by B. J. Smash
“Great. And then I can fix your hair—maybe apply some makeup. I mean, really, you could look so much better than you do,” she said with her usual uppity tone.
I cringed. The last thing I wanted was a makeover from my sister, and cleaning sounded like the better choice. She tossed me a box of garbage bags, and I knew that somehow she had premeditated this. In her mind, if Gran forced us to spend time together, why not have Ivy clean?
Immediately, I set to work cleaning the mess, throwing crumpled trash into the bag and stacking magazines. She sorted through the clothes, tossing what she considered dirty into one pile and clean into another.
When we could actually see the floor, she sat on her bed and watched me. I continued to work, gathering the dirty dishes into a laundry basket. She picked up a plate of half-eaten marshmallow brownies from her pillow and handed it to me.
“Yuck!” I said. “I thought you didn't eat sweets anymore.” What I thought were marshmallow brownies weren't really marshmallows at all.
“I don't. That's why they have mold all over them.”
“You couldn't take this down to the kitchen a bit sooner?
“I forgot about them.”
“They are on your pillow, for crying out loud.” I had to wonder if she had even been sleeping in here lately.
“So?” she said.
“Nice.” I scrunched my nose and took the plate. Tossing it in with the others, I pushed the laundry basket to the side.
After another half hour, the room looked spotless and the dishes were done, and I sat in front of her vanity. The girl staring back at me looked, for lack of words, wild. Earlier I had brushed my long blonde hair, but it looked tangled and unkempt. My hazel green eyes looked too big for my face.
“Thanks for the help,” she said as she stood behind me, watching my reflection.
“Yup,” I said.
She walked to the bathroom and came back with a towel.
“You can't look until I'm done.” She threw the towel over the mirror in front of me and began brushing my hair.
I don't know how many times I said, “Ouch,” but I was getting sick of hearing it myself.
“Oh, be quiet. I'm almost done.” After she brushed my hair, she glazed it with something and began curling it.
During this time, she talked, but not about the usual things. And when I say she talked, I mean she talked. There had never been a “we,” and I didn't expect it to change now. I was the listener.
In the past she would talk of everything from new movies that she'd like to see, to what color her prom dress would be the next year, to how she wanted to be a nurse someday and what college she would attend. She'd go on and on about finding the right man that would sweep her off her feet. She was a romantic.
But not this time; this time was different. My sister sounded weird—almost like she had forgotten it was me she was talking to. She actually seemed almost…amiable. I don't think she gave a hoot about what movies were out, she didn't talk about dresses, and she didn't mention her future career or college, but she did, however, talk about someone sweeping her off her feet.
As she spoke, I noticed her own hair was lacking the usual luster, and her face seemed rather thin.
“I wish I could meet someone…someone with dark hair, smart—no, a genius—with dark brown eyes, a perfect smile, a perfect nose, and sensual lips…”
“Sensual lips, huh? Did you just say ‘sensual’?” By the way she talked, it sounded as though she already had someone in mind.
“Yes, sensual. A word you are not familiar with, I'm sure.”
Then she continued. “A gentleman that would love me and even…die for me.”
“I see,” I said. She was sounding loopier by the second.
“Do you? I find that hard to believe. You don't seem to be the type that would understand, but maybe someday you will. Although that is hard to imagine.”
“Thanks,” I said.
And then she totally changed the subject.
“I suppose Gran wanted us to have this time together to sort some things out.” She curled my hair around the barrel and continued. “Both of us hate discussing our feelings, but let's just get it out there and get this over with. For tonight, we should get along. I apologize if I haven't been pleasant to be around lately, but you never know what's going to happen. You just never know. So, tonight, let's just act like old times.”
I figured the statement about never knowing what was going to happen stemmed from my father's disappearance.
“I'm up for that. Apology accepted. And I didn't mean the things I said the other day—” She interrupted me. “Ivy. It's okay. Let's forget it.”
“There will come a time when you have to accept that he's gone.”
“I will not accept that. I…” I thought about telling her about Ian and Izadora. I even tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come out. Something in me didn't want her to know what I knew, and I physically could not speak the words.
“I don't know, but I am tired of this place. I want a real life,” she said.
“You have a real life. Why are you so antsy?”
“Things have changed, Ivy. I've changed. I am not the same girl I used to be, and there is no turning back for me,” she said.
“Turning back? From what?”
She didn't answer me and started to apply eyeliner and shadow to my eyes. Then she added a dusting of blush to my cheekbones.
After several minutes she said, “It doesn't matter now, it's just too late.” Looking thoughtful, she said, “One thing I know, Ivy, is we'll always be sisters. No one can take that away from us.”
Just as I was about to reply, she lifted the towel from the mirror and said, “Voila!”
The young lady staring back at me...was it me? It had to be me, I was the one sitting in the chair. I had expected to look like a painted clown, but I had to admit that I didn't look half bad. I looked…pretty. My hair appeared glossy, not unkempt and sticking out everywhere; now it was smoothed down and tame. She had hardly put any makeup on me, and my eyes popped out at me.
“Oh, I forgot lipstick.” She applied some color red that I had never seen before, and afterward I thought, Now I could pass as a clown.
