Lavender-Green Magic

by Andre Norton

  Holly was careful, very careful. She spoke when she was spoken to, but she made no advances. She did not volunteer in class, even when she knew the answers. And she did not try to join the other girls at recess or lunchtime, but hunted out Judy to stay with her. She went on being careful, waiting for someone to say “junkyard,” or “black,” or make some remark she could resent. The other girls, some of them, did talk at first, but when she herself did not make any effort to be friendly, they let her alone. That suited her—just fine. She wasn’t going to try to get in where she was not welcome.

  There were only three other blacks in the whole school, and they were all in the lower grades. On Thursday, Judy looked unhappy when Holly hunted her at lunchtime.

  “Debbie asked me to eat with her today,” she said. “Debbie’s nice. Why can’t I go with Debbie, Holly?”

  “Go on.” Holly stood up, clutching her lunch bag. “Be with her, let them laugh at you behind your back if you want it that way, Judy Wade! I don’t!”

  “No, please, Holly.” Judy caught at her jacket. “You stay. Debbie eats with Ruth and Betty, and I guess they don’t really want me anyway.”

  But Holly was uncomfortable as they sat together, knowing that Judy was unhappy. Maybe this Debbie would be different—like the girls at home. Only—she found that she could not finish the mince tart which was at the bottom of her bag and gave it to Judy.

  When they got home that night they found Tomkit in his favorite place on the hearth, but he was kneading his paws on that small pillow Holly had forgotten all about. She rescued it from him (though he growled at being deprived of something he had manifestly taken a liking for) and squeezed it a little. The scent seemed as strong as ever. Grandma said it was made for people who could not sleep. But what might it do about dreams?

  Dreams! Last night she had had such a bad one, she had wakened up crying, and nearly frightened Judy into doing the same. Then Judy had confessed that she kept dreaming, too, about Mom and Daddy, and how they were lost someplace where she could not find them.

  “Listen, Judy,” Holly said now, “you remember what Grandma said about this pillow—that it made people sleep? Maybe it could keep away the bad dreams. Suppose, suppose we try it—”

  “We can’t both sleep on that one little pillow,” Judy objected.

  “Sure.” Crock had come up behind them. “You can take chances for it.”

  Holly held the pillow tight against her. She wanted it so much, the need for it was so strong she longed to say right now that it was going to be hers. After all, she had really found it, hadn’t she? But Crock was right, Daddy had always said “take chances.”

  As she waited for Crock to turn his back and get two unequal pieces of paper strips to pull out from between his fingers, Holly tried to understand why she wanted the pillow so fiercely. It was strange, but not frightening—rather as if the pillow not only belonged to her but was something she needed. Just as years and years ago, when she had not been able to go to bed without her Pooh Bear on the bed beside her.

  “All right, you first, Judy.” Crock swung around.

  “You have three pieces.” Holly was surprised.

  “Sure, I got to see what all the fuss’s about, don’t I? You first, Judy,” he repeated.

  She hesitated for a long moment over her choice and then jerked free the middle strip. Holly took the one to her right, leaving the last to Crock. When they measured them—Judy had won.

  Reluctantly Holly surrendered the pillow, thinking deep within herself that this was just one more thing which was not in the least fair.

  4

  The Maze gate

  There were no bad dreams that night, but Holly awoke early. The room she and Judy shared had only one small window, which did not let in much light. As she sat up in bed to glance over at Judy, she saw the long, furred body of Tomkit, stretched to the full extent of legs and tail. His face was next to Judy’s, so they appeared to share the dream pillow between them. Now Holly could sniff that herb smell as if the pillow were able to scent the whole room.

  “Judy!” Holly shivered, as she slipped from between her covers, put her toes into the furry slippers waiting by her bedside.

  But Judy did not stir. Holly went over to her bed. Judy must be asleep. Yet now and then Holly was surprised to hear the faintest of murmurs. Her sister’s lips moved, too, as if she were saying something, but in so low a whisper Holly could not make out the words, even when she leaned very close.

  To Holly there was something frightening about that deep sleep and Judy’s whispering.

