Double Spell

by Janet Lunn

  “There,” said Elizabeth abruptly, getting up and starting toward the house, “someone’s trying to get our doll. I told you someone was and this proves it. All those times it was missing. They weren’t accidents,” she stopped and turned, her hands on her hips, “and I bet it wasn’t Porridge who took it that time either.”

  “Ghosts.”

  “I don’t know about that, but someone has been sneaking around here. And I’ll tell you something: from now on we’re just going to have to watch Amelia all the time. I think she’s valuable.” And away she went to get the doll.

  From then on Elizabeth didn’t let Amelia out of her sight. The stiff little painted face stuck out of pockets, grocery bags, swimming towels – everywhere Elizabeth went. The boys began to make jokes and Jane’s friend Polly, from down the street, came especially one day to ask Jane if there was something wrong with her sister.

  Jane wasn’t one bit sure about Elizabeth’s explanation of someone trying to get the doll. She really was afraid they’d brought ghosts to Aunt Alice’s house. She asked Joe what ghosts were like and how you knew if you had them. He told her a long story about a ghost that haunted an island castle because he’d killed somebody. “It was neat. This ghost went around howling and shrieking and yelling ‘peace to my soul, peace to my soul,’ until the family all said he was forgiven and then he fell off a cliff into the sea with an earsplitting moan and was never heard again.” Jane didn’t think the story helped much, but it made her laugh listening to Joe shriek “peace to my soul” and that made her feel better.

  And, feeling better, Jane began to organize in earnest. She made Elizabeth spend a whole day and a half sitting in the tower – in the heat – going over the things that had happened, the dreams and the strange feelings, the things they had done, arranging and rearranging the list to try to find some new bit of information from it.

  It all seemed to boil down to the fact that they had an antique doll whose name they both knew was Amelia (“and that could be because we’re twins,” Jane felt obliged to remark. Elizabeth said “Twins, twins.”). They had the dreams. Jane had had a scare. And there were the roses.

  “Roses,” cried Elizabeth, leaping dramatically onto her bed. “I know roses. Twin roses in fact. Ha! Ha!”

  Jane didn’t laugh.

  The scare in the attic, they decided regretfully, might have had more to do with Willy Wallet and the attic being such a gloomy place than with their doll and its house.

  And so it went: doll, house, Hester, roses; house, doll, roses, Hester; Hester, house, roses, doll. No more sense than ever. They were both beginning to hate the sight of the bedraggled little doll. And both were enormously relieved when, after a day and a half of this kind of concentration, their mother informed Elizabeth it was dentist day.

  Jane went along downtown but she didn’t go into the dentist. She window-shopped all the way down to King Street looking at the cameras and baseballs, trying to forget the worrisome feeling that hung over her. She bought an ice cream cone in a drug store and stopped to look at candies in a little shop just in from the corner of King and Yonge Streets. The window was full of irresistible pink and white candies in beautiful glass jars and cakes displayed on fluted platters.

  Deciding to buy something to take home, she put her foot on the step up to the old-fashioned glass door and saw herself. The reflection was broken by the strips of wood that crisscrossed each other holding together the small squares of glass, but she could see it clearly – the long blue dress, the bonnet, the shawl. Beyond that a street where horses and carriages passed and ladies were dressed as she was, in long full skirts. The gentlemen wore tall hats. She pushed open the shop door and found herself in her red and white striped dress, her white socks and summer sandals, just inside a men’s barber shop. Hastily she drew back onto the sidewalk – a sidewalk full of rushing people dressed in ordinary everyday clothes and beside it a street where cars whizzed back and forth.

  There it was again, like the dreams, like the attic, pulling her away from herself.

  “It’s really awful,” she told Elizabeth when they got home. It was after supper in their favorite place under the cherry tree in the back garden.

  “I see things and then I don’t see things. I remember things and then I don’t remember them – things I’ve never seen before.” She rubbed her head, jumped up, and began to walk around the garden, stopping to pull a leaf off the lilac, walking on, pulling a leaf off the cherry tree, then round again.