“I like it better with no lipstick.” I wiped it off with a tissue.
“So, you admit that you like what I've done?”
“It's not so bad,” I said.
“Now you don't look so much like a tomboy.”
“I'm not a tomboy.” It was true that I never particularly liked makeup and curling irons and ruffled dresses, but I didn't consider myself a tomboy.
“You always liked climbing trees and shooting BB guns.”
“So what?”
“And God knows what you did to scar the tops of your ears. I never could figure that one out.”
I grabbed my ears, and I felt the scarring under my fingers. Nowadays it was barely noticeable, but they were the reason that I always had long hair.
“That doesn't make me a tomboy.”
“Father said you fell from a tree and scuffed the tops so bad that it left scarring,” she said.
He had said that, but I'd never believed it. How does someone scuff both of their ears?
“So that makes you similar to a boy,” she said.
“It does not.”
“It does.”
“Does not.”
“Does too.”
As I sat staring into the mirror, getting ready to say my next “does not,” she whacked me with a feather pillow from behind, messing up my new hairstyle and making me look like I'd stuck my finger in the light socket.
She laughed, which made me laugh.
“Payback is never fun.” I grabbed a pillow and walloped her back as hard as I could, sending her flying onto the bed.
She stood up and whacked me back, and I whacked her back, and it went on and on until feathers filled the air and covered the floor. We laughed and hee-hawed, and once she snorted out of her nose, which
made me double over with laughter.
We had fun, but in my mind the old man lingered.
Throughout the night I would check out the windows to be certain the old man wasn't standing in the dooryard. I trusted Drumm for some unknown reason, and I believed what he said, that the old man couldn’t come to my house—although I was uncertain of what he'd meant by “wards.”
If Zinnia noticed me looking out the windows every so often, she didn't say a word about it. After a while I fully relaxed and didn't think of Ian, Izadora, and Magella and my upcoming task, or even the old man.
We stayed up until well after midnight and acted like fools, just like when were kids. We made chocolate cake, which I devoured most of. Zinnia ate carrots and celery. Not wanting to start any arguments, I didn't bother to ask why she had become obsessed with eating so healthy.
At some point nearing the end of our night, Zinnia offered to make me some mint tea to settle the bellyache I had developed after eating most of the cake.
Within minutes of drinking the tea, I must have passed out on the floor amongst the fluffy white feathers.
***
Surprisingly, we had a great time that night. It will remain in my memory forever—something to hold on to when times got tough. For little did I know at the time, we would never have such a night again.
Chapter Nine
“Get up, sleepyhead. Get up, c'mon,” I heard my aunt Cora saying. My eyes were just so heavy that I couldn't open them.
Ice-cold water was spritzed over my face and solved the problem. I sat up to see Aunt Cora holding a water bottle.
“My, oh my. You're a hard one to wake up this morning,” she said.
“What time is it?” I said, rubbing the dusty feeling from my eyes.
“Ten o'clock in the morning. I let you sleep in but we better get a move on if we're to make it to the book sale. I don't want all the good books to disappear.” She gave my face another squirt of ice water.
“Looks like the two of you had a nice time last night, by the looks of this garbage bag. Why, it's filled with feathers! Don't let your grandmother see that you've destroyed her good feather pillows,” she said.
Looking around the room, I recalled the night before and the pillow fight. Zinnia's room had been cleared of any feathers and looked immaculate. When did that happen? She must have cleared them by herself.
“Where is Zinnia?” I asked.
“Oh, she's up and gone already. Must have had an early date set with Becky.”
Confused, I rubbed my head. “I'm a light sleeper. I wonder why I never heard her go?”
“You weren't much of a light sleeper this morning. It's taken me ten minutes to wake you up. I almost called an ambulance. Now, get ready. We have no time to waste,” she said, scurrying out of the room.
I couldn't imagine how I'd slept through the morning. First of all, I was normally an early riser, and secondly, I was a light sleeper. I suppose it didn't matter, but I still felt tired.
Aunt Cora returned to the room, tossed some clothes on me, and held her hand out to pull me up from the floor.
“I'll be ready in fifteen minutes, Aunt Cora. Just wait downstairs. I need a quick shower and I'll be down.”
She left, and I looked around the room. I didn't know what I was looking for until I saw it sitting on the dresser. My teacup. Zinnia had made me mint tea, and that was the last thing I remembered.
Before I took my next breath, I'd figured it out. She had put something in there to put me to sleep. And by gosh, it had worked.
***
Rummaging through old and used books would normally be my type of thing. I enjoyed reading. Today, however, it became a nuisance. We arrived to the sidewalk sale of books; there were thousands of books to be bought.
Aunt Cora looked as though she'd walked through the gates of heaven and seen St. Peter himself sitting on a silver-lined cloud. She could not wipe the smile from her cherubic face. She already had a basketful of romance books, which I'm sure to her seemed like finding diamonds in the rough. After sorting through a pile, she continued on to another table.
For appearance’s sake, I glanced through the books right alongside of her.
“Isn't this fun?” she asked.
“Yup,” I replied.
