Stealing Magic

by Marianne Malone

  “He knows us. Don’t you think he would have said something directly to us?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. It’s pretty unbelievable, after all.”

  “How about the archive curator, the one who helped us on the report?”

  Jack nodded, then added, “Any of the other guards or maintenance people.”

  Then something occurred to Ruthie. “Jack, remember what Mr. Bell’s daughter said at the opening last night?”

  “Caroline Bell? About what?”

  “About how her backpack was lost. She said the three of us have more to talk about. Remember, you elbowed me. I think we should try to meet with her.”

  “And just ask her if she knows anything about the note?”

  “No, not about the note exactly. But to see if maybe we can trust her. To see if she wants to know anything more about her memories and the rooms. Maybe she can help us.”

  “Okay. Put her down.”

  As she wrote the name, Ruthie realized something else. “Maybe whoever put the note in the box will notice that it’s gone now and come looking for us.”

  “You’re right,” Jack agreed soberly. “We’d better put it back. Tuesday—it’s a half day of school.”

  They sat on the floor of his room, looking from the letter to the list and back again, quietly mulling the situation. The silence was broken by the sound of a key opening the loft door.

  “Hello,” Lydia called into the big space.

  “Hi, Mom.” Jack got up. “We’re here.”

  Jack and Ruthie went into the kitchen area.

  “Hello, Ruthie.” Lydia had just put down a bag of groceries and was looking through the mail. She smiled at Jack. “Yesterday’s mail. We forgot to bring it up,” she said. “And today’s paper. I hear we’re in the Arts section.” She opened the paper on the kitchen table and thumbed through to find their pictures. “Ah, here we are. Hey, you two look pretty good! … Oh boy.” Her tone changed as she skimmed another article. “I was wondering if this would make the papers. I’ve been hearing about this from some of my friends. An art thief!”

  “My family saw that too,” Ruthie said.

  “What else do you know, Mom?”

  “Not much more than what it says here in the article. Word is it’s been going on for several weeks; there aren’t any clues.” Lydia turned her attention to opening the mail. “What have you two been up to today?”

  “We took my mom to see the Thorne Rooms,” Ruthie said.

  “Yeah, and I met someone who’s maybe going to give Ruthie drawing lessons,” Jack added.

  “Really? Who?”

  “Dora Pommeroy. She’s an interior designer,” Ruthie answered.

  “She said she’d heard of you, Mom.”

  “I’ve met her a few times. She’s decorated homes of some people who’ve bought my paintings; she has a great reputation. I don’t know her well, though.” Lydia showed Jack a card that had come in the mail. “Look at this. It’s an invitation to a gala at the Art Institute—and I can bring a guest.”

  “Do you have to dress up?” Jack asked with an obvious lack of enthusiasm.

  “Yes. Gala means you dress up,” she answered. “I bet I could bring you both.”

  “I’d love to!” Ruthie looked at Jack, wondering why he didn’t appear to understand the opportunity this might present—being in the museum after it was closed! Now Ruthie had two things to look forward to: drawing lessons and an evening at the museum!

  “So my first drawing lesson is going to be on Saturday. My mom got an email from Dora last night,” Ruthie told Jack. It was Tuesday afternoon, chilly but clear and sunny. She and Jack sped two steps at a time up to the front doors of the museum. “We’re going to meet here and she’s going to bring the supplies I need.”

  Jack didn’t seem to be paying attention. “Do you have money to check your backpack?” he asked.

  “Yep.” She retrieved a dollar out of her pocket. They set their backpacks down on a bench just inside the entrance. “And I brought this.” She pulled a canvas messenger-type bag out of her backpack. “I can bring this into the museum. We can carry the bento box in it.”

  “Good thinking.” He slipped the bento box out of his backpack and lifted the lid to show Ruthie the letter safe inside. “Here, take this too.” He handed her the tiny rolled-up string ladder.

  “Where’s the key?” Ruthie asked.

  Jack patted the pocket of his sweatshirt jacket. The line for the coat check was long but moved fast.

