“Looks like we’re in big trouble!” Jack said, smiling anyway.
The following Wednesday—July 1—was another hot Chicago day, so Ruthie and Jack were glad to be working in the storeroom. They arrived bright and early, and they hadn’t been working very long before they heard someone come into the shop.
“I’m looking for a Miss Ruthie Stewart and a Mr. Jack Tucker,” a man’s voice said.
“May I ask why?” Mrs. McVittie responded.
“It’s a legal matter.”
Ruthie looked at Jack and whispered, “Are we in some kind of trouble?”
Jack shrugged. “Beats me.”
They peeked through the storeroom door in time to see an elderly man give Mrs. McVittie his business card.
“I represent the estate of Narcissa Thorne.”
On hearing that, the two nearly stepped on each other as they rushed to the front room.
“I’m Ruthie and this is Jack.”
The man was taken aback. “I was expecting you to be … much older.” He put a hand forward to shake theirs. “This shouldn’t take long.”
He opened his briefcase and took out a letter. “Narcissa Thorne died in 1966, but long before that she had written her will. Her estate was fairly sizable, the bulk of it going to her relatives and some charitable trusts. But she had left one boxed item and this letter, to be delivered to this address, on this very date. We at the law firm found this very unusual, but it was all legal. We don’t know what is in the box, nor the content of the letter. But as the lawyer for her estate, this is the last act I must execute.” He handed the letter to Ruthie and Jack.
To Ruthie Stewart and Jack Tucker
(age eleven or thereabouts),
In recognition of your courage and your deep commitment to the virtue of responsibility, I leave this one item to you, with deep gratitude. You will know what to do with it. I hope it has reached you as you have reached me.
Good luck in your future. Enjoy living your life every day, one at a time, in order.
Ever yours,
Narcissa Thorne
February 15, 1941
“What item?” Jack asked.
Ruthie thought she knew.
The lawyer took a cardboard box from his briefcase. It was a sturdy one, a little smaller than a shoebox, sealed with heavy tape. The only writing on it was in Mrs. Thorne’s distinctive handwriting—To be opened by Ruthie Stewart and Jack Tucker ONLY.
“I hope you all know what this is about, because it’s been a mystery to all of us at the firm for many years!”
“Why don’t you open it?” Mrs. McVittie suggested. She handed Ruthie a pair of scissors from her desk.
Ruthie carefully cut through the tape and lifted the flaps. She saw rumpled tissue paper within. But through the paper a glint caught her eye, a reflection of light on old glass.
“Oh, right!” Jack said as Ruthie lifted the mirrored box out.
“What a lovely antique,” Mrs. McVittie exclaimed.
“Would you care to tell me why Mrs. Thorne left it to you two?” the lawyer asked.
“We could tell you,” Jack said, “but you’d never believe us in a million years!”
“Well, wills are filled with all kinds of unusual requests,” the lawyer said with a shrug. He closed up his briefcase and headed to the door. “Stay cool today.”
“The key belongs in this box,” Ruthie explained to Mrs. McVittie as soon as the door closed.
They had planned to have Mrs. McVittie put the key in a safe-deposit box, but in the meantime it was hidden in one of her desk drawers. She took it out now.
The key flashed wildly as Ruthie lifted it and brought her hand near the box. She paused, unsure of what would happen. Then she noticed a note amid the crumpled tissue. She read it, her jaw dropping. Jack looked over her shoulder and read along.
Dear Ruthie,
I consulted my friend in Paris. He explained something I hadn’t known when you came to see me: according to legend, the spell must be recited by a young girl, no older than Duchess Christina.
So, you see, it had to be you!
Narcissa Thorne
“Cool!” Jack said, patting her back as though she’d won the lottery. Then he lifted the little velvet pillow for Mrs. McVittie to see the words. “This is the spell.”
“I can’t quite make it out.”
“I memorized it,” Ruthie announced, while Mrs. McVittie tried to read the fancy script.
“Tell me!”
