Lavender-Green Magic

by Andre Norton

  “The old blood dies not, even in the future,” Hagar continued. “There be those whose spirit quickens to answer when the power summons, who are ready to obey.”

  Tamar did not look at the children at all. “We shall do what must be done. Though what shall come of it—”

  Hagar interrupted her. “What will come of it? Peace for you, Sister, with life eternal within thy pocket of time. Mayhap thou will find it dull therein when there be none but thee. Then thou shalt wish that thou wert free, as I shall surely be.”

  “I wish nothing,” Tamar answered, “but that which be my portion. Nor can thee obtain more than that, either.”

  “Ah, but I have foreseen and foredone. And my portion will be well to my liking. But the time glass speeds its sand; shall we to the business now, Sister?”

  Tamar only nodded. Hagar stooped to the hearth fire and, with tongs, picked up a coal which she dropped into the bowl standing wreathed upon the table. Then, swiftly plucking forth another and smaller coal, she lit the candles.

  From the bowl rose up a straight thread of smoke which curled as it thickened. Holly could smell a heavy fragrance, as if what Hagar now had set afire gave out perfume. She wanted out of this house, back to the world she knew. Yet she could not move, she could only stand and watch. The smoke grew more and more, and denser, until she could see neither Tamar nor Hagar fronting each other across the table where sat the bowl.

  However, she could hear chanting out of that cloud, though she could no longer understand the words. Or could she? For once in a while she had a flash of truer hearing, though never afterward could she remember what had been said. Sometimes her body throbbed queerly, and she felt a forward pull, as if she must push into that cloud of smoke. However her fear held her where she was.

  The chant soared high into the air. Now it seemed that others besides Tamar and Hagar must be there. Other voices, strange ones, joined in. Holly looked to Crock, to Judy. But they were beside her and not in the cloud. Who—who else was there? And how had those others come?

  Through the cloud Holly could see the candles, their flames faint spots of light. Then—suddenly—the outermost, those two which were black, went out. There was a cry from the cloud, a wailing scream. Loud at first, it grew fainter and fainter, until there was nothing, only silence.

  The cloud began to draw in upon itself, just as it had once flowed out, growing denser at its core, yet allowing more and more of the room to become visible. It became a ball which fell back into the basin and vanished.

  Tamar stood there. Her eyes were closed; her hands were stretched out, palms down, over the basin. But—Hagar was gone!

  Tamar began to speak, and what she said was like a prayer:

  “Dread Lord, thou who giveth life with one hand and the peace of death with the other, open wide thy gate through which all must, on their appointed day, pass. Giver of peace and rest, do thee take her to thee now, who comes against her will. Let her in the appointed time be born again, that what be done be undone, the wrong made right. And may she then be as fair of spirit as she was of face and form.

  “By all the powers of land and sea,

  As I do say, ‘So mote it be.’

  By all the might of Moon and Sun,

  As I do will, let it be done.”

  She opened her eyes at last, and leaning closer to the table, she snuffed out the candles from west to east. When she turned to face the children, her face was very pale. And she had to put out her hand to hold the back of the chair, for she swayed as she stood.

  “So mote it be,” Tamar repeated. “Blessed be, Hagar, for thou wert once a bonny, happy maid. May it be thus for thee again.”

  “Is—is Hagar dead?” Holly asked, unable for the moment to believe that what she saw and heard was true.

  Tamar gave a start, as if she had forgotten all about them. Now she looked directly at Holly very gravely. “What ignorant men call death, little sister, be only a gate to elsewhere, elsewhen. Hagar believed that with her ties to thy time, through those potent things she gave thee to plant, she might reach thy world. Perhaps they might have helped her so—I do not know, for I do not walk her way of knowledge. Since the plants did not flourish, she released her hold here, but had naught to draw her through to there. Thus she has returned to that from which her life spark first came. And I—I also am free—”

  “You—where are we?” Holly demanded then, fear growing in her. If Tamar had taken off, the house, everything, as the old story had told it—then they must have gone along! They could never get back! She wanted to scream out her terror as that thought struck her.

