Magic in the Mix

by Annie Barrows

There was a pause. “That all right, missy?” the soldier asked politely.

  “Yes,” said Molly’s voice. Miri wriggled in Carter’s grip, trying to see around him. “Let go of her,” Molly ordered, and Carter’s hand opened.

  Miri moved quickly out of his reach—and saw the new balance of power. Molly stood behind Carter with a heavy iron pitchfork in her hands. Miri’s eyes followed the long handle and came to rest on the five sharp metal points pressed into the back of Carter’s neck. As Miri watched, Molly began to edge around him, the needle-sharp points etching a thin circle of red in his neck. His eyes followed Molly’s movement, narrowing slightly when Miri’s hands joined Molly’s to hold the pitchfork steady.

  “Can you get Jamie up on the horse by yourself?” Molly called to the soldier.

  “Uh, I believe so,” he said eagerly. “I think so. If I can just—” Miri couldn’t see what he was doing, but she heard him breathe heavily with effort. He was trying to stand up. “Sure do appreciate it, missy, you helping out the Union cause like this,” he muttered as he fumbled and gasped. “I’ll send a letter to—to—General Augur and, and—to General Grant himself, yessir, I mean ma’am. Whew!” There was a pause. “I’m up!”

  “Hern!” Carter said in an agonized croak. “Shoot them, for God’s sake!”

  Hern! Miri had forgotten about him. She glanced desperately over her shoulder—where was Hern?

  Hern’s voice came from behind her. “I ain’t shooting no little girls,” he said with finality, and Miri let out a relieved breath. She saw that Molly was doing the same. “Seems to me like we got our five hundred dollars and we shoulda left well enough alone.”

  “Fool,” said Carter through his teeth. “I reckon he’s got another five hundred on him somewhere.”

  “No, he don’t. The way I see it,” Hern said, “we bargained on five hundred and they paid five hundred, and I ain’t shooting them nor any little girl just ’cause she got you treed.” He gave a sudden hacking laugh. “And, Carter, I never seen a better joke on you. Treed by two little girls! They got you fair and square—and they ain’t so high as your elbow, either of ’em!”

  Frustrated, furious, Carter made a lightning grab for the pitchfork—and gasped as Molly jabbed it hard into his neck. “Not so fast, buster!” she snapped. “One move and I’ll poke it right in your eyes.”

  Hern guffawed. “You tell him, sister! Funniest dang thing I ever seen! Old Nick Carter! Beaten by a pair of girls! Haw!”

  Beneath Hern’s honks of laughter, they heard the repetitious mutter of the wounded man as he attempted to lift Jamie into the saddle. “Come on, boy, come on, Jamie, you’re all right—”

  Hern was still laughing when he strolled over to the struggling soldier. “Aw, you gonna bust a gut doing that. Here.” Easily, he took the man under the arms and lifted him into the saddle. A second later, he handed the boy up to his uncle, who wrapped his arms around the still, limp body, mumbling his meaningless words of comfort.

  As the horse started toward the road, the soldier turned to nod to Miri and Molly. “Thank you, missies. You, too, Johnny,” he said to Hern. “And you,” he said to Carter, “the devil’s got a fire waiting for you.”

  For some reason, this sent Hern into fresh gales of honking. “Old Nick Carter!” he gasped, wiping the tears streaming from his eyes.

  Suddenly, Carter straightened, despite the sharp prongs, his eyes on the road. “Here’s the Colonel!”

  The Colonel? Miri glanced nervously over her shoulder—and the pitchfork was wrenched from her grasp.

  “Gotcha!” bellowed Carter, flinging the pitchfork aside and lunging for Molly.

  She eluded him by a hair, dancing away from his fingers as they closed, and Miri saw her first long leap. “House!” she cried as she ran past.

  House? Right! House! Miri tore toward it, with Carter thundering at her heels. “I’ll teach you,” he roared. “I’ll make you pay!”

  Molly ran like a deer, bounding up the grassy slope. Miri, always slower, prayed to the gods of speed and pelted forward as best she could. It was just before her, not the house she knew, but all she needed was the door, the familiar door—

  Just ahead of her, Molly was scrambling up the stairs, reaching a hand back to pull her forward—

  Miri heard Carter’s triumphant cry of “Mine!” and felt the brush of his fingertips against her back. The touch gave her a burst of terror, and she sprang upward to clasp Molly’s hand. Together, they hurled themselves at the wooden door, flung it wide, and jumped.