Ruthie hesitated.
“Go ahead,” Jack said. “It’s not supposed to do anything unless the key is in the box, remember?”
Ruthie recited the spell once.
“Now let’s put the key in,” Jack suggested. He put the key on the pillow and placed them both in the box. “Say it again.”
Ruthie spoke the magic words. The key’s flickers intensified, bouncing off the sides of the box. The flashing quieted to a gentle pulse.
“What is the spell supposed to do?” Mrs. McVittie asked.
“It’s supposed to turn the magic on and off.”
“Doesn’t it seem like something more should have happened?” Ruthie said, relieved but disappointed. “It looks like the key still has its power.”
“Mrs. Thorne said she couldn’t get it to work in her studio,” Jack reminded them. “At least the two things are back together. That’s what Mrs. Thorne wanted.”
“But she also wanted the magic turned off,” Ruthie pointed out. “She thought it was too dangerous.”
Ruthie looked at the box one more time and reached out to close the lid. As she did so, she felt the warmth that signaled the magic. It shot through her fingertips like a hot shiver. The words of the spell came to her, first as she had memorized them but then jumping around in her head, mixing like a marching band changing formation. Something was happening, but it wasn’t shrinking or time travel. Rather, a vague dizziness came over her, an inside-out, upside-down, and backward kind of sensation. Backward … backward!
“Ruthie?” Mrs. McVittie said as she saw her teeter a bit.
Ruthie pulled her hand back. “I’ve got it!”
Jack turned around. “Got what?”
“The spell! We’ve been saying it one way, the way it’s written. We assumed that was the only way.”
“And?”
“The box is a clue. The mirrors! I kept wondering why it had so many mirrors. The spell can be read two ways, like a mirror reverses things!”
“You think if you say the spell the other way—like backward—the magic will be turned off?”
“I know it sounds crazy.…”
“Not at all,” Mrs. McVittie said. “I think it sounds thoroughly plausible.”
“Try it!”
“Here goes.” Ruthie opened the box. She began to recite the centuries-old words, in the opposite order:
SMALL WILL BE TALL
AND
NOW IS THEN
THEN IS NOW
AND
WHAT ISN’T
IS
WHAT WASN’T
UNTIL
THE TIES OF TIME
BREAK
AND
TALL WILL BE SMALL
The breeze they had until now experienced only in the corridor suddenly swept around them in the shop, and the most dazzling light show they had ever seen erupted from the box. The white radiance was so bright that Ruthie had to close her eyes until it transformed into prismatic shots of crystalline color, rainbow beams bouncing off in every direction. The walls of the dusty old shop reverberated as the magic bells sounded all around them, brighter and louder than ever before, a thousand tiny chimes ringing in unison.
And then the spectacle stopped. The key no longer pulsed; not even a whisper of light came off it. It looked like a tarnished antique.
“Brilliant!” Jack exclaimed.
“Mrs. Thorne would be pleased!” Mrs. McVittie said.
“I know the chances are small,” Ruthie said, “but
what if someday someone gets hold of the box and key and reads the spell? The magic will continue.”
“Mrs. Thorne thought it should be stopped for good,” Jack added.
“I have an idea.” Mrs. McVittie rose from her chair and went to a small box of antique jewelry, rummaged through, and found a silver chain—nothing too fancy, but a good one. She then removed the key from the pillow and slipped it onto the chain.
“You keep it. Wear it.” Mrs. McVittie put it on Ruthie, hooking the clasp at the back of her neck.
“Me?”
“Good idea.” Jack nodded his approval. “I think Mrs. Thorne wanted you to have it. She even said it: ‘It had to be you.’ ”
Ruthie felt the solid weight of the key on her skin, just under the dent between her collarbones. The metal was cold, the way it should be. She would wear it always, as a symbol of the important job that had been meant for her and which she had seen through to the end. And it would be a reminder of the magical adventures that she had shared with her best friend. To all the world the key would look like a pretty piece of jewelry, and no one would ever guess the magic it had unlocked.