  “It’s so crowded today,” Ruthie commented as they bounded down the marble staircase. Unfortunately, not every school had a half day, and the museum seemed to be bursting with school groups on field trips.

  They hovered around the alcove, not looking at any of the rooms. The more Ruthie tried to act normal, the more she felt certain she seemed guilty of something. A guard came by and gave them a long glance.

  “This is torture,” Ruthie whispered.

  “Just look at the rooms,” Jack said. They walked across the space, back to the wall of European rooms, and stood in front of room E6, an English library from the early 1700s. The library was directly next to the alcove.

  “That’s odd,” Ruthie said. “Something’s missing.”

  “What do you mean?” Jack asked.

  “See the smallish globe on the desk there?”

  “Yeah. What about it?”

  “There should be two of them. One on each side of the desk,” Ruthie said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I know one’s missing because I thought it was weird to have two globes in the first place,” she explained.

  “Is it somewhere else in the room?”

  Ruthie and Jack spent a minute looking.

  “No. It’s definitely gone,” said Ruthie. “I’ll show you later in the cata—”

  “Quick!” Jack grabbed Ruthie and pulled her to the alcove. They had three or four seconds with no one nearby. He slammed the key into Ruthie’s hand and she closed her fist around it. In the blink of an eye, Ruthie’s ponytail was swinging in the breeze that surrounded them, the alcove enlarging into a cavernous space.

  They fell to their hands and knees on the giant carpet loops and rolled under the door. In the corridor, Jack jumped up and down like a tiny prizefighter.

  “It worked! I almost forgot how cool this is!”

  “Yeah, but we’ve got to get big again to set up the ladder,” Ruthie reminded him.

  “You can do it without me. Let me stay small and you can lift me up.”

  “Oh, all right,” Ruthie said, feeling like his chauffeur.

  She dropped the key and returned to full size. Jack lifted the key, which was now almost as large as him, staggering under its weight.

  “If I carry you while you’ve got the key, you’re gonna have to make sure it doesn’t touch me!” Ruthie cautioned. “I don’t want to shrink while I’m holding you!”

  Jack held the key in front of him with his hands outstretched. He looked like an old-fashioned doll whose arms didn’t bend. Ruthie carefully picked him up between her thumb and index finger, holding him at the waist, his legs dangling.

  “Go fast,” Jack’s tiny voice ordered. “I don’t think I can hold the key very long.”

  Ruthie jogged down the dark corridor, Jack bouncing along. At E31 Ruthie placed him on the ledge.

  “Man, that was heavy!” Jack let the key fall from his hands.

  Ruthie secured the ladder to the ledge, then picked up the key and shrank along with the canvas bag, the bento box, and the letter. Wishing she could be in Jack’s place on the ledge, she started the long climb.

  “There are so many people out there right now,” Jack said as Ruthie arrived on the ledge. “I just checked.”

  “Here.” She handed him the bento box. “You can put it back.” Ruthie was glad to rest after the long climb. She sat down and watched as Jack took the box and made his way through the opening in the framework, which led to the side roo
m where he would wait for a break in the crowd.

  “That was close,” Jack said when he reappeared. “Someone almost saw me, and I had to dive into the garden. It’s weird,” he added. “It feels different in there since the last time. The garden was real, alive, before. Now it’s fake.”

  “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t alive when I went in there on Sunday. I noticed that right away.”

  “I wonder why it’s not.”

  “All I know is that E27 is most definitely magic,” Ruthie responded. “Or at least it was on Sunday. Let’s go.”

  Ruthie and Jack ran along the ledge, past the Chinese interior and a German sitting room. She led Jack to the opening for room E27. Stepping into the beautiful rooftop garden, the two instantly felt what Ruthie had experienced before—it was alive!

  “Wow. This is pretty awesome!” Jack looked off into the distance through a window in the high wall that enclosed the garden.

  “Jack, watch out!” Ruthie ordered. “People can see you from there.” It was true. Room E27 had two doorways—one leading out to the roof garden, and the other to a balcony. Viewers from the museum could look through either door and see not only the long vistas of Paris but Jack as well. He swung around and ducked out of the way at the very moment a head came into view.