  There was one final fraction of a second for Miri to twist around and scream “Loser!” into Carter’s face. And then they smashed through the sickening web of time.

  Chapter 9

  Cookie stepped daintily into the kitchen and froze, aghast at the sight of Miri and Molly lying like fallen plums in the middle of the floor. After a worried moment, the kitten padded to Miri’s side and placed a soft paw on her face.

  “Yaah!” Miri shot upward in fright.

  Molly lifted her head. “What happened?” she croaked.

  “Oh. It’s just Cookie.” Miri exhaled in relief and lay down once more, setting the kitten on her stomach. “Hi, sweetie-kitty.” After a moment, an uncontrollable purr spilled from Cookie as she snuggled into Miri’s hand.

  Molly edged closer, and her hand joined Miri’s in stroking the kitten’s soft fur. Eyes—both kitten and girl—closed. For a while, the only sound in the kitchen was purring.

  “Whatsamatter with you guys?”

  Miri opened an eye. Four incredibly dirty sneakers, covered with inky words and pictures, stood inches from her face. She looked up. “Hi.”

  Ray and Robbie exchanged frowns. “You’re on the floor,” said Ray. “You’re sleeping on the floor.”

  “Brilliant observation,” yawned Molly.

  They’d landed in the front hallway on their hands and knees, sick and frightened. When they’d stopped shaking, they crawled to the kitchen and collapsed in a dazed heap. After the mayhem of war, the tense wait inside the barn, the fight with Carter, running for their lives, and breaking through time, the girls felt like the wooden floor was the most comfortable surface ever invented.

  “That’s lame,” concluded Ray.

  “Listen, Mir.” Robbie dropped his backpack next to her head with a floor-shaking thump. “We got you an excused absence, okay?”

  Miri blinked at him. “You did? How?”

  Identical grins flickered across her brothers’ faces. “Never mind.”

  “No, really,” she insisted. “How? Are you going to get in trouble?”

  They snickered and shook their heads. “There’s this girl—” began Robbie.

  “Robbie,” warned Ray. “She’ll kill us, bro.”

  Robbie hesitated and decided against it. “So anyway, Mom won’t know you cut.” He bent to unzip his backpack. “And I got your guys’s homework, too. You got some in Lang Arts and”—he stirred the dark bowels of his backpack—“you both got math.”

  “Gosh, Robbie.” Miri was touched. “You checked all our classes? That was really nice.” Actually, since Robbie rarely managed to bring home all his own homework, it was beyond nice; it was amazing.

  Ray snorted. “He didn’t. Some dumb girl, Abby something, she gave it to him. She said she was your-guys’ best friend.”

  Miri and Molly looked at each other doubtfully. Abby who?

  “Oooh, Robbie,” squealed Ray, “tell your sisters to text me! We were going to hang out together at your house this Saturday!”

  Robbie turned a little red, but he shrugged. “Whatever. We’re not going to be here anyway.”

  “Oooh, Robbie, you just have to be there, I’m going to hate you if you aren’t,” sang Ray. He made a long, smacking kissy sound.

  Just as he had intended, the kissy sound pushed Robbie over the edge. “Shut up!” he cried, slapping the back of his brother’s head.

  Ray ducked. “Oooh, Robbie,” he cackled, “you’re so cute when
you’re mad! You look just like Justin Bieber, except ugly!”

  “Least I don’t look like a butt,” grumped Robbie.

  “You’re identical!” giggled Molly. “You both look like butts!”

  In answer, Ray blew out his cheeks and pushed them inward, a maneuver that made him look, in fact, like a butt.

  They all began to laugh, and then they couldn’t stop. Miri and Molly rolled on the floor, while Robbie snorted in a manly style until Ray did it again, and he dissolved into hoots.

  Laughing, Miri glanced around the old kitchen and thanked the magic for bringing her home. Home, home, wonderful, beautiful home. I love everything, she thought. She loved Molly, she loved her brothers, she loved Cookie. She loved the floor, she loved the sink, she loved the refrigerator, she loved every chipped plate and dirty dish stacked on the counter. “I love everything,” she sighed.