  “Thou be strong-tied to thine own time, little sister. Do not hold such a fear. When thou goest through that door, then thou art free also. Except for such bonds as thou thyself may choose to draw around thee. But I be free of time, even as Hagar, only in a different fashion. And all Dimsdale shall be free of the curse which she did lay upon it.”

  Judy crept closer. “You—we won’t see you again, Tamar?”

  Tamar smiled. The weariness, and the shadow of pain, were gone from her face. Plain? Now Tamar was beautiful as Hagar, but in a different way. She threw wide her arms and laughed, not as Hagar had done, spitefully and in anger, but joyfully.

  “Time be not easily played with, child. No, we do not meet again. But”—Tamar leaned forward now and touched Judy’s forehead with her fingertip—”to thee do I leave such of my arts as thou dost wish to gather to thee. A healer shalt thou be in thine own time, even if thou wilt work that skill in another fashion than my own. Guard thee well, and tend to thy best, those plants which thou hadst from me. As they do grow and wax stronger, shall that which man has reft from this earth without taking heed of his selfishness, begin to return. For these all be blessed things such as restore, not harm. In growth there be life, if that growth be truly rooted in this earth, and not from the fevered imaginings of men who believe themselves beyond the ancient laws.

  “To thee, brave heart”—she turned now to Crock—”do I say that courage be a gift mightier than any I can give. But”—she reached behind her to the table and picked up a small spatter of wax which had dripped from one of the candles—”thy hands shall know skill and shall make things which will not only serve thy fellows well, but shall hold beauty. Take this, and it shall be an amulet to bring thee much, but only through thine own endeavors.”

  “For you, Sister”—she spoke at last to Holly—”ah, I give thee welcome to the heart hold. And this, which thou shalt find, if thou dost wish it rightfully, will be what thou seeketh.”

  She had taken something else from the table: a small book, its cover seeming made of thin sheets of wood, with a metal clasp to hold it tight-shut. Holly took it from her almost reluctantly. She had a very odd feeling that if she opened it—when she opened it (for she knew that she would)—life would never quite be the same again.

  “Merry meet, merry part.” Tamar drew down her cloak about her shoulders. “The time be short. Blessed be throughout thy days—”

  The door opened behind them, though none of the three had touched it. Though they tried to say good-bye, they could not find the words. They went out into the open—then—

  Garden, house—they were gone. The hedges, all of the maze, had closed in about them. Yet there was a clear opening in it where Tomkit waited. When he saw them, he mewed loudly and started on. It was like being in a dream, Holly thought. She did not want to talk about it, and apparently neither did Judy nor Crock.

  Suddenly Crock said, “I wonder what time it is.”

  “The Hawkinses—maybe they’ve come!” Judy, her tail bobbing, started to run.

  Holly had forgotten the party. Now she remembered with a rush of excitement. They must not be too late! She set her hand on Crock’s arm, hurrying him along. Just as they made the final turn and came out of the maze, they could hear the beeping of a horn.

  The Hawkinses! Holly hitched up her robe, stuffed the book under the belt of her jeans for safekeeping
, and rounded the house with Crock who was shuffling forward at the pace his costume would allow.

  11

  Lavender’s Green—Blessed Be!

  It was as if they had awakened from a dream. To join in the party in town made them almost forget what had happened. And when Crock won first prize for the most unusual costume, they were all excited. When Grandpa came for them with the truck, they were so tired they flopped down together in the back. But, as they went, suddenly Judy began to sing:

  “Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly!

  Lavender’s green.

  When I am king, dilly, dilly!

  Thou shalt be queen.”

  “Tamar’s a queen,” she said softly. “In her own place now, she is a queen. And I’m going to do what she said. I’m going to be a healing woman, a real doctor!”

  “You got to spend a long time learning that,” Crock commented. “She said the curse has gone from Dimsdale. I wonder, will that help Grandpa keep the dump?”