  “It’s sort of like having my memory and someone else’s too. As though I’d borrowed the someone else’s memory – only the one I borrowed isn’t very good. I suppose it all sounds stupid, it …”

  “It’s as though the borrowed one had spaces in it and patches, like remembering a song only not remembering all of it,” Elizabeth said.

  “Who’s is it?” Jane stopped her walking and faced her sister.

  “Maybe,” said Elizabeth, “it’s Amelia looking for something.”

  “I don’t see how a doll could have a memory.”

  “I don’t either really,” Elizabeth agreed, “but I don’t see who else’s it could be. Hester’s?”

  “Hester’s?” Jane was appalled. “Not Hester’s.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know – yes I do. I don’t like Hester and I like this memory – it … it fits.”

  Elizabeth started to laugh, but she stopped as what Jane had said sank in. “You’re right,” she said, surprised. “It does fit. Only, what you said before is true too. It isn’t all there.”

  “I know,” Jane began her walking again, “and I’d sure like to know whose memory it is that makes me see the things I see. I saw Yonge Street, I’m sure it was Yonge Street, although now I think of it I don’t know why, with horses and carriages and people in olden times clothes …”

  “Like Hester’s clothes, and Amelia’s clothes,” Elizabeth interrupted.

  “Yes, and I’ve seen sailing ships out on the lake – more than just the one – and that’s something else. I think that the sailing ship we saw from our window belongs to that other memory.”

  “I think so too,” put in Elizabeth.

  “I’ve seen houses, insides and outs, that I’ve never been in at all and all sorts of funny things. I thought maybe it was dreaming from all those old books, but I don’t think so any more.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t, because, Jane, we didn’t have them before we had the doll.”

  “Yes.”

  Elizabeth told Jane now about seeing the field and the dirt road that day by the streetcar stop.

  “You know,” she said, “how it always looks in the dreams, sort of double exposed. It was out in the country. The fence was the same and the big building behind it, but the rest was a dirt road and people, kids I mean, in olden times clothes. I think you were there too …” Her voice trailed off, trying to remember. “Anyways – what I think is, when we find that house and take Amelia back there, the dreams’ll disappear. She wants that house and we have to find it for her.”

  “I hope so, oh I hope so,” Jane cried passionately. “I suppose you’re right because certainly all the things I’ve seen – or most of them anyway,” she amended, “have the doll in them. But if it all has to do with the doll and the house and Hester,” she shivered again, “then that feeling I have must have something to do with them too – and if it has,” she paused and took a shaky breath, “then we’d better find it soon because I’m absolutely positive something truly dreadful is going to happen.”

  Aunt Alice Again – And a Brooch

  Elizabeth sat very still. A leaf, loosened by Jane’s nervous pulling, fell off the cherry tree. A squirrel dropped an acorn off the roof of the house and it bounced and rolled on the stone walk below. Elizabeth had never seen Jane so upset, not the time the kitten had been hit by a car, not the time she had nearly drowned in Margot Harper’s swimming pool, not even this spring when Willy Wallet hadn’t let her on the baseball team.
Elizabeth made up her mind to take charge.

  “Look,” she said decisively, “I’ve been thinking and I think you were wrong. It isn’t like a detective mystery. This whole thing is like one of those awful scavenger hunts – you know, where you get a clue and you have to follow it to find the next one. If you find the wrong one – like the third one second or something, it’s no good, you have to go back and find the second one or you never get to what it is you’re really looking for – and you don’t know what that is till you get there.”

  Jane nodded. Elizabeth continued, “Well, I think this doll thing is like that. Maybe it isn’t the house we’re looking for at all. Maybe that’s just a clue.”

  Jane’s eyes widened with interest. “Yes,” she said eagerly, “and maybe Hester’s just a clue and …” her face fell, “but how will we know if we have the clues in the right order?”

  “I think we’ll just know,” Elizabeth said positively. “We’ll just feel if they’re right. I mean if, instead of paying no attention to all the things we see and just keep looking for the house, we stop and try different things, I’m sure we’ll find it – whatever it is. Anyway I’m going to make a new list.”

