The Witch Family (12 page)

Little Witch Girl gave Beebee loving little squeezes as they flew slowly down the path to the entranceway and then up and away to the top of the hill. There, at the edge of the hill, an odd sight met their eyes. Old Witch was having a terrible time trying to get her broomstick with Tom, asleep on it, over the nob of the hill.

"Oh, there you are, my dears!" she gasped. "Something's gone wrong with my broomstick. Needs oil. Take this sack. It's very precious. But it's too heavy for my broomstick. Getting old, that's what's happening to my broomstick! O-old!" Old Witch gave a mighty groan.

Little Witch Girl landed her broomstick on top of the glass hill and then hoisted up the old witch's heavy-laden shawl. Relieved of this weight, the old broomstick carried Old Witch and Tom up and over the top, and everybody reached home safely. Old Witch, with her precious shawl on her lap, sank into her rickety rocker and rocked. Tom, still sleeping soundly, lay at her feet, a silly grin on his face.

With Beebee in her arms, Little Witch Girl tiptoed over to Malachi. "How be everything?" she whispered.

Gravely he gave his answer. "
WICKEDNESS
BE AFOOT
!" A frown puckered his blunt face. "
PLEDGES BE BROKEN
!" he said, and said no more.

It was enough. Little Witch Girl put Beebee, still in her bunny suit, on the floor in the sunny corner of the porch near watchful Malachi. She herself sat down in her little red rocker right next to Old Witch who was rocking in her own rickety old rocker. Out of the corner of her eye, Little Witch Girl looked at old Gammer Old Witch to see if she looked any different after wickedness than she had before. Old Witch was rocking tiredly and without her usual vigor. Little Witch Girl heard her mutter, "What a magnificent day! Oh, to glory be!" Then she muttered, "Too highly seasoned!" She looked as though she did not feel very well.

Apparently Old Witch did not feel as well as she thought she should after such a splendid feast of eggs and rabbits. After rocking a bit longer and feeling no better, she said, "Come here, my dear. Open up my shawl and see what I have." Since she had such an awful stomachache, Old Witch had decided to give all the eggs and rabbits she had stolen to the little witches. Somehow, she did not feel like eating any more of them herself.

"See?" she said.

Little Witch Girl emptied the contents of the shawl into Old Witch's lap—the rock eggs and the toy rabbits. Then, for the first time, Old Witch saw that the eggs were rocks, hand-painted rocks, and that the rabbits had sawdust and ticking inside of them and were toys, not real. When she saw how the clever rabbits had flavored the toy bunnies with sage and parsley, she grew very angry. No one likes to be made a fool of, and this had certainly happened to her.

"
BEFOOLED
," spelled a calm voice nearby.

This put Old Witch into a frenzy. "I'll go back to the painting field!" she screeched. "I'll get the real rabbits! There won't be one live rabbit left this time. Oh, to glory be!" She staggered to her feet, prepared to create an even more terrible hurly-burly than before. But she immediately sank back into her rocker. She was too weak, and she had too bad a stomachache. How did this defeat impress Little Witch Girl, she wondered, casting a glance in her direction. What she saw was a look of enchantment spreading over the face of the little witch girl.

Aside from the tiny doll, Little Lydia, the little witch girl did not own any pretty toys. Now, here were beautiful hand-painted rocks and many toy rabbits.

Old Witch gave a shrug. Well, all had not been in vain. "When you think of it," she assured herself, "the raid on the painting field may really be looked upon as an expedition to get toys for the little ones. Heh-heh!" She laughed feebly. Absentmindedly she kept blinking the eyes of one of the toy rabbits that lighted up when she pressed a button.

Little Witch Girl waked up Beebee to see. "Cr-cr-cr," gurgled Beebee. Old Witch picked out a pretty little rock with the head of a rabbit painted on it for Beebee to teethe on. The other rocks she gave to Little Witch Girl. On some of the rocks, the Head Rabbit had painted heads of cherubs, lions, gnomes, kittens, and dogs. Little Witch Girl made a border of these around the porch, where they looked very pretty and brightened up the bare and bleak glass hill. "If we had a pool with grass around it—grass, not glass—a real little pool, and flowers—real flowers—and trees ... wouldn't these rocks be pretty then, shining in the pool and in the grass then?"