  Ruthie joined him in the safe spot. “Isn’t it fantastic?”

  “What year did you say it was?” Jack asked.

  “The catalogue said 1937—the year of some kind of big fair.” She peeked around the corner. “Come on!”

  Jack followed her into the room. “It’s so different from Sophie’s room.” He admired the high ceilings and simple, geometric lines.

  “We can’t stay here—the museum is too crowded. Let’s go out to the balcony.” Ruthie led him out of the room, through the door on the right.

  Out there, where no viewers could see them, they heard the sounds of the street mixed with music and voices, just as Ruthie had during her brief first visit. She looked at Jack. “Want to explore?”

  “Yes!” he answered.

  THEY MADE THEIR WAY DOWN and around—six times—on the outdoor spiral staircase. At the bottom they found themselves in a formal garden courtyard, much like the one on the rooftop. Several beautiful white stone sculptures stood next to precisely trimmed bushes. Aromatic roses bloomed in four squared-off sections with paths in between, and an elaborately decorated wrought-iron gate led to the street. Jack opened it and stuck his head out to check what was happening on the sidewalk.

  Ruthie noticed a key hanging from a nail on the garden wall. She put it in one of her pockets to make sure they wouldn’t get locked out, and then joined Jack on the sidewalk. The weighty iron gate clanged shut behind them.

  So this is Paris in 1937, Ruthie thought, wide-eyed, as she looked all around. White stone buildings—uniformly about six stories tall—faced the wide boulevard. Sycamore trees trimmed into perfect rectangles lined the streets. Ruthie thought they looked like giant leafy ice cream bars on sticks. A few blocks off, the Eiffel Tower rose high above all the other buildings. A well-dressed woman walked by carrying in a little basket the smallest dog Ruthie had ever seen.

  Another woman passed them pulling a wheeled shopping cart, a baguette sticking out from the top. Except for the hairdos and clothes and the shapes of the cars, it looked just like the pictures in her mother’s books. The women all wore dresses or skirts and high heels and had neatly waved hair. Most of the men were in suits and leather shoes—no blue jeans or sneakers in sight. The sidewalks were dotted with cafés on every corner, filled with people, many of them smoking cigarettes, which made Ruthie aware of all the other scents around her; strong coffee, car exhaust, perfumes. The sun shone midday bright.

  “What month do you think it is?” Jack asked.

  “Early summer?” Ruthie saw that the leaves on the trees still looked light green and fresh. They walked down the street, getting a few stares but mostly being ignored. They noted the street signs so they would be sure not to get lost as they wandered.

  When Ruthie and Jack had met Sophie in Paris in the eighteenth century, the Eiffel Tower hadn’t been built yet. But now, turning a corner, they found themselves standing at the top of a long, open pedestrian space spreading out in front of them. The beautiful metalwork tower stood at the far end. What must have been thousands of people filled their view.

  “I can’t believe we’re really here!”

  “Me neither!” Jack agreed.

  Ruthie mentally compared the scene to the pictures in her mother’s books. She recognized this view of the city as the Jardins du Trocadéro. A long, rectangular fountain ran down the center of the gardens, its jets spraying water dramatically into the air. The ground sloped to the Seine River and a bridge that people walked across to the Eiffel Tower. That was all the same as in the books. However, the park was lined with small buildings of different styles, with flags of various countries waving near the doors or from the rooftops. Ruthie couldn’t be absolutely certain, but she didn’t remember any of these buildings from the books. Two of these structures at the end of the park stood out from the rest; they were larger and faced each other.

  “Let’s walk down there,” she suggested.

  Everyone seemed interested in this pair of unusual buildings on either side of the wide promenade. When Ruthie and Jack neared the end they stopped to look at them.

  “Whoa.” Ruthie gazed up at a tall, tower-like structure. It was all white stone and designed with straight vertical lines, which made it seem even taller. A huge sculpture of an eagle perched on the top, its lifelike eyes intense and focused on the park below. Flagpoles on the ground surrounded the structure. On each pole they saw the flag of Nazi Germany. Even though the sun was shining, Ruthie felt a chill.