  Holly’s hands were at her middle. She could feel the book, which pressed against her right there. Crock’s question made her realize that they had come from the troubles in the strange maze world only to face the troubles of their own. She was very tired, and, now that the excitement of the party was past, she was worried again.

  “We’ve got to do something.” Her old impatience to be in action had awakened.

  “What?” Crock asked with good reason. Judy, lost in her own dream of the future, hummed again the tune of the song.

  “Well—” Holly had not really thought past the fact that they must do. Only, Crock was very right: What could they do?

  “We’ve got to think of something,” she said, knowing that that was a very feeble sort of an answer.

  “All right, we think.” Crock had had them help him off with his robot head, which he now balanced on his knee. “Grandpa, Grandma, they’ve been acting as if nothing’s going to happen. If we have to move, where will we go?”

  His question roused Judy from her own dream. “Go? We can’t go anywhere, Crock. We have to plant Tamar’s things, and have a garden like hers. We promised!”

  “So? Then you do some thinking, too,” Crock returned.

  There was no more humming, nor even talking. Think—what could anyone do if Sussex did not care? If the town voted out the dump, and turned the land over to Mr. Reuther? All Grandpa’s young trees, Grandma’s herbs, the maze—Holly stiffened. The maze! Surely that was unusual. Suppose they could open it up again, make it the way it had been long ago, with an herb garden in the center? Grandma knew all the garden-club ladies. She went to their meetings herself, and they came to her when they had questions about herbs. Holly had heard all that from Judy when she was putting down ideas in her project book.

  Would the garden-club ladies be interested enough to want to save the Dimsdale maze? What about the Cub Scouts and the older troop? They came out for their toy project. There was Mr. Correy, and Mr. Lem—how many other people would be on their side?

  However, she did not demand attention now from the twins as she would have done once. Make a plan, a real plan, and then show them. So far she had only the beginnings of such a plan.

  When they got home they went upstairs to take off their costumes. Tomkit lay on Judy’s bed, his head resting on the maze pillow. He was purring gently in his sleep.

  “He’s dreaming, too,” Judy laughed, “and good dreams. But he’s got to move over and give me some room to sit.” She lifted the cat so gently, he did not wake as she put him closer to the other side of the bed. When she picked up the pillow, somehow it fell out of her hand, and rolled over to lie at Holly’s feet.

  Holly stooped to take it up. The maze lines were on it. But, as she absently turned it over, she saw that the other maze pattern, which had led her to Hagar, was gone! Instead there was a spray of flowers embroidered in time-dulled colors as if they had always been there.

  “Judy”—Holly was too astounded to believe what she saw—“do you see this?” She dangled the pillow before her sister.

  Judy inspected the embroidery with intent interest. “That’s lavender”—she pointed to the tallest of the flower stalks. “This is bee balm, and that’s an old, old kind of rose they used to use a lot, they called it ‘damask.’ This is dill—this greenish bit, and that’s bittersweet with the orange berries. The rest, I don’t know. But I’ll look them up in the herb book. They’re all good things, Holly, the kind Tamar would have in her garden.”

  “But the pattern of Hagar’s maze, it’s gone!” Holly could not see why Judy took this so calmly. Embroidery did not just change in a few hours, it could not! And these flowers were so faded, they looked as if they had been sewn there at the same time as the other maze pattern.

  “It had to go, didn’t it?” Judy asked calmly. “It was part of Hagar’s magic. And when she went, there was no more use for it.” Judy ran her finger up and down the center-most stalk of the flower she identified as lavender. “Lavender is blue, or sort of lavender-blue, and it’s green before the flowers come out. Grandma has some. She told me that Miss Elvery showed her once how to make lavender fans for summer. You get real thin lavender material and sew stalks of dried lavender between two layers for ribs! I’m going to try that this summer. I’m going to make rose beads, like Tamar’s, and tussie-mussies,” she said dreamily. “There’s so much to know, Holly, so much to know in this world! I wish I knew all that Tamar does.”

