And here it was, right in front of them. Dingier and dirtier than it was in the twenty-first century, but definitely the Buckley House.
“It’s Paxton. We’re in Paxton,” whispered Molly jubilantly. “We know where we are.”
Miri nodded, speechless with gratitude. Thank you, she said to the heavens. Thank you. It was their first piece of good luck. They knew Paxton. Paxton was three miles from their house. Three straight miles with landmarks that included a creek to keep them on the right path. She let out a long breath. It’s going to be okay, she told herself. It’s going to be fine. All they had to do was get the boys and run like crazy for the woods. If they moved fast, they’d have a decent head start. They’d dive into the woods, follow the creek, and get back to the house and the precious front door that would lead them home.
Her eyes fell on Robbie, motionless on the grass. She wondered if he could run at all, much less like crazy.
Molly followed her gaze. “Look,” she said, “Let’s just try it. We’re never going to get anywhere standing here staring at Robbie’s head.”
Miri nodded. “You’re right.” That was Molly—always ready to take action, to move forward. I should be braver, Miri thought. Bolder. Oh yeah? inquired her enemy brain. Like yesterday? When you attacked Carter and started this whole mess? Her brain was right, she decided. She should be more careful. “What about Carter?”
Molly considered Robbie, still lying S-shaped on the grass where Carter had left him. “Look,” she said, turning back to Miri. “He was talking to someone, right?” Miri nodded. “So there’s someone else around. Someone watching! And Carter can’t do anything to us if someone else is watching. Remember Hern? Hern said he couldn’t hurt two little girls! That’s us,” she added. “Two little girls.”
“You’re right!” agreed Miri, and, re-emboldened, she stepped out from behind the outhouse.
“Hey!” Molly said in an agonized whisper. “Get back here! Roll up your pants! You’ve got to look like a girl!”
Whoops! Miri ducked quickly back into the outhouse shadow. “We should take our glasses off, too, I think,” she said as she yanked on her jeans and smoothed down her T-shirt into a more ladylike shape. “I’ve never seen an olden-days girl with glasses.” Molly nodded and dropped her glasses into her pocket. Miri, doing the same, sighed as she entered the world of smear.
Now they were ready. Cautiously this time, they stepped into open territory—and paused, waiting to be caught. Nothing. Dead quiet. Carefully, slowly, their footsteps soft in the dirt, they crept toward the house. Nobody appeared. Nobody cried out, “Who are you? Stop!” The house stood still and silent in the pale afternoon light. They sidled along the wall—Miri noted that an awful lot of magic consisted of sidling along walls—until they reached the white brick corner that had been blocking their view for the last hour, and finally saw what lay beyond.
On a wide, weedy circle of grass, Ray was sitting beside Robbie’s curled back. As they watched, he leaned over his brother, eyed his head worriedly, and then slumped back into his original position.
Carter was nowhere to be seen.
Miri and Molly looked at each other, nodded, and moved in unison out onto the lawn. “Ray!” called Miri, low.
He whirled around, and even without glasses, she could see the relief flooding over his face. “Miri! Robbie’s—” he began.
“What in tarnation you think yer doing?” squawked a voice.
All three of them froze. Slowly, the two girls turned to face the Buckley House. There, on the porch, a man in uniform sat beside a white column, an unmistakable long pistol clutched in his hand. “You gals, you just get yourselves right-a-here this minute!” he bellowed indignantly.
Miri’s eyes locked on Ray’s. Don’t say anything, she mouthed. He gave a tiny nod.
The guard, red-faced and scowling, watched them approach. “You coulda got shot, running out there like that, and you wouldn’t have a soul to blame but yer own selves. What you got in your heads? Stuffing?”
“Eggs!” cried Molly merrily. Miri goggled at her. Eggs? Molly babbled on, “My mama’s old hen laid sixteen eggs in the last four days, and Mama says it’s a testament to the miraculous ways of Providence they didn’t get eaten by a fox ’cause she hid one—that’s the hen, not Mama—all the way under the porch, and Mama says we got to offer the Lord’s bounty to our fighting boys before the Yankees get ’em—that’s the eggs, not the boys—so she sent us on over here to ask if y’all want to buy ’em—some eggs, that is—for a nickel. Apiece.” She ran out of breath.
Miri almost burst into applause. Eggs! How did Molly think of things like that? And how did she manage to act so real? She didn’t stutter or hesitate. She sounded like a 100 percent genuine 1860s girl. And it worked! The scowling guard was smiling.