Old Witch felt worse and worse. The worse she felt, the more brooding she became about the events of the day. She had reason to brood, having broken the strict rule nevermore to go down off the glass hill. Would Amy forbid her to be the real and right Halloween witch? As things had turned out, the trip had really not been worth such a price. She had been made a fool of, and her stomach hurt.

It did not make her feel any better to hear a taunting voice spell out, "
HOW MANY B'S BE THERE IN RABBIT?
"

Old Witch tucked the thought away in the back of her mind that Malachi had been the cause of her failure in the painting field. "I be outwitted by a bee," thought Old Witch, and felt worse than ever. At this moment when she was feeling her very, very worst, the red cardinal bird flew up and dropped a letter in Old Witch's lap. "Here's the bad news," muttered Old Witch, thinking, of course, banquishment rules had been stiffened. She opened up the little wad of a letter and read:

"Dear Old Witchie,

Don't worry. You did not eat the rabbits. You did not eat the eggs either. You were bad, but not too bad. Never come down again though, or—no Halloweeny! If you never come down again and scare the rabbits, and if you be good, then you can still be the Halloween witch.

I love you and you love me,
Amy."

Old Witch felt so relieved that she felt better right away. "Oh, to glory be!" she muttered and she fell asleep. When she waked up, she felt fine and did not have a stomachache anymore. She felt so much improved that she was able to pay attention to a plan that began to buzz around in her head—a plan to get the better of Malachi. Her defeat still stung deeply into her pride.

"Heh-heh-heh," she sang softly as she rocked and turned the eyes of the mechanical rabbit off and on, off and on in the twilight. "There be a way to outwit the spelling bee," she sang. "And I be the one to do it. Confront him, confute him, confound him, confuse him.... Tum-Tee-Tee-Tum," she sang.

"
BEEMENTED
!" was the comment she heard, and it stiffened her resolve.

Amy was swinging on the fuzzy little rope swing tied to the small fir tree in the front yard. It was not a very comfortable swing, but Amy had put a little pillow in it so the rope would not cut into her legs. At times it was her favorite swing, for she did not like always to swing in the bought backyard swing. Here she loved to swing and dream. Here, sometimes, she waited for Clarissa to come running up the street. And here in the summertime—as it was now—she could watch the bees swarming in and out of their nests in the hard ground beneath her where the ivy did not grow.

"I would like to see the queen bee—if she sits on a throne," thought Amy drowsily, watching the busy bees. Perhaps Malachi, before he became magic and her representative in the witch family, used to live in this bee nest below her, she thought. Maybe he was the duke. Maybe a great wind had blown him into the backyard away from his home in the front. And now he was way away, on top of the glass hill, keeping his eyes on Old Witch, outwitting her in her wickedness. Duke Malachi! Never before had there been a bee as big and as important as Malachi.

Since it was summertime now, perhaps Malachi would come down for a little visit. "He has probably eaten up all the honey stored inside all the little rooms of his stomach. His private pantry filled with..."

"
HONEY
!" gently hummed a bee close to her ear.

Since there was only one real spelling bee that Amy knew of, this must be Malachi! Buzzing busily, he flew past her and alighted on a large pink clover, his favorite kind, at the edge of the little square front yard. The big bumblebee, no longer looking like dry winter wheat, was all puffed out and as golden and beautiful as fresh acacia.

"He's filling up with honey to live on while he's keeping his eyes on Old Witch," thought Amy. She watched him go from flower to flower, from the tall pink clover to the little white clovers, and then to the honeysuckle next door.