  Holly had washed her face; now she was trying to comb her wild brush of hair into order. She wanted to be Holly Wade right here in Dimsdale, in Sussex, not an African princess.

  “Nobody could know everything,” she said a little shortly. “Not even Tamar.”

  “No,” Judy agreed. “But she knew things maybe we don’t know today. Holly, she gave you that book, maybe that has things in it—”

  Holly glanced at the drawer in the chest where she had put the book a few minutes ago, pushed well down to the bottom beneath her underclothing. She had a queer feeling about that book. Sometimes she was excited to think of opening it, but mostly she was afraid. Afraid that if she did, she would be another person, not the Holly Wade she had always known.

  “You might look,” Judy continued. She padded across the floor in her furry slippers to return the pillow once more to her box of cloth pieces. “There’s no harm in just looking—”

  Now she had to. With Judy watching, Holly could not allow herself to admit that she was afraid, afraid to open the old book. To keep Judy from suspecting this, Holly marched resolutely to the drawer, unearthed the book. She sat down at the foot of her bed and really closely examined it for the first time.

  The covers were thin pieces of wood, but the spine was leather. The volume was fastened securely shut with a metal clasp such as Holly had never seen on a book before, quite unlike the strap and lock which her diary had. She pulled at the metal very gingerly, not even sure that the hasp was not locked in some way. However, at her touch the metal pieces slid easily apart.

  Holly, that mingled tingle of excitement and fear growing all the stronger in her, lifted the cover. The pages did not feel like paper, either. They were thicker than any paper she had ever seen and a deep yellow.

  Inside was writing, not printing—writing she could not read! As she turned the pages, she found drawings, too, in the form of stars and odd-shaped crosses. The old writing went around them as if explaining. But Holly could not make out a single word she knew. Her disappointment was deep. She flicked over the next page with a growing impatience. It was loose and slipped from the book onto the bed. Then she saw the sheet had not been a page at all, but a separate paper, very brown, which had been folded and tucked in tightly there.

  A little bit of the edge flaked off as she tried to pick it up, and she was afraid of tearing it to bits before she could even see what it was. Then she had an idea. Her new photograph album had clear sheets between which one could set pictures—she might put this whole page in there, but she would h
ave to be very careful.

  “What’s that?” Judy leaned over to look at the find.

  “Don’t touch it!” ordered Holly. “It’s so old, it’s coming apart. I’m going to try this.” She put down the unreadable book and found the photograph album, opening it to an unused page. “If I can get it unfolded,” she explained, “without it tearing all up, we can put it in here.”

  “I’ll hold the book for you!” Judy offered.

  Holly had never worked with such care. This was how Grandma probably had to do it when she mended the broken china. Luckily most of what flaked off was just around the edge, and she was able to get the sheet spread out without losing much. There was a drawing on it, too, but she did not stop to examine it closely. Instead she worked as fast as she could to get it under the plastic covering in the album.

  When that was done at last, she held it closer to the lamp. This was a drawing of the maze! Done in far more detail than the embroidery on the pillow. In the center of rings of paths was a small garden, just like the one which had been in front of Tamar’s house. But there was no house. And around the outer walls of the maze were lines of flower beds. Some were very strange-looking, for the flowers had been planted to form square knots or other geometric shapes.

  There was a lot of lettering. Perhaps, Holly guessed, the names of the flowers and shrubs which were supposed to be planted in each bed. However, at the bottom were much larger words, ones she could read: “Ye Garden as be made for Dimsdale, in ye year 1683, by Master Herbert Truelow.”

  A picture of the garden, the Dimsdale garden which Tamar’s father had made! Holly ran her finger over the plastic sheet protecting the very old drawing. “Judy, I’m going to copy this, for my project report. But this ought to be in the museum where everyone can see it. I’ll bet there isn’t another garden like this, with a maze and all, in the whole state of Massachusetts—maybe not even in the whole country! I wonder how much of it we can still see?”