  “Judy!” This time she called louder, reached out to touch her sister’s cheek, the one which did not rest against the old pillow.

  She was answered first by a sharp hiss. A paw with the claws bared and ready for action struck out. Holly stared at Tomkit. He, at least, was awake. But, though he sat up, his eyes were slitted and his ears flattened back against his very small skull. He hissed again in warning.

  “You old cat, you!” Holly exploded. “Get out!” She dared not raise her hand to push him off the bed, against his very open threat of retaliation. But she did seize the old pillow, to jerk it from under Judy’s cheek, throw it away down the length of the bed.

  Judy’s head turned, her eyes opened. Only, when she looked up at Holly, there was something queer about her gaze. As if she did not see Holly at all, but someone else standing there beside her.

  “Miss Tamar—” she said drowsily. Then she sat up, the quilt and blankets falling back. “The pillow—where’s the pillow?” Catching sight of it where it had fallen near the foot of the bed, she scrambled out of the warm nest of her nighttime sleep to get it.

  “Judy Wade.” Holly was disturbed. “What is the matter with you?”

  Her sister turned the pillow about in her hands, studying the broken circles on one side of it. She did not answer at once; instead she seemed entirely absorbed in tracing with a fingertip the lines of embroidery around and around until she reached the center of the circle. “Right there!” She nodded as if she were now entirely reassured of something. “We’re going to find it right there!”

  “Find what?” Holly demanded. “Something in the pillow?” She reached out to take it from Judy for a closer inspection, but the younger girl jerked it back and away.

  “Me! I’m going to find it! ’Cause, Miss Tamar, she told me how—”

  “Find what?” Holly’s irritation grew. “Who’s this Miss Tamar, anyway?”

  “Find the treasure in the maze,” Judy replied promptly, as if Holly were a little stupid not to know at once what she was talking about. “And Miss Tamar—she—she—” A frown began to gather on her face. “Holly, I don’t know who Miss Tamar is. But she wants us to come, into the maze.”

  “What maze?” Holly was completely bewildered. What was a maze? She had a very vague idea that it was some kind of a puzzle. Suddenly she was sure she had a clue to Judy’s strange behavior.

  “You’ve been dreaming, Judy. You know what silly things happen in dreams.”

  Judy shook her head slowly. She was holding the pillow pressed flat against her now. “It wasn’t a dream, Holly, it was all real. There is a maze and Miss Tamar wants us to come and see her. She showed me the way—every bit of it. We can go today. ’Cause it’s Saturday! Mom’s not coming today, because of a special meeting, so we’ll have time.”

  It was plain that Judy did believe her dream was real. Holly shrugged and began to dress. She knew better than to try to argue with Judy when her sister was in this mood. Usually Judy would listen to Holly’s suggestions (which at times approached orders). But every now and then she got that certain look. When that appeared, Holly knew Judy could not be persuaded, or pushed, but would go only her own way.

  This maze—it was certainly part of some very vivid dream. Judy would realize that for herself in time. However, as Holly pulled on her jeans, she kept glancing at Judy. Though Judy was dressing, too, she kept the pillow close beside her. Tomkit had mo
ved forward to sniff at it with long, energetic sniffs, as if it were filled with catnip, though he did not extend a paw to touch it.

  Holly wished that she had been the one to get the short strip of paper last night—had slept with the pillow. Judy was so excited about her dream. Could the herb pillow really make one’s dream so real that it seemed to be true?

  Now Holly did not try to talk Judy out of her belief that they were going treasure hunting in something called a “maze.” When Judy could not find any such place, she would know she was just imagining it all. Making her bed smoothly, Holly decided that would be the only way to handle Judy, to let her see for herself that there was no maze, or treasure, or Miss Tamar. Tamar—that was a funny name, one she had never heard before. Where could Judy have picked it up to mix into her dream?

  “I’m going to go down and help Grandma with breakfast,” Holly announced abruptly when she had pulled on her T-shirt with the big red star sticker on the front.

