THE LETTER, THE WITCH, AND THE RING
by John Bellairs
illustrations by Richard Egielski
digital preservation by Guy Montag
CHAPTER ONE
"No, no, no, NO! I will not wear that silly uniform!" Rose Rita Pottinger stood in the middle of her bedroom floor. She was in her underwear, and she was glaring angrily at her mother, who held in her arms a freshly ironed girl scout uniform.
"Well, then, what am I going to do with it?" Mrs. Pottinger asked wearily.
"Throw it out!" Rose Rita screamed. She grabbed the uniform from her mother and flung it to the floor. Tears were in Rose Rita's eyes now. Her face felt hot and flushed. "Take it out and put it on a scarecrow or something! I tell you once and for all, Mother, I am not going to be a girl scout or a campfire girl, I am not going to Camp Kitch-itti-Kippi this summer and roast marsh-mallows and sing happy songs, I am going to spend this whole rotten summer batting a tennis ball against the side of the house until I'm so sick and... so sick and..." Rose Rita broke down. She put her hands over her face and cried.
Mrs. Pottinger put her arm around Rose Rita and helped her sit down on the bed. "There, there," she said, patting Rose Rita's shoulder. "It's not so bad as all that..."
Rose Rita flung her hands away from her face. She tore off her glasses and sat staring blearily at her mother. "Oh yes it is, Mom. It's every bit as bad as all that. It's awful! I wanted to spend the summer with Lewis and have a good time, and now he's going to that dumb boy scout camp. He'll be out there till school starts again, and I'm stuck here in this dumb town with nothing to do and nobody to have fun with."
Mrs. Pottinger sighed. "Well, maybe you can find another boy friend."
Rose Rita put her glasses back on and gave her mother a dirty look. "Mom, how many times do I have to tell you? Lewis isn't my boy friend, he's my best friend, just like Marie Gallagher used to be. I don't see why it should have to be any different just because he's a boy and I'm a girl."
Mrs. Pottinger smiled patiently at her daughter. "Well, my dear, it is different, and that's something you've got to understand. Lewis is twelve now, and you're thirteen. You and I are going to have to have a little talk on this subject."
Rose Rita turned away and watched a fly that was buzzing around on the window screen. "Oh, Mom, I don't want to have a little talk. Not now, anyway. I just want you to leave me alone."
Mrs. Pottinger shrugged her shoulders and got up. "Very well, Rose Rita. Whatever you want. By the way, what are you giving Lewis as a going-away present?"
"I bought him a genuine official Boy Scout Fire-Starting Kit," said Rose Rita sullenly. "And you know what? I hope he sets fire to himself with it and gets third-degree burns."
"Now, Rose Rita," said her mother soothingly. "You know very well that you don't want anything like that."
"I don't, huh? Well, let me tell you something, Mom..."
"I'll see you later, Rose Rita," said her mother, cutting her off. Mrs. Pottinger didn't want to listen to another of her daughter's ill-tempered outbursts. She was afraid that if she did, she might lose her temper herself.
Mrs. Pottinger got up and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Rose Rita was alone. She threw herself down on the bed and cried. She cried for quite a while, but instead of feeling better after her cry, she felt worse. Rose Rita got up and glanced wildly around the room, searching for something that might cheer her up.
Maybe she could get out her bat and ball and go down to the athletic field and hit some flies. That usually made her feel good. She opened the door of her closet and immediately another wave of sadness swept over her. There, hanging forlornly on a nail, was her black beanie. She had worn it for years, but now it seemed silly to her. For half a year the black beanie had been hanging in the closet, gathering dust. Now, for some reason, the sight of it made Rose Rita burst into tears again.
What was wrong with her? Rose Rita would have given a lot to know. Maybe it had something to do with being thirteen. She was a teenager now, and not a kid. Next fall she would be in the seventh grade. Seventh and eighth grades were in Junior High. The junior high kids went to school in a big black stone building next to the high school. They had lockers in the halls like the high school kids, and they even had their own gym where they had Saturday night dances. But Rose Rita didn't want to go to dances. She didn't want to go on dates, with Lewis or anybody else. All she wanted was to keep on being a kid. She wanted to play baseball, and climb trees, and build ship models with Lewis. She looked forward to Junior High about as much as she looked forward to a visit to the dentist.