Room E4, English Drawing Room of the Late Jacobean Period. The letter opener that Oliver took from the room is in one of the drawers in the secretary desk.
MY STORY IS FICTION, BUT my characters visit real locations and moments in history, so I want to be as accurate as possible in describing these times and places. I had a lot of fun digging into the historical eras that Ruthie and Jack travel to in this book.
I have long been interested in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, a span of time called the Age of Enlightenment and considered (in the West) to be the birth of the modern era. The ring dial, although a small and humble device, represents that age to me, when people explored the world and invented tools that they believed would bring them objective truth through accurate measurement.
I was excited when I learned that Narcissa Thorne based one of her rooms on a period room in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. In fact, one of the reasons she started re-creating period rooms in miniature was in response to the Met’s installations. She realized that a museum can only give so much space to full-size re-creations, but if they were done in one-twelfth scale, there would be room for many more. She already loved miniatures, but this gave her a reason to start her ambitious project. The Wentworth Room offered Ruthie and Jack the perfect way to stumble into New York City on the eve of the United States’ entry into World War II, and witness the contrast of the idealism expressed at the World’s Fair.
The 1939 World’s Fair featured amazing new structures that reflected “The World of Tomorrow.”
Early in the story Jack comes across a newspaper advertisement for an exhibition called “The Treasures of Tutankhamun.” It was considered the first blockbuster museum exhibition and set all kinds of attendance records. It has been reprised many times, with new objects added, and has toured the world. (I saw it in Chicago in my freshman year of college. It coincided with the first Star Wars movie—both franchises are still going strong!)
King Tut’s mask was part of the “Treasures of Tutankhamun” exhibition.
During Ruthie and Jack’s brief visit to China at the turn of the twentieth century, they meet a young girl who was part of the Righteous Harmony Society movement. This was an uprising by citizens who believed foreigners had too much influence in China and wanted them out. Sometimes the group was called the Righteous and Harmonious Fists, because they had limited weaponry and had to rely on their physical strength and boxing skills—their movement is often referred to as the Boxer Rebellion.
In researching Mrs. Thorne, I went to Santa Barbara and found her house there, Montjoie. It is a private residence so I was not able to tour it, but from the outside it is grand and elegant, like so many of the Thorne Rooms. It was designed by the architect Edwin Clark, who designed her residence outside of Chicago and drew the plans for many of the miniature rooms. He was also the architect for many notable buildings in Chicago, including the Brookfield Zoo.
When I was thinking about the spell that would activate the magic in Duchess Christina’s key, I came across a wonderful book by Marilyn Singer called Mirror Mirror. In it, she retells famous fairy tales in a form of poetry she calls reversos—the same words read backward reverse the meaning of the story. Her invention is very clever and deceptively simple. I love that I was able to respond to her work with a creation of my own—much like I did with Mrs. Thorne’s creations, like Mrs. Thorne did with the Metropolitan Museum’s, and maybe like you will do with mine.
I LEARNED MUCH OF MY world history through the study of art history. A good beginning book for younger readers is The Art Book for Children by the Editors of Phaidon Press.
For older students, Khan Academy has excellent tutorials on a wide range of artists and eras: khanacademy.org/humanities/art-history.
The ring dial worked using latitude. Longitude was a more difficult measurement, and ways to determine it occupied many scientists in the eighteenth century. For younger readers who want to learn about this (and the importance of timepieces like the ring dial), read Sea Clocks: The Story of Longitude by Louise Borden, illustrated by Erik Blegvad.
And for older readers and teachers: Longitude: The True Story of a Lone Genius Who Solved the Greatest Scientific Problem of His Time by Dava Sobel.
There are several versions of the catalogue that accompanied the many King Tut exhibitions as they have traveled over the years. A good book with an overview of the excavation of the tomb is The Complete Tutankhamun: The King, the Tomb, the Royal Treasure by Nicholas Reeves.
