Magic in the Mix (16 page)

Molly's hunched shoulders relaxed a tiny bit. She nodded and took a quaking breath. “Mrs. Hibbs?” she called into the gloom of the hallway. “Mrs. Hibbs?”

Meanwhile, Miri brought her knuckle to her mouth and began to chew, her standard problem-solving procedure. Munching, she encouraged herself. Haven't we always found a way before? Haven't we always been able to figure out how to make the magic work the way we needed it to?

“What are you two ragamuffins doing in my house?” exclaimed a harsh voice. “You can just go on your way, you hear? You're tracking up my carpet, lookit that!” A tiny woman who looked as though she'd been carved from wood hurried into the hall, her beady eyes glaring.

“Uh, Mrs. Hibbs?” stammered Molly. “I got some—”

“Out!” The woman whisked them away with tiny, sticklike fingers. “Shoo!”

Miri ignored her and continued thinking. What do I already know about magic? I know that it wants to set things right. So it doesn't want Ray and Robbie to die. Magic is on our side, she reminded herself. It's always given us the pieces and we've always figured out what to do with them. Okay, so what are the pieces?

“Mama said to tell you that they are some mighty fresh eggs,” Molly was saying breathlessly, “and a nickel apiece ain't so very much, considering as how they were asking twenty-five cents up at Boyce last week. And Mama said seeing as how you got company, you might—”

“Hush! You just hush up about my company,”
hissed Mrs. Hibbs, whisking her stick-finger again.

Bossy old cow, isn't she? thought Miri inconsequentially. Then: Stop that! Think about magic!

“How many?” snapped Mrs. Hibbs.

“How many what?” asked Molly, confused.

“How many eggs, you blockhead!” snapped Mrs. Hibbs.

Who does she remind me of? Miri thought, distracted again. Someone I saw recently. Just a few days ago. Someone rude. Who was it?

Her wayward train of thought came to another stop as a door opened at the far end of the hall, and a small, thin man in a gray uniform poked his head out. With a jolt, Miri recognized the Colonel, much shorter and less impressive off a horse than on. “Betsy? What's the fuss?” he asked, looking worried.

Mrs. Hibbs's face grew pink, and her long chin cracked into a smile. “Why, Colonel!” she cried. “Don't disturb yourself! I'm just getting you some eggs for your breakfast! These children are just as filthy as Gypsies, but they say they have eggs!”

Boy, the Gypsies sure get a rotten deal, Miri
mused. Everyone blames them for everything. Just the other day, someone was yapping about Gypsies. Who? Now stop that! she scolded herself again. You're supposed to be thinking; you're supposed to be finding a way out. Magic gives us the pieces, and we have to figure out how to use them. So the pieces are—

“But I'd trade with the devil himself for you, Colonel,” said Mrs. Hibbs coyly. Toothpick eyelashes fluttered.

Flutter, flutter, snickered Miri internally. Flutter, flutter, aren't you a card?

What?

Who said that?

Stop it! Find a solution!
Concentrate
.

Flutter, flutter, aren't you a card?

Flo. That's who it was. Mrs. Hibbs reminds me of Flo, fluttering at Pat Gardner.

Stop dithering! Concentrate. Magic gives us the pieces, and we have to figure out how to use them. The pieces are Carter. Ugh. The pieces are Carter, the Colonel, Jamie and his uncle, Hern, I guess, and, well, 1918. …

Flo's voice, sugary sweet: now, I want to show
you something I just know you'll be interested in, a military man like you.

Miri's brow wrinkled. What was it she showed him? Some kind of letter?

She gave her knuckle a particularly hard bite. Stop thinking about Flo! Think about now!

But Flo's sticky sweet voice kept coming: See? It's a safe-conduct. See? Bearer must in no way and for no purpose be detained from the pursuit of his duties. Let neither his costume nor his demeanor cause his arrest. He is in my service. General R. E. Lee.

Wait.

What was that?

