The Letter, the Witch, and the Ring

by John Bellairs

  But Aggie said nothing, and fortunately her mother did not notice the laughing fit that had come over her. The policeman with the note pad hadn't noticed either.

  He had been busy jotting down every word Mrs. Zimmermann said. "Okay now," he said, looking up from his work. "Mrs. Zigfield, you got any idea what happened to the old lady that ran this store?"

  Mrs. Zimmermann shook her head. "None whatsoever, officer. Can't you find her?"

  "Nope. But we're gonna put out an all points bulletin for her arrest. Boy was she crazy! Did you see all this stuff?" He pointed toward the pile at the foot of the steps.

  Mrs. Sipes looked at Mrs. Zimmermann with wide worried eyes. "Mrs. Zimmermann, what do you make of all this? Do you think Mrs. Bigger was a witch?"

  Mrs. Zimmermann stared straight at her. "A what?"

  "A witch. I mean, look at all these things. I can't imagine why else she would have..."

  Mrs. Zimmermann put her tongue between her teeth and made a tsk-tsk sound. She shook her head slowly. "Mrs. Sipes," she said, in a shocked voice, "I don't know what you've been telling your daughter, but this is the twentieth century. There are no such things as witches."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When the Pottingers arrived at the Sipes farm later that morning, they found the Sipeses, their eight children, Mrs. Zimmermann, and Rose Rita, all huddled around a radio on the front porch of the farmhouse. They were listening to a radio report on what had come to be known as "the Petoskey witch case." The Pottingers were, of course, pretty tense to begin with, but when they found out that their daughter had, for a little while, been the prisoner of an elderly lunatic who imagined herself to be a witch—well, they really got the jitters. Mrs. Zimmermann did her best to calm them down. She pointed out that, after all, she and Rose Rita were safe, and the whole adventure—terrifying as it had been—was over. It seemed clear that if he could have found some way to do it, Mr. Pottinger would have blamed the whole affair on Mrs. Zimmermann's "screwballishness," but he didn't have time to do any blaming, what with all the fuss and flurry and tearful reunions going on around him. Mr. Sipes, who had come back from his business trip earlier that morning, took Mr. Pottinger out to show him the barn, and the Pottingers were invited to stay for lunch.

  Around two that afternoon the Pottingers drove back to New Zebedee with Rose Rita. Rose Rita and Aggie had a tearful farewell at the car window, and they promised to write to each other a lot during the next year.

  The last thing that Aggie said as the Pottingers were about to drive away was, "I hope you don't get a flat tire. They're awful hard to fix."

  Mrs. Zimmermann stayed behind. She said, rather mysteriously, that she had some "business to attend to." Rose Rita figured that it had something to do with the magic ring, but she knew from past experience that Mrs. Zimmermann wouldn't tell her anything more until she was darned good and ready.

  About a week after she got back to New Zebedee, Rose Rita received a purple-bordered letter in the mail. Inside was a piece of lavender-colored stationery, and on it this message was written:

  My dear,

  I'm back, and so is Lewis—for the time being. It seems that the pump that supplies the water to his camp broke down, and they're sending the kids home till they get it fixed. Sometime or other, Lewis will be going back for the rest of the camp session, but in the meantime, you are hereby invited to a coming-home-from-camp-for-now party for Lewis at my cottage on Lyon Lake next Saturday. Plan to stay overnight. If it's okay with your folks, I'll be around to get you in Bessie after lunch. It should be a lot of fun. Bring your swimming suit.

  Yours,

  Florence Zimmermann

  PS: Don't bring any presents for Lewis. He's bringing home enough stuff from camp as it is.

  Rose Rita had no trouble persuading her mother to let her spend the night at Mrs. Zimmermann's cottage. And so on Saturday off she went, valise in hand, to Lyon Lake. All the way out to the cottage Rose Rita tried to find out if Mrs. Zimmermann had discovered anything about the ring. But Mrs. Zimmermann said nothing. When they pulled into the driveway of the cottage, there was another car parked in front of them. Jonathan's car.

  "Hi, Rose Rita! Gee, you look great!" There was Lewis. He was wearing his bathing suit.

  "Hi, yourself," Rose Rita yelled, waving. "Where'd you get that sun tan? Out at the camp?"

  Lewis grinned happily. He had been hoping she would notice. "Yeah. Hey, hurry up and get into your suit. Last one in is a wet hen!" Lewis reddened and covered his mouth with his hand. He had heard some of the story of Gert Bigger and the ring from Jonathan, and he knew what he had said.

