The Rules of Magic (47 page)

“Oh, no,” Sally answered. She handed the receiver to him. “This is our aunt. She'll make all the arrangements for us to go and live with her.”

The plane ride was their first and it was horrible. There was a storm over the middle of the country, with lightning streaking the sky, which terrified both girls.

“Lightning never strikes twice,” Sally said firmly, to reassure both herself and her sister. All the same Gillian vomited twice into a paper bag that Sally then handed to the flight attendant. They were in their flimsy party dresses and they both had small leather suitcases under their feet. Sally had taken along practical things, toothbrushes and toothpaste, photographs of their parents, a comb, pajamas and slippers. Gillian had stuffed in all of her other party dresses, so many that her suitcase barely shut.

“Don't you girls have anything warm to wear?” the flight attendant asked when they were finally landing. “It's Boston, after all. There could be snow.”

Neither girl had ever seen snow. For a moment they were excited as they peered out the window and spied huge white flakes.

“Oh, Arthur,” Gillian said to her stuffed animal. “I think you're going to like it here.”

Sally sat back in her seat, worried. It was dark in Boston and the snow was swirling and their parents weren't coming back and the old lady she'd spoken to
had
been mean.

The flight attendant walked them off the plane and through the terminal. It was already cold and they weren't yet outside. Ice coated the windowpanes. People spoke loudly, in rough voices. Someone said it was wicked nasty out tonight. The sisters held hands. They didn't like the sound of that.

“I actually don't think Arthur's going to like it here,” Gillian muttered in a dark voice.

“Of course he will. Where do you think bears come from?” Sally said primly. She herself was shivering. “They like cold climates.”

“There are bears in California,” Gillian protested. “Daddy said he saw one.”

“I think that's your family,” the flight attendant said, pointing.

The sisters turned quickly to look. There were two women in black coats, one very tall, and the other shorter, with snow-white hair. They both had red balloons tied to their wrists so the girls would see them. The shorter one carried a black cane with a carved raven's head. She waved and called out their names. Sally and Gillian stopped, frozen in place. This most assuredly could not be their family.

“I don't like them,” Gillian said.

“You don't even know them,” Sally said reasonably.

“I don't want to.” Gillian's voice sounded the way it always did before she began to cry. “They're old.”

“Granny was old.”

“No she wasn't. She was beautiful. That's why her name was April.”

“Let's go, girls,” the flight attendant urged.

They had reached the arrivals gate. What was done was done. What was to begin was on the other side of the gate. They could run, but to where? The police were in California, and they'd be split in two and given to people who wouldn't care if Gillian was afraid of the dark and Sally liked to eat the same thing for breakfast every day, oatmeal topped by a spoonful of honey.

The girls looked at each other, then approached their aunts.

“There you are!” the one who said she was Aunt Jet cried cheerfully. “Aren't you opposites! I think I'll call you Night and Day. You're late, but a late start means an ending that will be right on time.”

The aunts smelled like lavender and sulfur. They wore boots and gloves and knitted scarves, and they'd brought along scratchy black wool coats for the sisters. When the girls put them on, it felt as if spiders were crawling up their arms and backs and the girls didn't like the idea of spiders at all.

“What did I tell you?” the tall one, Franny, said to the nice one. “People in California dress like fools.”

“No we don't,” Sally said, insulted.

This tall aunt was clearly the mean one. She appraised Sally coolly. “You're not a troublemaker, are you?” she asked.

“She's not at all!” Gillian said protectively.

“Then I suppose you are,” Aunt Frances said to the younger girl.

“What if I am?” Gillian said, her hands on her hips.

“Then you'll bring trouble upon yourself, which I'd hate to see.”

Gillian's eyes widened. She was seconds away from tears.

“Well, you're probably blind and couldn't see it anyway!” Sally said in an effort to defend her sister.

“I am not blind or deaf and if you have any sense you'll listen to what I say,” Franny advised. “I will always have your best interests at heart.”

“We'd better go,” Jet said, having had enough of the squabbling. “There's snow.”

Flakes were falling as they walked through the parking lot to a battered Ford station wagon. Aunt Frances took the car key and burst the balloon that was tied to her wrist. The pop made Gilly put her hands over her ears.

“Really, Franny,” Jet said. “Must you?”

“Well, it wouldn't have fit into the car.” Franny popped Jet's balloon as well, then feeling some remorse because their nieces looked so nervous, she stuck her hands in her pockets and brought out red licorice and gumballs for the girls to suck on during the long drive from the airport. “I suppose this is what children like,” she said. “I always preferred lemon slices.”

The flight had been a red-eye and dawn was breaking as they turned onto Main Street. The snow had accumulated and it was slow going. There were crows perched on the rooftops of many of the houses and almost no stores on Main Street. A pharmacy, a bakery, a grocery store. As they drove past, the streetlights flared, then went out.

All at once they had reached their destination. In the backseat
of the station wagon, the girls were still holding hands. When they got out their shoes became soaked with snow.

“Of course,” Franny said. “No boots. People in California probably don't believe in them.”

They walked up the path to the Owens house. Sparrows were nesting in the twisted wisteria. When Sally held out her hand one flitted over to sit in the center of her palm. “Hello,” she said, comforted by the warmth of the bird and its bright eyes.