Bearer must in no way and for no purpose be detained from the pursuit of his duties. Let neither his costume nor his demeanor cause his arrest. He is in my service. General R. E. Lee
.

And inside Miri, there was a great silent burst of light.

It was a safe-conduct. A free pass. An escape hatch.

If they could get it, it would save Ray and Robbie.

“Flo,” she gasped. “It's Flo!” All eyes, including
the Colonel's, turned to her, but Miri didn't notice. Grabbing Molly's hand, she said again, urgently, “Flo!”

“Flo?” repeated the Colonel, baffled.

“Why, yes! Flo, that's what we call her, our hen, I mean,” Molly exclaimed, giving Miri a look that said What's wrong with you? “My sister just loves that chicken to distraction—”

“Ha!” yelped Miri wildly, relief of a thousand different kinds surging through her. Ray and Robbie would be saved! The pass was an order from the commander of the army. The Colonel would have to obey. And Molly! She was saved as well! They had been sent to 1918 to hear Flo flutter at Pat Gardner, not to lose Molly! Now it was clear. Now it was certain! Molly was meant to be her twin forever! “We did it!” she crowed. But wait! They hadn't done it yet. They hadn't done anything yet! To get the pass, they had to go to 1918. And to get to 1918, they had to go home. And to get home, they had to—“We have to go!” she yelled.

“Is that child having a fit?” demanded Mrs. Hibbs.

“Well,” said Molly cautiously, “she might be.”

Miri tried to pull herself together. She offered what she hoped was a charming, girlish smile. “Oh, no! Nonono! No fits here!” Mrs. Hibbs drew back as though she'd seen a snake, obviously not charmed, so Miri whirled around to the Colonel. “Sir! We're going to run and get you some nice eggs. Nice, nice eggs! You'll love them! Yum! So! We have to go!” Improvising, she saluted. And then again, for good measure. “See you later!” She smiled as hard as she could.

The Colonel almost—but not quite—smiled back. “Permission to retreat granted.”

She almost fell over the soldier on the front porch.

“Watch where yer going, you loony-tic!” he sputtered.

“Just running to get those eggs!” stammered Molly, throwing Miri a look that said
Chill!
“For the Colonel.”

“Gonna break 'em, galloping around like that,” he grumbled.

But Miri, charging toward the lawn, paid him no mind. Her eyes were on her brothers, and before
the guard could stop her or order her away, she flung herself down on her knees beside them, clasping her hands together as though she were praying. “Shut up, don't say anything,” she hissed. “Pretend you're praying, and we might get away with it.”

Robbie opened his eyes. “Is that Miri?”

“What the
heck
is going on—” Ray burst out in a whisper.

“Shh. Pray! Look like you're praying! We have to go away but only for a while. We're going to try—there's a way to get you out, but we have to go home and get it first—”

“Get away from them Yankees, girl! How many times do I have to tell you?” The soldier was rising to his feet.

“I'm praying for their souls!” Miri yelled over her shoulder. Then, as fast as she could, “Listen, guys, just do whatever they tell you. Don't argue with them, especially not Carter—he's the big, mean one—just do what he says, and we'll find you. But if they take you somewhere, try to leave a message, drop something, a trail or something, so we know where you—”

“Tarnation child, get up!”

He was coming closer, Molly's voice alongside rising, “—she's real religious, always praying, she don't mean anything by it, really!”

Robbie gazed at her sleepily. “My head hurts.”

Miri's eyes met Ray's. “We'll be back. I promise.”

“Is this real?” he asked under his breath.

She nodded and rose to her feet, turning to face the soldier bearing down on her with Molly at his side, babbling anxiously, “Pray, pray, pray, all day, all night. She's just like that!”

Miri arranged her face into the most spiritual expression she could manage and said solemnly, “Amen.”

“Amen,” echoed Molly.

“
Humph!
” sniffed the guard. “Git!”

With one last look at Ray and Robbie, they got.

Miri explained it to Molly in gasps as they ran. Flo, Pat Gardner, the safe-conduct signed by R. E. Lee.