  Rose Rita glanced quickly at Mrs. Zimmermann, who was coughing rather loudly and trying to blow her nose at the same time.

  As soon as Rose Rita had gotten her suit on, she ran down the long sloping lawn and dived into the water. Lewis was there ahead of her. He was swimming! Back and forth, up and down. It was only dog paddling, but for Lewis, that was something. For as long as Rose Rita had known him, Lewis had been scared of the water. Usually when he went in, he just stood around and splashed, or floated on an inner tube.

  Rose Rita was overjoyed. She had always wanted for Lewis to know how to swim, so they could go swimming together. Of course, he was still scared of deep water, but he was getting more confident. Next year, he said, he'd get his Intermediate Swimmer's card for sure.

  Later Rose Rita and Lewis were sitting on the lawn with towels wrapped around them. Nearby, on lawn chairs, were Jonathan and Mrs. Zimmermann. Jonathan was wearing his white linen suit, which he only wore on special occasions during the summer. The last special occasion had been V-J Day, so the suit was looking rather yellow, and it smelled of mothballs. Mrs. Zimmermann was wearing a new purple dress. She had thrown away the one she had been wearing on her vacation, because there were so many unpleasant memories associated with it. She looked rested and healthy. On a small table between her and Jonathan was a pitcher of lemonade and a plate heaped with chocolate chip cookies.

  Lewis looked at Mrs. Zimmermann with awe. He was dying to ask her what it had felt like to be a chicken, but he couldn't think of any polite way of putting the question. Besides she was likely to be sensitive on the subject. So Lewis just ate his cookie and drank his lemonade and said nothing.

  "All right, Florence," said Jonathan, puffing impatiently at his pipe. "We're all dying to know. What did you find out about the ring? Eh?"

  Mrs. Zimmermann shrugged. "Almost nothing. I searched high and low in Oley's house, but all I found were these." She dug into a pocket of her dress and handed Jonathan three or four very rusty iron rings.

  "What are these?" he said, turning them over. "Are they rejects from Oley's magic ring factory?"

  Mrs. Zimmermann laughed. "No... at least, I don't think they are. I found them in a bowl in the back of the cupboard in Oley's kitchen. Do you really want to know what I think they are?" "What?"

  "Well, the Vikings used to wear leather breastplates with iron rings sewed to them. They called the breastplates byrnies, I think. Anyway, these rings look like some I saw once in a museum in Oslo. I think Oley must have dug these up, along with the arrowheads—and the ring."

  "Now wait a minute, Florence. I know I've got a beard, but it's not long and white, and I've still got most of my marbles. Are you trying to tell us that the Vikings brought that ring over to America with them?"

  "I'm not trying to tell you anything, Weird Beard. I'm just showing you what I found. You can think what you like. I'm just saying that these rings look like Viking artifacts. The Vikings roamed all over the world. They even went to Constantinople. And a lot of the treasure of the ancient world found its way there. There are a thousand other ways they might have found the ring, of course. I don't know. As I say, you can think what you darned please."

  Mrs. Zimmermann and Jonathan got into a long pointless argument over whether or not the Vikings ever came to America. In the middle of all this, Lewis interrupted.

  "Excuse
me, Mrs. Zimmermann, but..."

  Mrs. Zimmermann smiled at Lewis. "Yes, Lewis? What is it?"

  "Well, I was just wondering... are you sure it really was King Solomon's ring?"

  "No, I'm not sure," said Mrs. Zimmermann. "Let's just say that I think it's likely. After all, the ring behaved the way Solomon's ring was supposed to behave. So it probably was that very same ring. On the other hand, there are lots of stories about magic rings that are supposed to have really existed. Some of the stories are true, and some of them are false. It might have been one of the other rings, like the ring of the Nibelungs. Who knows? I am, however, fairly sure that it was magic."

  "What did you do with the darned ring?" asked Jonathan.

  "Hah! I've been waiting for you to ask that! All righty. If you must know, I melted it down in Oley's cookstove. One of the properties of gold is that it will melt at a fairly low temperature. And from all I know about magic, once a magic ring loses its original shape, it loses its powers too. Just to be on the safe side, however, I put the ring (or what was left of it) in a baby food jar along with some lead sinkers. Then I rented a rowboat and rowed out on Little Traverse Bay, and dropped the jar into the drink. Good riddance to bad rubbish, as my father used to say."