I briefly took the time to walk to the end of the sidewalk to glance out to the bay, and sure enough, Magella's boat floated calmly on the water. I suppose that was a good sign. I hurried back before my aunt would miss me.
Walking around, I happened to see a familiar face. It was Becky's mom, and right beside her was Becky. Zinnia was nowhere to be seen. I approached them with a smile, said hello, and exchanged pleasantries. Then Becky's mom turned to say hello to someone else.
Just as I opened my mouth to ask where Zinnia was, Becky said, “So, where is Zin these days? I haven't seen her in a week.”
I contemplated telling her the truth, and that if she hadn't seen my sister for a week, then my sister had been lying of her whereabouts. Every time Zinnia left the house, she said she was headed to Becky's. My aunt complained of her leaving the café during work hours to go see Becky. But instead, I just said, “Oh, has it been that long?'
“Yeah, I haven't seen her since last Friday. And she hasn't even called me.”
“I suppose she's been busy at the café,” I lied.
“Every time I go in the café, she's gone.”
“I'm not sure then. My sister has been enjoying her solitude these days.”
“When you see her, tell her to call me.”
“I will.”
Well, oh well. If Zinnia had lied about going to Becky's, then where could she be? Becky turned and walked off, but not before waving and saying hello to my aunt Cora, who waved back and said, “Good morning.” It wasn't morning anymore. Time flew for Aunt Cora when she browsed books, but I didn't care about that; I just wanted to know why Aunt Cora didn't put two and two together. She saw Becky alone, and she never asked about Zinnia. Was her obsession of books so great that she didn't even care?
I knew two things had to happen: I had to find out why my sister lied about her presence today, and Aunt Cora needed to find herself a man.
Chapter Ten
“What are you doing here on a Saturday, Miss Seaforth? I didn't expect to see your shiny, happy face until Monday,” Ian said as I was ushered into the sunroom, where he sat for high tea.
“I'm to go on a run with Drumm. Didn't you hear him ask me to be at the gate around three o'clock?” I asked.
“No, but a run would be a good thing, I suppose. You have quite the task before you this evening. Grab a muffin. I'll escort you to the gate.”
So it was, around three o'clock, when Ian went with me to the gate. It wasn't during work hours, and I told him I could walk there on my own. He told me that it was necessary for him to come; he had to open the gate for me.
“Why must you open the gate for me?” I scratched my head. “I know how to open a gate.”
“Not this one.” He wheeled himself along, out the back French doors and into the garden. “It has to be opened by a McCallister or a very few select people, otherwise you won't get it to budge an inch.”
“You're serious?” I was coming to learn that Ian was a kidder. I had to ask for clarification.
“Yes, seriously. Maybe in time I can have the ward changed to allow you to open the gate, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. You haven't proved yourself worthy yet.”
“Humph.” I guess drinking a drop of an old woman's blood and agreeing to steal a rolling pin from another old woman, who just happened to be a witch, hadn't made me worthy yet.
“What is it with wards? I saw a creepy old man sitting by the roadside yesterday, about a half a mile from Gran's. He scared the bejeezus out of me. [I had recently picked up the word “bejeezus” from Aunt Clover.] Drumm was in a tree. He told me to run home, that Gran's house was protected by wards.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute. What did you say? You saw an ol
d man sitting on the roadside? No one is allowed to come up this way and just hang out by the side of the road. Just when were you planning to share this piece of info with me?” His face grew red.
“I just did.”
“Only because I mentioned wards. Get this imbedded in your brain: you must tell me right away when something of this nature happens.” He took in a deep breath and let it out. “Now tell me, what did he look like?”
“Well, he was old. He had worn-down shoes, a bowler cap, old clothes, and…silver eyes.”
Ian stopped wheeling his chair, his face stern and frowning. “That would be”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“Izaill.” He looked over both shoulders then. “You must tell Izadora this. He is wicked to the core. Bad, bad news. I cannot stress that enough.” He wheeled his chair forward. I continued to walk next to him.
“Okay,” I said.
I probably should have mentioned that I'd see the old man, Izaill, right away. In my defense, over the course of the day, I had convinced myself that I had been imagining the cold air and the wicked smile of the old man—and the silver eyes. Sometimes we humans have a way of telling ourselves that we didn't really see what we saw, for the fact that it just didn't fit into our tiny little shoe-box worlds. For that reason, I had tried to block the thoughts out.
“To answer your question about wards: Wards allow the good in and keep the bad out. A ward can be numerous things, such as a certain tree or charm that's been blessed or enchanted, a red-braided rope—there can be many things. A spirit…a bird…whatever.”
“What ward do you have?”
“Wards. I have wards.” He glanced at me. “I have holly trees planted at the gate, in case you haven't noticed. Holly trees are one of the trees connected to the fairies. It's a protective tree. I also have, um…a spirit.” He wheeled ahead of me.
“A spirit? Really?”
“Yes, really. I speak only the truth.”
We'd reached the “dark path of death.” I had named it that for being so unlike the rest of the garden. The old rowan trees’ spindly branches scratched me as I walked by. “Why don't you get rid of that rowan? I think it's dead.” I fell behind him as the path narrowed.