Rose Rita closed the closet door and turned away. As she turned, she happened to catch sight of herself in the mirror. She saw a tall skinny homely girl with black stringy hair and eyeglasses. I should have been a boy, Rose Rita thought. Homely boys didn't have as many problems as homely girls did. Also, boys could go to boy scout camp, and girls couldn't. Boys could get together for a game of flies and grounders and nobody thought there was anything strange about it. Boys didn't have to wear nylons and pleated skirts and starched blouses to church on Sunday. As fas as Rose Rita was concerned, boys really had the life. But she had been born a girl, and there didn't seem to be much she could do about it.
Rose Rita went over to the goldfish tank and fed her fish. She started to whistle and did a little dance around the room. Outside it was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. People were watering their lawns and kids were riding their bikes. Maybe if she didn't think about her problems, they would go away. It might turn out to be a nice summer after all.
That night Rose Rita went to Lewis's going-away-to-camp party. She didn't really want to go, but she figured she had to. Lewis was still her best friend, even though he was leaving her in the lurch by going away to camp, and she didn't want to hurt his feelings. Lewis lived in a big old house up on High Street. He lived with his uncle Jonathan, who was a wizard. And the lady next door, Mrs. Zimmermann, was a witch. Jonathan and Mrs. Zimmermann didn't run around in black robes waving wands, but they did know how to do magic.
Rose Rita figured that Mrs. Zimmermann knew more magic than Jonathan did, but she didn't show off so much.
The party that night turned out to be so much fun that Rose Rita forgot all about her troubles. She even forgot that she was supposed to be mad at Lewis. Mrs. Zimmermann taught Lewis and Rose Rita a couple of new card games (klaberjass and six-pack bezique, Winston Churchill's favorite card game), and Jonathan did one of his magic illusions, where he made everyone think that they were stumping across the floor of the Atlantic in diving suits. They visited some sunken galleons and the wreck of the Titanic, and even watched an octopus fight. Then the show was over, and it was time for lemonade and chocolate chip cookies. Everyone went out on the front porch and ate and drank and swung on the glider and laughed and talked until it was very late.
After the party was over, around midnight, Rose Rita was sitting in Mrs. Zimmermann's kitchen. She was staying over at Mrs. Zimmermann's house tonight, something that she always liked to do. Mrs. Zimmermann was really like a second mother to Rose Rita. Rose Rita felt that she could talk to her about practically anything. Now she was sitting there at the kitchen table, crumbling up the last chocolate chip cookie and watching Mrs. Zimmermann as she stood at the stove in her purple summer nightgown. She was heating up some milk in a little pan. Mrs. Zimmermann always had to drink hot milk to calm down after parties. She hated the taste of the stuff, but it was the only way she could get to sleep.
"Some party, eh, Rosie?" she said, stirring the milk.
"Yeah. It sure was."
"You know," said Mrs. Zimmermann slowly, "I didn't even
want there to be a party."
Rose Rita was startled. "You didn't?"
"Nope. I was afraid your feelings would be hurt. Even more than they already were, I mean—by Lewis's running out on you."
Rose Rita had not told Mrs. Zimmermann how she felt about Lewis's going away. She was amazed at how much Mrs. Zimmermann understood about her. Maybe it all went with being a witch.
Mrs. Zimmermann tested the milk with her finger. Then she poured it into a mug that was decorated with little purple flowers. She sat down across from Rose Rita and took a sip.
"Ugh!" said Mrs. Zimmermann, making a face. "I think the next time I'll slip myself a mickey. But back to what we were talking about. You're pretty mad at Lewis, aren't you?"
Rose Rita stared at the table. "Yeah, I sure am. If I hadn't liked you and Uncle Jonathan so much, I don't think I'd've showed up at all."
Mrs. Zimmermann chuckled. "It didn't look as if you and he were on the best of terms tonight. Do you have any idea of why he's going to camp?"
Rose Rita crumbled up her cookie and thought. "Well," she said at last, "I guess he's tired of palling around with me and so he wants to be a big eagle scout or something."
"You're about half right," said Mrs. Zimmermann. "That is, he does want to be a boy scout. But he isn't tired of being your friend. I think Lewis wishes very much that you could be going to camp with him."