  Jane began to laugh. She laughed so hard she had to hold the branch she had perched herself on for fear of falling off. “You know what?” she said finally when she could catch her breath.

  “What?”

  “You sound like me and I sound like you. I have all the wild dreams and you have all the organizing schemes.”

  “That rhymes,” they giggled. Jane felt better again. There was a plan now to work on.

  “Now,” said Elizabeth, “listen. First we found the doll, that’s number one. Clue number two: we saw the dream house – and remember when we didn’t pay any attention to it we saw it again, so that must be right. Then three: we started to hunt for the house …”

  “And we hunted and hunted and hunted,” sighed Jane.

  “Yes, and we didn’t find it so maybe that clue is for later.”

  “Well, what should we be looking for – Hester?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Now, Elizabeth,” Jane was sounding more like Jane now, and Elizabeth like Elizabeth. “You can’t look for someone who lived 150 years ago or more. You just can’t.”

  “Well, maybe we should look some more in the museum for her clothes or her brooch – I wonder what happened to her brooch after she – I suppose she grew up and died and everything.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “I never thought about that brooch. You see,” Elizabeth was triumphant, “there’s a whole new thing to think about. Maybe I should go upstairs and think.”

  “No thank you for thinking,” Jane said hastily, “let’s try another clue. What about the doll? Maybe we should concentrate more on Amelia.” She got down from her cherry tree branch and picked Amelia up from Elizabeth’s lap. “You know,” she said, “we could fix up the doll, paint her face and make new clothes for her, just like the ones in the dreams – or the memories – or whatever they are.”

  “Yes!” Elizabeth jumped up. She didn’t tell Jane she’d already tried the dressmaking. “Why don’t we do that. Maybe she’ll remember better if we do. That’s a marvelous idea. Good for you. What’ll we do first?”

  Jane thought. “I think we should ask Mama,” she said. “After all, she knows all about sewing and everything.”

  Elizabeth was doubtful about asking Mama.

  “We don’t have to say why,” Jane argued, “we can just say we want to fix the doll up and we’ve been reading in books to see what she should look like.”

  “Well …, all right, we’ll do it.”

  Their mother thought they had a fine idea. She was stuffing clothes into the clothes dryer in the basement when they found her, so they had to wait while she wrestled with the heavy sheets before she would come upstairs to look at the doll. When she did she told them the painting part was a little beyond her. “But why don’t you take it to Aunt Alice,” she suggested. “There she is, stuck in her apartment with her mending hip. She can’t do as much of her tapestry as she’d like because the doctor said it’s too heavy for her just now. I’ll bet she’d be pleased as punch to help you. And she knows so much about this sort of thing too – much more than I do.” Without waiting for them to say a word, Mama went to phone Aunt Alice.

  “And you can take William,” she added, as she dialed the number. “I’ve been wanting to get down to some of my own work for days, and he’s bored and could use a good visit with Aunt Alice.”

  Aunt Alice was phoned and declared herself delighted to help the twins with their project.

  “Come on, nuisance,” said Jane to William and off they went, the three of them and the little doll, its face, as always, stiff with its half-painted smile and unaware of the trouble it was causing.

  When they knocked at Aunt Alice’s apartment door, it was opened to them by a man they had never seen before, a short, round man with no hair. “Ah,” he said, smiling benignly at them, “good afternoon and have you brought a valuable historical document for us to see today?”

  They thought at first they must be in the wrong place, but Aunt Alice’s voice from inside, bidding them to “Come in, come in,” assured them they hadn’t.

  “They’ve brought their doll,” said William.

  “Their doll, eh?” said the man. “Well, well.” He led them through the tiny hall into Aunt Alice’s big, sunny living room.

  “Glad to see you. Let’s see your doll, where’d you get it? … ah, remember now, same doll you showed me before. Glad to help. Come here Martin.”

  The round man obeyed as quickly and without any more question than Elizabeth had. He bent over Amelia to look closely at her.

  “By George!” he said, starting with surprise. “By George! Where on earth did you get that?”

  “From the Dolls Mended,” said Elizabeth. “We bought it.”

