult to remember Tamar very well. While she could close her eyes at any moment and see Hagar as clearly as if she were standing right here watching her dig holes in the exceedingly hard ground.

The results of Holly's digging were discouraging. When the soil was dumped into the basket it was all in hard lumps. Maybe once she got it inside she could break it up, even use one of Grandpa's hammers to mash it if she had to. To add to the difficulty of the digging, Holly felt she had to keep looking around to make sure no one was watching her.

At last the basket was almost full to the top, and when she lifted it, the weight was nearly more than she could manage. But she tugged it back to the shed. There was a pile of newspapers in one corner. Grandpa spread them on the floor when he was painting.

Holly grabbed some of these and put them down, set the basket on top, and began to ladle the lumps into the pots with her trowel. Perhaps coming into the warmth of the shed made them break apart. Because even the largest began to crumble, and a few energetic thumps with the trowel broke them up completely. She had to scant on the last two pots, but she was afraid to trust to luck and venture out the second time for more soil.

Seeds went down into the soil as quickly as she could shift them in. The biggest pot had to hold the root, and she arranged that in the pot with all the care she could, using her hands to build up the dirt around it.

Now—Holly squatted back on her heels and surveyed the shelves. She and Judy had hidden the other pots; she must do the same with these. Only she could not see too much room left. Standing as tall as she could, she began to move those already on the shelves, wedging in one of her pots well to the back wherever she could discover the necessary space. Finally only the pot with the root was left. Holly could see nothing else to do but to push it well back under the table, hoping that it would grow in spite of the dark—at least get a start.

While she pushed and changed the other plants around, she was surprised to see that at least two of those Judy had planted showed a tiny slip of green breaking through the soil. There was no way of telling which these were. For they had not thought to try to mark the pots with the seeds as they had put them in. Holly could not even now clearly remember the listing of those Tamar had pressed upon them. Nor did she care now. The important ones were indeed those
she
had brought back, though Hagar had never quite explained why they were so needful.

Holly was careful in her cleaning up. Judy might sneak in here to see what she had planted. Grandma certainly often visited her winter garden. No one must guess, at least for now, that Holly had made any additions. She looked around at last with a sigh of relief. She had done what she promised, and she would get the plant vitamins the first chance she had. Those ought to help a lot.

As Holly left the fix-it shed she was as careful to look about to see if Crock or Judy were spying on her as she had
been when she entered. They had no right to try to find out about her business, hers and Hagar's. Cautiously she pushed open the barn-house door, trying to think up some possible answers to any awkward questions that might be asked.

“—you can see their way of thinkin', Lute. 'Course, no one can say you don't do the best you can to keep it in order. Only, this is a dump, and Mr. Reuther, he says he'll pay top price. Judge Tanner, he's lookin' into the hassle with that Mr. Porter Dimsdale out west. Seems like he ought to be glad to have it all cleared up. The thing's been hangin' on long enough. I jus' came out to let you know how it stands, Lute. We would be doin' nothin', but them new people, they got up and made a fuss 'bout a dump being close to 'em and as how this needs clearin' up to make the town look better 'fore the celebration.

“Now don't you take it, Lute, that any of us we're sayin' as how you ain't doing a bang-up job here, 'cause you are. But there's jus' so much you
can
do 'bout a dump. An' if this Mr. Reuther means what he says—”