National Geographic has interesting information about the mummy of King Tut at http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2005/06/king-tut/williams-text.
There are many great books about the 1939 World’s Fair. For beautiful photographs from the period, try The New York World’s Fair 1939/1940 in 155 Photographs by Richard Wurts and Others.
And for a fun look at the fair, and to see what “educational” films were like (and how they bordered on being propaganda!), watch The Middleton Family at the New York World’s Fair: archive.org/details/middleton_family_worlds_fair_1939.
To see the room from the Wentworth house that inspired Mrs. Thorne, go to the Met’s website at metmuseum.org/Collections/search-the-collections/9790.
And to see all of the Thorne Rooms, go to the website of the Art Institute of Chicago at artic.edu/aic/collections/thorne.
Or check out the catalogue of the rooms: Miniature Rooms: The Thorne Rooms at the Art Institute of Chicago.
WRITING IS A LOT LIKE gardening; seeds germinate, flowers bloom, weeds grow, and great effort is necessary. From working in my garden I’ve learned that wild honeysuckle, no matter how lush and sweet-smelling, has to be hacked away periodically. Shana Corey, my brilliant editor at Random House, has been my steady guide in the pruning and sculpting of the manuscripts. She graciously tells me how lovely a certain passage may be, and then gently points out that—like those beautiful plants in the wrong place—it must go. I will be forever grateful to her for her letters, corrections, questions, and enthusiasm.
I would like to thank the other wonderful folks at Random House who have worked on this series: Nicole de las Heras for her art direction—the books are beautiful in every way thanks to her—and Rachel Feld, Alison Kolani, Casey Lloyd, Mary Van Akin, Lisa McClatchey, Lisa Nadel, Paula Sadler, Adrienne Waintraub, and the extraordinary sales team all have my sincere thanks.
I am extraordinarily lucky that Greg Call signed on as my illustrator. He brought Ruthie and Jack to life and created the visual presence of magic on the pages of all four books. I can’t imagine a better artist for the job.
Thank you to Mican Morgan at the Art Institute, who has answered my questions but more importantly has been patient with kids who come into the museum, fiddling with locks and looking for the secret c
orridor! I’d also like to thank her crew of docents who have energetically embraced the books.
My friends and family have been with me all the way on the project; my sister, Emilie Nichols, who listens and laughs with me; Anne Slichter, my friend and go-to reader; Masha Block, for saving me in numerous ways; my son, Henry, for his good cheer and general helpfulness; my daughter Maya, for her amazing analytic skills, and my daughter Noni, who can conjure up her ten-year-old self. We added two new family members over the course of the series, Dave Segal (who married Maya) and Eric Brueckner (who married Noni); thank you both for joining in on the fun.
I also owe a debt of gratitude to my agent, Gail Hochman. First, for connecting me to Shana. But above all, Gail is a nurturer, tough and direct, yet smart and caring. Marianne Merola, who works with Gail, has been a tireless champion of the books (and made it possible for me to receive fan mail from Japan, Poland, Israel, and more!). My thanks go to all who work at Brandt and Hochman.
And last but most of all, I give thanks to my husband, Jonathan Fineberg. He knows firsthand the rhythms of a writer’s life and is my rock, my friend, my love.
MARIANNE MALONE is an artist, a former art teacher, and the mother of three grown children. Marianne says, “Writing is a kind of conjuring. I write because I believe in the magic of art to transport. I hope my readers will be moved by my stories in the same way that I was moved as a young girl (and a grown one!) by Mrs. Thorne’s creations.”
Marianne lives in Urbana, Illinois, with her husband, Jonathan Fineberg. For teacher guides (including Common Core tie-ins) and more, visit mariannemalone.com.
GREG CALL began his career in advertising before becoming a full-time illustrator. He works in various media for clients in music, entertainment, and publishing. Greg lives with his wife and two children in northwestern Montana, where he sculpts, paints, illustrates, and (deadlines permitting) enjoys the great outdoors with his family.
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