Rose Rita blinked back her tears. "He does?"
Mrs. Zimmermann nodded. "Yes, and I'll tell you something else. He can't wait to get back and tell you about all the great new things he's learned to do."
Rose Rita looked confused. "I don't understand. It sounds all mixed up. He likes me so he's going away so he can tell me how much fun it was not to have me around."
Mrs. Zimmermann laughed. "Well, when you put it that way, my dear, it does sound mixed up. And I will admit that it's all mixed up in Lewis's head. He wants to learn how to tie knots and paddle canoes and hike through the wilderness, and he wants to come back and tell you so you'll think he's a real boy and like him even more than you do now."
"I like him just the way he is. What's all this dumb stuff about being a real boy?"
Mrs. Zimmermann sat back and sighed. There was a long silver case lying on the table. She picked it up and opened it. Inside was a row of dark brown cigars. "Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Nope." Rose Rita had seen Mrs. Zimmermann smoking cigars before. It had surprised her at first, but she had gotten used to it. As she watched, Mrs. Zimmermann bit the end off the cigar and spat it into a nearby waste-basket. Then she snapped her fingers and a match appeared out of thin air. When the cigar was lit, Mrs. Zimmermann offered the match back to the air, and it disappeared.
"Saves on ashtrays," she said, grinning. Mrs. Zimmermann took a few puffs. The smoke trailed off toward the open window in long graceful swirls. There was a silence. Finally Mrs. Zimmermann spoke again. "I know it's hard for you to understand, Rose Rita. It's always hard to understand why someone is doing something that hurts us. But think of what Lewis is like; he's a pudgy shy boy who's always got his nose stuck in a book. He isn't good at sports, and he's scared of practically everything. Well. Then look at you. You're a regular tomboy. You can climb trees, you can run fast, and the other day when I was watching you, you struck out the side in that girls' Softball game. You can do all the things that Lewis can't do. Now do you see why he's going to camp?"
Rose Rita couldn't believe what she was thinking. "To be like me?"
Mrs. Zimmermann nodded. "Exactly. To be like you, so you'll like him better. Of course, there are other reasons. For instance, he'd like to be like other boys. He wants to be normal—most bright kids do." She smiled wryly and flicked cigar ashes into the sink.
Rose Rita looked sad. "If he'd've asked me, I would've taught him a lot of stuff."
"No good. He can't learn from a girl—it would hurt his pride. But look, all this talk is beside the point. Lewis is going off to camp tomorrow, and you're stuck here in New Zebedee with nothing to do. Well now, it just so happens that the other day I received a most surprising letter. It was from my late cousin Oley. Have I ever mentioned him to you?"
Rose Rita thought a second. "Gee, no, I don't think so."
"I didn't think I had. Well, Oley was a strange old duck, but..."
Rose Rita cut in. "Mrs. Zimmermann, you said 'late.' Is he..."
Mrs. Zimmermann nodded sadly. "Yes, I'm afraid Oley has gone to glory. He wrote me a letter while he was dying, and... well, see here now, why don't I just go get it and show it to you? It'll give you some idea of the kind of person he was."
Mrs. Zimmermann got up and went upstairs. For a while Rose Rita heard her banging around and shuffling papers in her large untidy study. When she came downstairs, she handed Rose Rita a wrinkled piece of paper with several little holes punched in it. There was writing on the paper, but it was very sloppy and shaky. Ink had been spilled in several places.
"This letter came with a bunch of legal documents for me to sign," said Mrs. Zimmermann. "It's all a very odd business and I'm not sure I know what to think of it. Anyhow, there's the letter. It's a mess, but you can read it. Oh, by the way, Oley always wrote with a quill pen when he felt he had something important to say. That's what made all those holes in the paper. Go ahead. Read it."
Rose Rita picked up the letter. It said:
May 21, 1950
Dear Florence,
This may well be the last letter I ever write. I fell ill suddenly last week, and do not understand it, since I have never had a sick day in my life until now. I don't believe in doctors, as you know, and have been trying to cure myself. I bought some medicine at the store down the road, but it hasn't helped a bit. So, as they say, it looks as if I am on my way out. In fact, when you get this letter, I will be dead, since I have left instructions for it to be sent to you with my will in case I kick off, as they say.