  Ray gave a long, wet sniffle. “That’s so beautiful I could cry.”

  Robbie grinned. “I feel all different inside now. Let’s sing.”

  Miri smiled. They could make fun of her. She didn’t mind. Safe and happy, she reached out and wrapped her hands around Ray’s ankles. It was an old game, years old, but Ray remembered and started to walk backward, pulling her across the floor.

  “God, we haven’t done that in forever,” said Robbie. Molly caught hold of his ankles, and he smiled down at her. “Ready?”

  Chapter 10

  Cleaned, brushed, ready for bed, Miri drifted slowly down the hallway, smoothing her fingertips along the dark wood of the wall. For some reason, doing this helped her think. And at the moment, she needed to think about Maudie. Maudie and 1918. “What do we already know?” she murmured to herself. They knew that magic was a way of setting things right. They knew that it didn’t waste itself unless there was a reason.

  That afternoon’s trip had had a reason, an obvious one. They had been sent through time to save Jamie, anyone could see that. Miri paused to imagine Jamie grown up, maybe president of the United States: “And let me say that I owe my greatest thanks to two unknown girls who saved my life one long-ago day …”

  It was a satisfying image. Miri proceeded to the even more satisfying image of Carter explaining his lack of prisoners to the Colonel. She hoped the Colonel would shoot him. Now stop that, she told herself sternly, and concentrate: Why 1918? Why had they been sent there? If Molly was actually supposed to interrupt the meeting between Maudie and Pat Gardner, why had the magic barred her way back? Why had it sent them smack into the Civil War and Carter instead?

  Because they were supposed to save Jamie. Fine. Good. But then, why send them to 1918 to meet Maudie in the first place?

  Miri sighed. She couldn’t figure it out.

  Her brothers’ bedroom door opened, flooding the hallway with light. Miri blinked. “Mir!” called Robbie in a harassed whisper.

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s, like, the point of Julius Caesar?”

  “Got me,” she said. “I never read it.”

  Hoarse, despairing curses filled the hallway. Miri didn’t take them personally. Her parents had laid down the law at the dinner table that night: If Robbie didn’t finish his essay on Julius Caesar by tomorrow morning, there would be no reenactment for him.

  “But, Dad!” Robbie had protested. “It’s not due until Monday! I’m going to write it on Sunday!”

  “Okay,” said Dad, poking his salad in search of croutons, “that’s your choice, but you won’t be doing any extracurricular activities until you finish your curricular ones. In other words”—he found a crouton and waved it—“no reenacting unless the essay is done.”

  “We promised we’d be there!” Ray protested. “Mr. Emory will kill us if we don’t show. He’ll flunk us.”

  “That’s terrible,” said Dad calmly. “I guess there’s only one solution: write the essay before eleven tomorrow morning.”

  One little fact Robbie had omitted from this conversation was that he had not yet finished—or begun—reading Julius Caesar.

  Ray was perched on the edge of the bed, reading furiously. “Okay,” he called, “it’s set in Rome.”

  “Duh!” moaned Robbie.

  “Why don’t you look it up on the Internet?” suggested Miri.

  “Dad turned it off!” he yelped. “Can you believe that?”

  Dad was pretty smart, Miri thought. “I don’t know why you want to fight in a war anyway,” she said. “They’re awful.”

  “Like you know anything,” Ray said scornfully.

  Miri leaned against the doorframe, thinking, again, about the mysterious purposes of magic. Had she and Molly, perhaps, performed some service in 1918 without knowing it? Was it possible, for instance, that their presence had kept some tragic event from happening? Each tiny thing that touched them was changed a little, she supposed. She allowed her imagination to run free, picturing her foot as it stepped on a loose tree root, pressing it a fraction of an inch farther into the ground, so that the tree leaned by some microscopic amount in a new direction. Then, later—years later—when a great storm ripped the tree from the ground, that same microscopic slant would ensure that it fell away from, not onto, the innocent bystander sheltering under its branches, thus saving a life destined for—what?—something noble. Hmm. Maybe. Vague, but better than nothing. “Molly?” She leaned out of her brothers’ doorway and yodeled up toward her own. “I have an idea!”