  “What do you know about this time in history—1937?” Ruthie asked, once again glad that Jack was such a history buff.

  “It was before the start of World War Two, but just barely, I think. Germany was getting pretty powerful—that’s probably why this is the tallest of all these buildings.” He turned to look directly across at the other side of the promenade. “Look at that one.”

  Ruthie pivoted and saw the second-tallest structure. It was made of gray stone and had two huge statues—a man and a woman—on the top of it. The figures seemed to be striding forward with large steps and together held something above their heads.

  “Do you know what they’re holding?” Ruthie asked.

  “That’s the hammer and sickle from the Soviet flag. See, there’s the flag.” Jack pointed to two red flags on flagpoles next to the door of the structure. “From when Russia was called the Soviet Union.”

  “This one gives me the creeps too,” she responded. “These two buildings look like they’re competing with each other.”

  “That would make sense. Germany and the Soviet Union were enemies in World War Two.”

  She looked up at the two menacing towers; a wave of fear ran through her, and she unconsciously took a step back. But as she did so, she felt her foot step on something before it hit the ground—something soft that gave a little yelp. Ruthie caught herself and turned fast, nearly tripping. The yelp had come from a little dachshund.

  “Frieda!” the girl at the other end of the leash said. “Sitz!” The obedient dog sat.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ruthie apologized.

  “No, I am sorry. She shouldn’t be underfoot!”

  “She’s really cute!” Ruthie reached down to stroke the little dog.

  “Are you from America?” the girl asked.

  “Yes,” Jack answered. “My name’s Jack, and this is Ruthie.”

  “I am Louisa.” She looked to be about the same age as them. She wore a cotton print dress with a blue cardigan sweater. Only the top button was buttoned, which seemed to be the style on lots of women out walking. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face with two fancy clips. “I could tell from your accent—and your clothes.” Ruthie and Jack both wore blue jeans and sneak
ers. Jack had the image of Sue the dinosaur from the Field Museum on his T-shirt, her toothy T. rex smile poking out from under his sweatshirt jacket. Ruthie wore a blue sweatshirt with the Oakton logo printed on it. “Does everyone dress like this in America these days?”

  “In Chicago,” Jack answered. “That’s where we’re from.”

  “I have heard there are gangsters there!” Louisa said.

  Ruthie was about to answer no, but Jack answered first. “It’s true. Al Capone.” Ruthie had no idea what Jack was talking about, so she kept quiet. “The FBI has caught most of them, though. It’s pretty safe now.”

  “What are you doing in Paris?” Louisa asked.

  Again Jack answered quickly. “Our dad is here on business. It’s our second time in Paris.”

  At least that’s half true, Ruthie thought.

  “What about you?” Ruthie asked. She had noticed right away that this girl’s perfect English had an accent that didn’t sound French. And she was pretty sure that when the girl had told her dog to sit, she hadn’t said it in French.

  “I am German. My family came to Paris a few months ago.” She changed the subject. “What do you think of the exposition?”

  “We don’t know much about it. What’s it all about?”

  Frieda whimpered and tugged on the leash, so they all started walking alongside the fountain as Louisa talked.

  “This is the Exposition Universelle. The organizers say it is meant to celebrate progress and the future. Every country has a pavilion.” She gestured to the structures that lined the park. “Each pavilion shows what is new in that country.”

  “Oh, I get it,” Ruthie said. “It’s a World’s Fair.” Her father had told her about some famous buildings in Chicago built for one of those fairs a long time ago. The three of them walked up and down the Jardins du Trocadéro; they noted the pavilions of Poland, Finland, and Spain (Louisa helped them recognize the names with their foreign spellings). These buildings sat lower and welcomed visitors, unlike the looming structures from Germany and the Soviet Union, which seemed to command, Stay out!

  Louisa asked all kinds of questions about Chicago, and told Ruthie and Jack a lot about Paris and Berlin and the people of the two cities.