Now then, on to business. I am leaving you my farm. You are my only living relative, and I've always liked you, though I know you haven't cared that much for me. Anyway, let's let bygones be bygones. The farm is yours, and I hope you enjoy it. And here is one final very important note. You remember the Battle Meadow? Well, I was digging there the other day, and I came across a magic ring. I know you will think I'm kidding, but when you handle the thing and try it on, you will know I was right. I haven't told anyone about the ring, except for a neighbor down the road. Maybe I am a little funny in the head, but I know what I know, and I think the ring is magic. I have locked the ring in the lower left-hand drawer of my desk, and I am going to have my lawyer send the key to you, along with the key to the front door of the house. So I guess that is all I have to say for now. With luck I'll see you again some day, and if not, well, I'll see you in the funny papers as they say, ha, ha.
Your cousin, Oley Gunderson
"Wow!" said Rose Rita, as she handed the letter back to Mrs. Zimmermann. "What a weird letter!"
"Yes," said Mrs. Zimmermann, shaking her head sadly, "it's a weird letter from a rather weird person. Poor Oley! He lived all his life up there on that farm. Completely alone. No family, no friends, no neighbors, no nothing. I think it must have affected his mind."
Rose Rita's face fell. "You mean..."
Mrs. Zimmermann sighed. "Yes, my dear. I'm sorry to disappoint you about that magic ring, but Oley was right when he said he was a little funny in the head. I think he made things up to make his life more interesting. That part about the Battle Meadow is right out of his childhood. A little bit of make-believe that he saved up. The trouble is, he saved it so long that he got to believing it was true."
"I don't get what you mean," said Rose Rita.
"It's all very simple. You see, when I was a girl, I used to go up to Oley's farm a lot. His dad Sven was alive then. He was a very generous sort, and was always inviting cousins and aunts up to stay for long periods of time. Oley and I used to play together, and one summer we found some Indian arrowheads in a meadow by a stream th
at runs out behind this farmhouse. Well, you know how kids are. On the basis of this little discovery we made up a story about how this had been a place where a battle had been fought between some settlers and a band of Indians. We even gave names to some of the Indians and pioneers who were involved in the battle, and we named the little field where we played the Battle Meadow. I had forgotten all about the Battle Meadow until Oley sent me this letter."
Rose Rita felt very disappointed. "Are you sure the part about the ring isn't true? I mean, sometimes even crazy people tell the truth. They really do, you know."
Mrs. Zimmermann smiled sympathetically at Rose Rita. "I'm sorry, my dear, but I'm afraid I know more about Oley Gunderson than you do. He was completely batty. Batty as a bedbug. But, batty or not, he left me his farm, and there are no other relatives around to contest the will on the grounds of insanity. So I'm going up there to have a look at the farm and sign a few papers. The farm is near Petoskey, right up at the tip of the Lower Peninsula, so after I've taken care of the legal folderol, I'm going to take the ferry across to the Upper Peninsula and drive all over the place. I haven't been on a really long car trip since gas rationing ended, and I've just bought a new car. I'm itching to go. Would you like to go with me?"
Rose Rita was overjoyed. She felt like jumping across the table and hugging Mrs. Zimmermann. But then a disturbing thought came to her. "Do you think my folks'd let me go?"
Mrs. Zimmermann smiled her most businesslike and competent smile. "It's all arranged. I called up your mother a couple of days ago to see if it would be all right with her. She said it sounded like a fine idea. We decided to save the news for you as a surprise."
There were tears in Rose Rita's eyes now. "Gee, Mrs. Zimmermann, thanks a lot. Thanks a whole lot."
"Don't mention it, my dear." Mrs. Zimmermann glanced at the kitchen clock. "I think we'd better be getting off to bed if we're going to be in any shape for tomorrow. Jonathan and Lewis will be coming over here for breakfast. Then off goes Lewis to camp, and off goes we to the wilds of Michigan." Mrs. Zimmermann got up and stubbed out her cigar in the kitchen sink. She went into the front room and started turning out lights. When she returned to the kitchen, she found Rose Rita still sitting at the table with her head in her hands. There was a dreamy look on her face.
The Letter, the Witch, and the Ring Page 1