  “Okay.” Judy did not even look up, or remind Holly that they usually spread their beds together. All she cared about now was that darned old pillow! All right, let the pillow help her then! Holly was decidedly cross as she stamped down the steep stairs.

  Early as it was, Grandma was already busy at the stove. She had an egg mixture she was dripping into a skillet, stirring it around and around swiftly with one hand as she poured it out of a pitcher with the other.

  “Good mornin’, Holly. These here Saturdays are our busy days. Seems like everyone who has junk to dump comes in on Saturdays! Luther’s got to be out bright an’ early to see as how they don’t dump it every which way. You can help, you young’uns.”

  Holly set out the mismatched plates on the table ready for Grandma’s scrambled eggs. She did not just put milk in the mixture the way Mom did. No, Grandma added a pinch of this and a pinch of that from a row of bottles, each holding some dried-looking bits of leaves and things. However, Holly had her own problem with Judy’s dream, and she wanted to make sure right from the start that her sister had been dreaming.

  “You ever heard of a maze, Grandma?”

  Grandma had reached for another small herb bottle. Now she did not unscrew its lid. Instead she swung around, to look at Holly as if, the girl thought, she had said someone was bringing in an elephant to dump.

  “Now where ever did you hear tell of the maze, Holly?”

  Could she say Judy had dreamed it? But Grandma would probably never believe her. And she couldn’t lie, either. What was she going to answer?

  “What is a maze, anyhow?” she compromised with another question, which was all that came into her mind at present.

  “It’s a garden thing they had in th’ old days,” Grandma said, as if she were thinking back a long way. “They planted out hedges in patterns on th’ ground, with a door you could go in. Th’ paths inside, between th’ hedges, they ran every which way. But there was always a secret to it. An’ if you made all th’ right turns—then you got to th’ middle. They say as how people got lost in ’em an’ had to yell for help for someone to come an’ show ’em th’ way out. There was a maze here once. But all th’ bushes grew up so big an’ thick no one is ever goin’ to get into that part of th’ ground any more, ’lessen he rides in on a bulldozer. Most people have forgot all about it years ago. You hear about it at school?”

  Again Holly evaded. “Judy heard.” But she did not say that it was in a dream. Though she was near the big stove, Holly shivered. Why did Judy dream something about a maze which had really once been here? It was all the fault of that pillow—it must be! She should have left it lying back there in the Elkins’s yard.

  “Well, don’t you young’uns go over hunting for it. It’s all growed up an’ thorned together. I would not swear that there ain’t snakes livin’ back in it. Sure looks nasty enough to give them house room.”

  Snakes! Again Holly shivered. And Judy wanted to go exploring there. Well, she, Holly, would get ahold of Crock, and they would both see that she did not.

  She had wanted to ask about “Miss Tamar,” also. If Judy’s dream maze was real, then perhaps Miss Tamar could—but, no, that part must have been a dream, because Miss Tamar had told Judy to go into the maze. Holly set out the forks for scrambled eggs. If the maze was all grown together the way Grandma said, then she would not have to worry about Judy going in—there would be no way she could. But Holly promised herself she would make sure her sister did not try, not after Grandma’s mentioning snakes!

  Judy did not bring the pillow with her when she came downstairs. Grandma had had to call her just as Crock and Grandpa came in from doing what Grandpa called “makin’ th’ rounds.” Which was really figuring out how to dispose of the trash in different places where it could be covered over by the ’dozer the town sent out once in a while. They had to be ready to see that the “Saturday dumpers” didn’t just throw it any old where. Mostly the bigger pieces went into what had been the cellar of the house which had burned down years and years ago.

  Of course, the trash had to be sorted, anything salvageable brought into one of the sheds or the barn-house. Just lately bottles, even the plates from TV dinners, could be collected and turned in for cash. So, as Crock informed his sisters rather loftily, it took a lot of looking to make sure you were not throwing away something worth good money.

  He went out with Grandpa again when, just as they finished breakfast, a horn tooted. Grandpa said it must be the Larversons. They got the rent of a truck, now and then, to bring out all the trash for two streets in the new development.