  That night, she dreamed of Carter. He wasn’t chasing her, he wasn’t even touching her. He was simply walking toward her. She could see him, far away but getting closer, closer, closer. She strained and struggled, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t get free, and he was coming. “I have gold!” she cried suddenly, hoping to escape.

  He shook his head, laughing. “Loser.” And he kept coming.

  A small hand shook Miri’s shoulder. “Shh,” Molly murmured. “It’s okay. Carter’s not here.”

  “Was I yelling?” Miri mumbled.

  “More like groaning. Move over.” Miri heaved herself to one side and Molly slid in beside her. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “It’s all over. Over and done. Over and done.” She repeated the comforting words until Miri stopped shivering. “Over and …”

  Side by side, they returned to sleep.

  “Jeez!” squawked Molly, lurching up. “What was that?”

  Miri fumbled for her glasses. “A door slamming, I think.”

  “Jeez,” repeated Molly, flopping down again.

  But there was no help for it. They were awake and it was morning. Sunlight bobbled through the curtains.

  They tiptoed past Ray and Robbie’s room, which was ominously silent, and found Nell and Nora in the kitchen, consuming syrup.

  Nora looked up. “Daddy said Robbie’s paper wasn’t good and he couldn’t go to the actment, and then Ray said who said it had to be good and Robbie’d been up till the middle of the night, but Daddy said he couldn’t just say all the people’s names, he had to say something else, and then Robbie was really, really mad and he said it wasn’t fair and then he said a bad word, and then Mom said that did it, and then Robbie slammed the door.”

  Nell summarized. “Everyone’s mad.”

  Her sisters looked worried, so Miri said cheerfully, “I’m not mad!” and boinged one of Nell’s curls.

  “Me neither!” said Molly. “What’s for breakfast around here?”

  But she and Miri raised anxious eyebrows at each other. Unfairness made Robbie crazy. Ray got mad loudly and often, but Robbie was different. He was more patient than his brother, more even-tempered and easy-going. The only time Robbie lost it was when he decided something wasn’t fair, but when he lost it, he lost it big. He was the only Gill child ever to have been suspended, and that was for clobbering an eighth grader who wouldn’t let a new kid sit down in the school lunchroom.

  Miri and Molly tried to radiate jolly confidence as they made toast and poured juice. “So,” said Molly, settling beside Nell with a plateful of jammy toast, “what
are you guys doing today?”

  Nell and Nora looked at each other and smiled. “Helping Fritz.”

  Fritz was in charge of trimming the Gill trees and mowing their enormous circle of lawn. He was tall, red-haired, and so shy he could barely speak. Nell and Nora loved him. On the days he came to work at their house, the two little girls followed him from one spot to another, talking, both at once, the whole time. “Maybe he doesn’t mind,” their mother said worriedly. “Maybe it’s good for his social skills.”

  So, despite its thunderous beginning, the morning proceeded quietly. Fritz’s lawn mower hummed, and occasionally the buzz of a drill was heard in the backyard, where Dad was attempting to make progress on the porch without Ollie.

  “Where’s Mom?” called Molly out the window.

  Dad looked up, shading his eyes. “Grocery store.”

  Oh.

  Miri sat down in front of her math homework, feeling flat. Yesterday had been awful, the scariest of her life; it had made her wish with all her heart that she would never experience magic again; it had made her love her simple, quiet, normal life.

  And here it was. Her life. Simple. Quiet. Normal.

  Restlessly, she got to her feet.

  Molly looked up. “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know,” said Miri. “I feel—I don’t know—not bored, exactly, but—something.”

  Molly nodded. “Let down?”

  “Yeah! That’s it! Let down!”

  “Me too,” said Molly. She kicked the table leg gently. “We don’t know the end of the story. It feels unfinished.”

  That was it: unfinished. Miri wanted to know what happened to Jamie, to his uncle, to Carter, even to the Colonel. It seemed wrong that they had been thrust into that scene, made to act in it, and then sent home before it was over.

  Miri plopped down again with a sigh. “Maybe we’ll find out what happened someday.”

  “You don’t think it’s trying to make us study history, do you?” asked Molly.

  Miri shook her fist at the kitchen wall. “This had better not be educational!” she cried.