Molly stopped. “But we can't get ahold of it. We can't get to 1918, remember?”

Miri bent double, her hands on her knees. “There's got to be a way,” she panted. “I'll do anything. If we knock over one of Ollie's posts, maybe the old porch will come back. There's got to be a way. That's why we were sent to 1918. I know it.”

Molly straightened. For a moment she looked away, into the woods. When she turned back to Miri, her face was pale. She looked intently at Miri. “We were sent there to hear about the safe-conduct?”

Miri nodded.

“So we could save Ray and Robbie?”

Miri nodded.

“Not so I could keep Maudie and Pat from meeting?”

Miri nodded.

Another pause. “So I don't have to—” Molly was talking softly, almost to herself. “I don't have to give you up?” She lifted her eyes to Miri's. “Really?”

“Really. You're supposed to be my sister; you're supposed to be one of us,” Miri said.

She watched as a secret fear, cold and tight as an ice cube, melted away from her sister's face. Then Molly gave a short, firm nod. “Okay,” she said, her voice clear and strong. “Okay, then. We'll get that pass. No matter what it takes.”

Miri couldn't help grinning at the unstoppable determination in her voice. “Hi again,” she said. “It's nice to have you back.”

But after that, they just ran. They ran and ran and ran. Miri hadn't known she could run for that long. A personal record, she thought, ducking under a stringy branch. Coach Vargas would be proud. Too bad I can't tell him.

When they finally emerged from the cover of trees, the half-size, Civil War version of the house was in
sight, with its crushed and dangling porch. They pounded toward it. All they had to do was go through the door and they'd be home. They flew up the stairs.

“Wait.” On the porch, Miri bent double again, panting.

Molly, gasping herself, gave a questioning look.

“Want to test it,” Miri panted, not very informatively. “That.” She pointed to the hole in the porch floor, where the mangled wood ended in a cliff hanging over empty air. “Looks like it got bombed.”

“Shelled,” said Molly. “That's what they called it.”

“Whatever. It's a hole in the house, isn't it? Which means it's a hole in time. It'll take us somewhere, maybe to 1918,” Miri said.

Molly shook her head. “Can't. 1918 is forward.”

“It could go in both directions,” said Miri.

Molly looked at the broken-off edge suspiciously. “I don't think so,” she said. “Don't jump into it, okay?”

“Why not? I can just come in the door again,” said Miri. She sidled around the precarious floorboards that curved, in a sort of half-circle rim, around the hole. “We've got to try everything, don't we?” She leaned over. She could see the stubbly ground below. “There's just grass down there—”

And then she was pulled to her knees by a force
stronger than gravity. She cried out, madly teetering on the wooden precipice, her hands scrabbling at empty air. She was falling, the earth below rushing toward her. Down she went, catching a flashing glimpse of the view beneath floor-level—trees pressed close to the house, very close, very dark, swaying angrily in the wind—and then two arms circled her middle, and she found herself slammed backward, hard.

She lay there, gasping and shaking. “Wow,” she said when she could speak. “I almost—almost—” Her voice cracked. “That was scary.”

“What was it?” Molly asked.

Miri shivered. “Trees. Lots of them, really close. Like a forest. But—but—that wasn't the scary part.”

Molly waited.

Miri looked fearfully toward the abrupt edge of wood. “The scary part was how much it wanted me to fall in.” She shivered. “Why? Why would it want that?”

Molly thought for a moment. “I don't think the magic started with the house.” Her eyes met Miri's. “I think the magic started with the place. The house just happened to be built on top of it.” She glanced
almost fearfully at the dangling floorboards. “I think there's something really old down there. Old magic is the purest. The most undiluted. We don't know what it wants.”

Miri nodded, still staring at the hole. It showed no sign of what was inside. It looked completely innocent. Well, maybe not innocent, since it was made by a war, but explainable. Within the circle of history. Not like what she had just seen. The circle of history was tiny compared to the circle of time.