  Lewis could not contain himself any longer. He had heard from Rose Rita the story of how Mrs. Zimmermann had failed to remake her magic umbrella, and he felt bad about it. He wanted Mrs. Zimmermann to be the greatest magician in the world. "Mrs. Zimmermann!" he burst out. "How come you wrecked the ring? You could've used it, couldn't you? I mean, it wasn't really evil, was it? You could've done something really good with it, I'll bet!"

  Mrs. Zimmermann gave Lewis a sour look. "You know who you sound like, Lewis? You sound like those people who keep telling us that the atomic bomb is a really wonderful thing, that it isn't really evil, though it has been put to evil purposes." Mrs. Zimmermann heaved a deep sigh. "I suppose," she said slowly, "I suppose that Solomon's ring—assuming that that's what it really was—could have been put to some good use. I thought about that before I melted the thing down. But I said to myself, 'Do you really think you're such an angelic creature that you could resist the urge to do nasty things with that ring?' Then I asked myself, 'Do you want to sit on the blamed thing for the rest of your life, always worrying and fidgeting for fear someone like Gert Bigger might grab it away from you?' The answer to both those questions was no, and that is why I decided to get rid of the ring. As you may know, Lewis, I don't have much magic power anymore. And you know what? It's a relief! I'm going to spend the rest of my days snapping matches out of the air and trying to beat Weird Beard over here at poker. Not," she added, with a sly glance at Jonathan, "that either of those things takes a great deal of talent to do."

  Jonathan stuck out his tongue at Mrs. Zimmermann, and then both of them laughed. It was a happy relaxed sound, and Lewis and Rose Rita joined in.

  There was more swimming, and more eating. After the sun went down, Jonathan built a bonfire down on the beach, and they all roasted marshmallows and sang songs. Lewis handed around presents. They were all things he had made at scout camp. He gave Jonathan a copper ashtray, and he gave Mrs. Zimmermann a necklace of purply-white seashells. To Rose Rita he gave a leather belt and a neckerchief slide that he had whittled. It was painted green with yellow spots, and the lump on the front was supposed to look like a toad. Well, at any rate, it had eyes.

  Much later that evening, after Lewis and Jonathan had gone home, Rose Rita and Mrs. Zimmermann were sitting by the embers of the bonfire. Out across the darkened lake they could see the lights of other cottages. From somewhere came the sleepy drone of a motorboat.

  "Mrs. Zimmermann?" said Rose Rita.

  "Yes, my dear? What is it?"

  "There's a couple of things I have to ask you. First of all, how come that ring didn't put the old whammy on you the way it did on me when I picked it up? When I gave it to you, you just looked at it as if you couldn't have cared less, and then you stuck it in your pocket. How come?"

  Mrs. Zimmermann sighed. Rose Rita heard her snap her fingers, and she saw the brief tiny flare of a match, and she smelled cigar smoke. "Why wasn't I affected?" said Mrs. Zimmermann, as she puffed. "You know, that's a good question. I guess it's because I'm really happy the way I am. You see, I think a ring like that can only exercise power over someone who isn't satisfied with himself. Or herself."

  Rose Rita blushed. She still felt ashamed of what she had tried to do with the ring. "Did... did you ever tell Uncle Jonathan what... what I was gonna do when you stopped me?"

  "No," said Mrs. Zimmermann softly. "I did not. As far as he knows, the ring dragged you off to some mysterious meeting with the devil. Remember, you never actually said what you wanted to do, though it wasn't hard for me to guess. And by the way, don't feel so bad. Lots of people would have wished for worse things than you wished for. Far worse things."

  Rose Rita was silent for a while. Finally she said, "Mrs. Zimmermann, do you think I'll have a lousy time in school this fall? And what about when I'm a grownup? Will things be different then?"

  "My dear," said Mrs. Zimmermann slowly and deliberately, "I may be a witch, but I'm not a prophet. Seeing into the future was never my line, even when I had my magic umbrella. But I will tell you this: You have a lot of wonderful qualities. When you tried to drive Bessie, for example. Lots of girls your age would've been too chicken even to try. That took guts. It also took guts to break into Mrs. Bigger's store in the hope that you might be able to rescue me. And another thing: The women who are remembered in history, women like Joan of Arc and Molly Pitcher, are not remembered because they spent all their time powdering their noses. As for the rest, you'll just have to wait and see how your life turns out. That's all I can say."

  Rose Rita said nothing. She poked in the ashes with a stick while Mrs. Zimmermann smoked. After a while, the two of them got up, kicked some sand over the fire, and went to bed.