There was quite a buzzing among all the bees who, no doubt, were discussing Malachi's arrival. But Malachi's loud buzzing could be heard above that of all the others, for he buzzed out words. "
GOOD
," he spelled, and "
HOT
!" and "
CAN'T STAY LONG
!" and "
HAVE TO WATCH
WITCH
!" and "
ON GUARD
!" and "
GOOD MUST
WIN!
"

"Practicing his spelling," thought Amy. If she had had paper and pencil, she would have written down the words of the bee to show Clarissa.

As soon as they saw that the big and patriarchal bumblebee did not intend to visit them, the workers on the ground, the ordinary nonspelling bees, became too busy to pay further attention to Malachi. He went on with his spelling and they with their gathering of honey. It was very hot. The sweet, drowsy droning of the bees made Amy sleepy. Her eyes almost closed. The tranquility was that of a perfect summer day. The sky was Amy's favorite shade of blue. Sometimes, through her drooping lashes, she saw Malachi, a golden sunny blur close by, against this limpid blue. It was as though only she and Malachi inhabited the earth. Her eyes closed and opened and closed and opened. It was hard to stay awake.

Malachi! Sleepily Amy watched him. He was balanced again atop the swaying large pink clover. Now he seemed to be searching for something else, not honey, something in his mind. "He has all his many eyes on me," thought Amy.

"What be ye doing, Malachi," asked Amy, "sitting on that clover, not gathering honey?"

"
I BE SEARCHING FOR THE RIGHT WORD,
" answered Malachi.

"Oh," said Amy. "You know that Old Witch is very angry with you and is just bemented to find you?"

"
YES
," he spelled.

"She be going to challenge you to a battle of the wits," said Amy. "But I be sure you will win."

"
WHEN
?" asked Malachi. No longer did he sound like a relaxed bumblebee happily gathering honey or words on a hot summer day. He sounded grave, like a bumblebee foreboding trouble and anxious to avert it.

"As soon as you get back," said Amy.

Amy grew wide awake too, for at this moment there came a far distant rumbling of thunder.

"
WITCH!
" spelled Malachi. He alighted for a moment on Amy's left hand that tightly grasped the fuzzy rope. He let her touch his soft plush back.

"Would 'befuddle' be the right word you were searching for?" Amy asked softly.

"
MIGHT BE! I GO
!" he said.

"
WIN
!" Amy implored him, spelling the word. And Malachi flew away home, just as Clarissa ran up.

Clarissa had a cool sunsuit on—blue. But Amy's dress was as golden as Malachi. Clarissa's little round face was beady and hot. "I wish we could go to the Oldtown swimming pool," she said.

"I do, too," said Amy. "But who would take us?"

"No one," said Clarissa.

"No one," said Amy. "Well, come on in. It's too hot to stay out. Did you see Malachi?"

"
NON
," spelled Clarissa. Spelling the words was a habit both she and Amy were getting into. And Clarissa, having been born in Paris, France, could spell three words in French. Non. That means no. Oui. That means yes. And papillon. That means butterfly. Oui, non, papillon—a very pretty rhyme.

They went upstairs to Amy's mother's cool high-ceilinged room shaded by the lovely summery ginkgo tree. "Let's draw," said Amy.

"Yes," said Clarissa. "But first, I am going to play, 'How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?'" She put on this record and she sat in front of the Victrola and she rocked in Amy's little red rocker.

But Amy began to draw right away. In her picture she put Old Witch gazing into a crystal ball.

Now Old Witch really was looking in her crystal ball. She had given up searching in her runes for clues to outwit Malachi, for she found nothing that had to do with the case. Instead she spent the long hot summer days consulting her crystal ball. She hoped a picture would appear in it that would reveal to her how she might outwit Malachi. She blamed all her disgraceful defeats on Malachi, and the fiasco in the painting field had been the last straw. But in the crystal ball she always saw the same thing—just the big old bumblebee staring out at her as though admonishing her. And the crystal ball never revealed his whereabouts. Discouraged though she was, Old Witch kept peering in the ball. And that was what she was still doing when Malachi, the spelling bee, sped back to his camouflage place at the sunny end of the porch. Of course, being camouflage, this place could not show in crystal balls.