“You are right talkative, child,” he said. “Yer tongue gonna fall plumb outta yer head if you go on like that.”
Molly giggled. “That’s just exactly what Mama says. Mama says a lady’s voice is ever gentle and low, an excellent thing in a woman, but no one can hear you if your voice is ever gentle and—”
The soldier interrupted, “You said you got eggs?”
Molly nodded. “We got sixteen, but Mama ate two and put by two for me’n’her”—she poked her chin in Miri’s direction—“and then she gave two to Dr. Purdy ’cause he came when Mama thought I had the scarlet fever—which I didn’t—and she didn’t have a cent at the time, and all that leaves ten and that’s what we want to know if you want. For only five cents apiece, which is real good, because we heard they sold ’em for twenty-five cents up in Boyce last week.”
The man was laughing now. “I don’t see how you ever had time to swallow an egg, all the jabbering you do. I tell you what, girl, Mrs. Hibbs—” Suddenly, he stopped and glared over Molly’s shoulder. “You just set yourself right back down, soldier, or I’ll make you sorry you didn’t.”
Miri turned to see Ray standing uncertainly in the grass. Though his face was a blur, Miri knew he was looking to her and Miri, hoping for direction. Behind her back, Miri spread her fingers and gestured toward the ground: Sit down. He sat down.
“You don’t need no eggs nohow!” the guard called. “You’ll be dead by morning!”
Miri felt the blood drain from her face.
“Well, looka you!” he said with concern. “You gone white as a sheet. You tenderhearted?”
Speechless, Miri nodded. Dead by morning?
“Aw, don’t fret,” the soldier comforted her. “They’re Yankees. Same regiment as killed our boys over in Front Royal. Killed ’em in cold blood and now the Colonel aims to pay ’em back.” He nodded at her encouragingly, certain she would be cheered by this news.
“The Colonel’s going to—he’s going to—” Miri’s mouth couldn’t quite form the words.
“Hang ’em, I think.” The guard scratched his chin with the butt of his gun. “Maybe shoot ’em.”
“They look awful young,” Molly croaked.
The guard squinted at the two figures on the lawn, and Miri realized glumly that compared with most of the Civil War soldiers she’d seen, her brothers were tall and healthy-looking. “Nah,” he said. “Look at ’em. They’re in the ranks, ain’t they? They’re old enough. One of those boys they killed over at Front Royal wasn’t hardly seventeen. He wasn’t even in the dang army, and they killed him just the same.” He glanced at Ray and Robbie once more, shrugged, and returned to the important subject. “Now, I would partake of an egg with a glad heart, ’cause I ain’t had enough to eat today—nor yesterday, now that I think of it—but Mrs. Hibbs, she’d run me through with a red-hot poker if I ate up the Colonel’s breakfast.” He sighed. “She’s right inside there.” He nodded to the front door. “Y’all can go in.”
“Mrs. Hibbs,” repeated Molly, somewhat numbly. “Yes, sir.” She cleared her throat. “We’ll go on in.”
Miri cast an agonized look over her shoulder. Turning her back seemed like a betrayal. Wa
s she seeing her brothers for the last time?
“Go on!” urged the guard. There was nothing else to do. Like robots, the two girls climbed the stairs. Behind them, the guard settled back against the column. “Say, boys, you hungry?” he yelled toward Ray and Robbie.
Silence.
“I say are you boys hungry?”
“Yeah,” Ray said.
“Well, don’t you fret!” chortled the guard. “After tomorrow, you won’t be hungry no more!”
The two girls entered the hallway, and Molly stopped, breathing hoarsely. “What’re we going to do?” she whispered. She gripped Miri’s shoulder. “What’re we going to do?”
“Something,” Miri said. “I don’t know what, but something.”
Molly lifted her head, and Miri saw panic in her eyes. “Tomorrow. They’re going to hang them tomorrow.” Her fingers tightened. “If it were me instead of them, it’d be easy. I wouldn’t care, but it’s them, and it’s our fault and I don’t know what to do!”
She’s scared, Miri realized with surprise. Molly’s scared. She wants to make a decision, to take action, to fix the problem, but she’s scared she’s going to do the wrong thing. Most of the time, discovering Molly’s fear would have doubled Miri’s own. But now it made her feel protective. She found Molly’s hand and squeezed it. “Listen,” she said. “I’ll think of a way. You talk to Mrs. Hibbs about eggs and let me think. I’ll find us a way out of this. I promise.”
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!”
Magic in the Mix Page 11