  “Must have cost a pretty penny,” he said.

  “We paid two dollars and fifty-five cents,” said Jane. “I guess it wasn’t too much,” she added, not being sure, in this case, how much too much would be.

  “Too much? Why on earth would an antique dealer sell a doll like this for two dollars and fifty-five cents? Are you sure?”

  Jane was still not sure whether two dollars and fifty-five cents was too much or too little. “I’m sure,” she said.

  “That’s right,” Elizabeth put in, “two fifty-five, that’s how much we had and that’s how much she said we had to pay.”

  “Well, by George, well,” he said, “isn’t that extraordinary. This is a very fine doll.”

  “Mr. Hedley works at the Royal Ontario Museum,” Aunt Alice interrupted him.

  “Oh,” said William, nodding his head up and down, “he’s the museum man. He read the blue book we sent of Papa’s.”

  And then they all began to laugh and talk about the house moving. While Miss Weller, the housekeeper who was helping Aunt Alice until her hip was healed, got tea for them, they talked, admired the view of the city from Aunt Alice’s window, and politely answered the questions Mr. Hedley was asking them about their doll.

  “Yes,” he said, “I know that little shop, run by an elderly woman whose name, I believe, is Miss Cloud or Miss Sky or something. I can’t quite understand why she would sell you the doll for such a small amount (Oh, thought Jane and Elizabeth, we paid too little). It’s quite expertly carved and really, not in too bad condition. It might be as old as 1800.” He turned Amelia over and over in his hand, whistling under his breath as he thought.

  “No,” Elizabeth blurted out without thinking, “it’s not that old.”

  “You mean because of its dress?” asked Mr. Hedley.

  “No, because the book says the house it lived in wasn’t built before 1840.”

  Both Aunt Alice and Mr. Hedley looked at her in great surprise. Jane looked peeved. Elizabeth wished she hadn’t said anything.

  “Well,” she amended hastily,
“we were interested and we looked up dolls and houses and things and the book said about the dress, I guess I mean, and we looked it up in the library about that kind of dress and that’s what it said,” she finished weakly, not daring to look at Jane at all.

  “Very enterprising,” Mr. Hedley said smiling vaguely, not quite understanding what Elizabeth was talking about. Aunt Alice, who was always aware when wool was being pulled over her eyes, looked at Elizabeth with one eyebrow raised. Elizabeth blushed.

  William, who had apparently been totally engrossed with the cat at the foot of Aunt Alice’s chair, looked up and said, “It has something to do with Hester. She lived in a red brick house with Amelia …”

  “William,” said Jane, her face red and stormy, “shut up. Just shut up!”

  Mr. Hedley raised his eyebrow in alarm. Aunt Alice asked questions.

  “Who is Amelia? And who is Hester?”

  “Oh, just a made-up person, both of them are made-up people. It was all make-believe,” Jane said quickly.

  “No, it wasn’t,” asserted William. “You went all over the place looking for her house and …”

  “Well, it was just pretend,” Jane was trying very hard not to sound angry.

  “Who is Hester?” Aunt Alice directed her question this time, and her piercing gaze, toward William.

  “I don’t know,” answered William, “but she’s somebody Jane ’n’ Liza don’t like.”

  Aunt Alice changed direction and looked from Jane to Elizabeth. It was obvious she meant to know what it was all about.

  Elizabeth began to tell, reluctantly at first, but as she went on she was glad to tell the whole thing to someone other than Jane, someone who might help them find a clue. Jane was glad too. Any bits of the story Elizabeth neglected she put in, until, piece by piece, the whole tale was told – the doll, the house, Hester, Hester’s brooch – everything. Miss Weller came in, unnoticed, with tea.

  “And,” Elizabeth said with a pleading gesture of her hands, “we don’t know what to do next. The only two things so far that are at all the same are the roses on the house and the roses on the box. The rest doesn’t make sense at all.” She explained then her theory about a scavenger hunt and how they hoped, by restoring the doll, to find the next clue. She hoped desperately Aunt Alice wouldn’t laugh.