  Grandma, pouring steaming water for dishwashing from an old teakettle so large it took both her hands to hold it steady, sniffed. “Trash is right—nothin’ worth th’ pickin’ over.”

  “Well, it ain’t old stuff,” Grandpa agreed as he wound his long scarf on again. “But there’s some good things for Lem once in a while. We’ll always take a look-see.”

  When the dishes were done and Holly and Judy had straightened up their room, Grandma had waved them toward where their jackets hung on wall pegs. “You young’uns can get out an’ leave me to my piecework.” She smiled, and pushed back her glasses, as she started to spread out a layer of newspapers to cover the tablecloth. “Got me a real humdinger of a puzzle here, came in th’ Elkins’s batch of stuff. If I can jus’ get it together rightly, Mr. Correy’ll be more than a mite pleased.” She had lifted an old pillowcase off her broken-china shelf and was unrolling its folds with care. Inside was a white statue, but it was broken. Holly, looking at it, did not see how anyone could ever fit those jagged pieces together again.

  She picked up one bit which was part of a head, with the face. A bit of hair showed smoothly pulled back under what might have been the edge of a cap almost like the one Mom wore when she was on duty nursing, except this fitted down farther on the head.

  “What do you suppose it is?” she wondered, being careful to lay the piece safely down on the cloth again.

  “It’s a woman,” Grandma said confidently. “Maybe even a Rogers figure. Them kind is worth a lot of money these days. They was like people out of stories, an’ an artist man named Rogers, he made ’em. We’ll just have to wait an’ see if this one’s worth fussing over.”

  “Holly, are you coming?” Judy was by the door, her jacket on, her cap pulled carefully down over her hair. Between her feet, Tomkit wove back and forth as if he were just as eager and impatient to get going outside as she was.

  Holly would have liked to stay and watch the magic Grandma might use to put together the badly smashed lady statue. But since Grandma herself had said for them to go, she guessed that such a job needed a lot of peace and quiet. Just wait until she got outside, she would tell Judy about the maze and the snakes—

  “Come on!” Judy was out the door before Holly could pull on her cap. It was a chill morning. They could see their breath clearly, rising in white puffs. Judy’s fairly exploded from between her lips, she was so impatient.

  “Where?”

&
nbsp; “The maze, of course!” Judy answered as if there could be no possible question about their destination.

  Holly stopped short, caught at Judy’s arm. “Now listen, we aren’t going there. We can’t get in anyway—no matter how you dreamed it—’cause I asked Grandma. She says it’s all grown up wild, tight together. Besides, there’s snakes in there. Grandma said that, too.”

  “Not if you go the right way!”

  “What do you mean, the right way?”

  “The way Miss Tamar showed me. There’s nothing there to hurt you at all. And there’s a treasure waiting—”

  “Judy Wade.” Holly took a firmer hold on her sister, who now squirmed to get away from her. “Now you know this is all a dream. There’s no Miss Tamar—”

  “Yeah?” Judy was certainly well into one of her very rare contrary spells. “You didn’t even believe there was a maze, but now you know there is, just like Miss Tamar said. And I’m going there!”

  She gave a stiff jerk and was free from Holly. With Tomkit bounding beside her, his gray tail in the air standing as a banner of triumph, Judy started to run toward the brown-gray mass of leaf-stripped bushes which made a wall of shadow some distance behind the barn-house. There was nothing Holly could do now but follow and hope to be able to reason with her when Judy did discover that there was no way into the entanglement Grandma had described.

  “Hey, where’re you going?” Crock came into sight.

  “After Judy,” Holly called as she went. “She’s gone plain crazy.”

  He lengthened stride, was running with her now. “What you mean, crazy?”

  “She—she thinks there’s some kind of a treasure hidden back there.” Holly waved at that not-too-distant wall of brush. “She had a dumb dream about it. Grandma says you can’t get through, and there’re snakes back there. We got to stop her, Crock.”

  “Snakes don’t like cold,” he said. “But what makes her think her dream is true? Judy’s no little kid.”