“How unusual,” Jet said, tossing a knowing look at Franny. Another Owens to whom birds flocked of their own accord.

“It always happens,” Gillian said proudly. “She doesn't even have to whistle.”

“Really?” Franny said. “Then she's clearly a very talented girl.”

There were so many vines the girls could barely see the door. The garden had been put to bed for the winter, with some of the shrubs wrapped in burlap, which made them look like monsters. The wisteria twisted around the pillars of the porch, like a goblin's fingers. The house itself was tall and tilty, with green glass in the windows and a fence that circled the property like a snake. Gillian was not a fan of snakes, or vines, or trees that looked like monsters, but Aunt Jet offered her hand and said, “I have something special for you for breakfast.”

“Is it macarons? That was our mother's favorite. She always got a box sent from Paris on her birthday.”

Jet and Franny exchanged a look.

“Did she?” Jet said. “Well this time it's chocolate cake. The best you'll ever have. And we have Dr Pepper if you're thirsty.”
They went up to the porch as if they'd known each other for years.

That left Sally and Aunt Frances standing on the path.

“Do you live here all alone?” Sally asked.

“Of course not. Your aunt Jet is here.”

“You don't have a husband?”

“I did. Once.”

Sally stared at her aunt. “I'm sorry,” she said.

Franny stared back, a bit shaken at having been asked about Haylin. Hay would have been so much better with children. If they'd ever had their own, she'd be a grandmother by now. She would be different then, softer, not so quick to frighten small children.

“I'm sorry about what happened to your parents,” Franny managed to say. “I knew your mother when she was a little girl. I still have one of the pictures she drew when she visited me. I have it right in the front parlor.”

Sally looked up at Aunt Frances, waiting to see what she would say next.

“I was a friend of your grandmother's, you know. And your grandfather. I miss him every day,” Franny said before thinking better of it.

“We didn't have a grandfather,” Sally said despite her inner vow not to give out any information.

“You did, but he went away to live happily ever after in France.” Franny gave the girl a closer look. “You resemble him. You're lucky in that.”

“If all that was true he'd have had a name.”

Sally was stubborn and not afraid to talk back. Her chin was raised, as if she were ready to have Franny say something terrible.
All at once, Franny felt something she'd never felt before. She felt another person's loss.

“He has a name,” Franny said. She sounded different when she spoke. Sadder. Not mean at all. “Vincent.”

“I like that name,” Sally said.

“Why wouldn't you?” Franny said. “It's a wonderful name.”

“If he's living happily ever after you shouldn't sound so sad,” Sally told her aunt.

“You're absolutely right.”

“Is he the one who sends the cookies?” Sally asked. “The ones made of roses from Paris?”

Franny looked into Sally's clear gray eyes. It was an honest, innocent question. She felt a surge of relief but also a swell of sorrow for all of the years that had been lost. “Yes. I'm sure he is.”

“Will he ever come back?”

Franny shook her head. “Unlikely.”

Sally thought it over and took her aunt's hand.

“What's this about?” Franny said, surprised.

“Vincent. What will happen when he sends the macarons to California? He'll worry about us.”

“When they're sent back to Paris he'll know you live here, with us, and he won't worry.”

Standing on the porch where the light was always turned on, Sally felt her aunt's loss as well. Franny lowered her gaze so that the girl wouldn't see tears in her eyes. She thought children were better behaved if they had a little fear and respect. But rules were never the point. It was finding out who you were. In the kitchen there was a chocolate tipsy cake for breakfast. The girls might as well learn early on, this was not a house like any other. No one would care how late they stayed up at night,
or how many books they read on rainy afternoons, or if they jumped into Leech Lake from the highest cliff. All the same, there were some things they needed to learn. Do not drink milk after a thunderstorm, for it will certainly be sour. Always leave out seed for the birds when the first snow falls. Wash your hair with rosemary. Drink lavender tea when you cannot sleep. Know that the only remedy for love is to love more.

My deepest gratitude to my editor, Marysue Rucci. Thank you to Jonathan Karp and to Carolyn Reidy.

Many thanks to Zack Knoll, Dana Trocker, Anne Pearce, Elizabeth Breeden, Wendy Sheanin, Mia Crowley-Hald, Susan Brown, Carly Loman, Lauren Peters-Collaer, and Jackie Seow.

A huge thank-you to Amanda Urban and Ron Bernstein for their faith in this book.

Many thanks to Kate Painter and to Pamela Painter for insights into fiction and fact.

Gratitude to Madison Wolters for assistance in all things.

Thank you to Alexander Bloom for historical expertise.

Thank you to Sue Standing.

Gratitude to my early readers Gary Johnson, Kyle Van Leer, and Deborah Thompson.

Love to everyone who has ever passed through the doors of 44 Greenwich Avenue, especially to Elaine Markson, who made dreams come true.

© DEBORAH FEINGOLD

Alice Hoffman is the author of more than thirty works of fiction, including
Practical Magic
, the Oprah's Book Club selection
Here on Earth
,
The Red Garden
,
The Dovekeepers
,
The Museum of Extraordinary Things
,
The Marriage of Opposites
, and
Faithful
. She lives near Boston.