When she got to the bedroom she expected to find Judy, but there was no sign of the younger girl. Holly went straight to Judy’s box of cloth pieces, which was in the wardrobe. Moments later, with its contents all on the floor about her, the box turned upside-down and empty in her hands, she knew only one thing. The pillow was gone. And there could only be a single answer—Judy had taken it!
Which meant that unless she could get it back, she would be unable to meet Hagar—to get those witch wishes!
“She’s got to give it back!” Holly kicked angrily at those treasured squares of Judy’s, all those pieces she was saving up to make a quilt when Mom had time to show her how.
The trouble with Judy was that when she got an idea into her head it was set there for ages and ages. You could not change it by talking to her, not in the least. Just as she had been planning her quilt for almost a year and she never forgot about it or lost interest.
But just now those pieces around Holly’s feet did not matter in the least. What did was that maybe Judy had some ideas about the pillow. Could she even have destroyed it?
Holly moved back and sat upon her bed with a desolate thump. If Judy had done that—how was she ever going to get to Hagar and claim her wishes? And if she did not, what would happen to Dimsdale?
9
Dimsdale in Doubt
“My pieces! Holly Wade, did you do this?” Judy, her eyes snapping in anger, stood in the doorway of the room.
“What did you do with the pillow?” Holly did not heed these signs of one of Judy’s very rare outbursts of temper.
“My pieces!” Judy repeated. She was down on the floor crawling around now, picking up, smoothing out. “Holly, this is about the meanest mean thing anybody could do! You’re plain mean!”
But there was only one thought in Holly’s mind. She caught Judy by her shoulders, giving her a vigorous shake. “You’ve got to tell me! What did you do with the pillow? It isn’t here anywhere, I’ve looked.”
Judy twisted hard enough to break Holly’s grip. Her lower lip stuck out and she gave Holly such a hostile glare that for a moment the older girl drew away.
“Won’t tell you! Everything’s gone wrong since you took that pillow, Holly. I found your draw piece of paper, too. And you are a cheater! It was really Crock’s turn and you grabbed it. Then what did you do, you took us in a place and lost us! You’re not going to do that again, Holly—me an’ Crock—we’re not going to ever let you. You had no right to dump out all my pieces like this. I’m going to tell Grandma, ask her if I can have my own room where you can’t pull my things around. So there!”
“You don’t understand,” Holly began—then it was as if something stuck in her throat. She found to her surprise that she could not say what she wanted to: tell Judy about the wishes; and Hagar’s promises—the need to get help for Dimsdale.
“I understand just how mean you are!” Judy exploded. “And I don’t like you anymore, Holly. Ever since we’ve come here, you’ve been getting meaner ’n meaner. You’re just like an old witch yourself! So there!”
Judy was in her most stubborn mood. Holly fought her own impatience. Something bubbled up in her; she wanted to hit Judy, hurt her, make her tell where the pillow was. Then—Holly sat down on her bed. What made her want to hurt Judy? She had never felt like that before in her whole life. Oh, Judy could be stubborn and hard to reason with at times, but never before had Holly had the impulse to hit her, hurt her so hard she would have to do as Holly said. What was happening? Holly knew a growing fear she could not explain, nor did she really understand what she was afraid of. Unless it was that wild part of her which wanted now to strike out—to—hurt—
She huddled miserably on the bed. This was like being two people all at once. One was the Holly she had always been, and the other—the other was someone she was afraid of. She had been mean dumping Judy’s pieces all out on the floor—
Holly stooped to pick up the nearest, only to have Judy snatch it out of her hands. “You just let that alone! You let all my things alone after this. You let me alone, Holly Wade.”
Holly sat down again. Maybe if Judy knew about what was going to happen to Dimsdale—She wet her lips. Would she be able to tell about that, or would she find she could not tell, as she had not been able to tell about Hagar?
“Listen, Judy—” she began.
Judy turned her back on her sister. She was busy now, restoring her pieces to her box. “Won’t!”
“Judy, this isn’t about the pillow, it’s about Dimsdale, the barn-house—everything. You’ve got to listen, because it’s important.” Holly kept on talking to Judy’s back. At least Judy was still in the room, and her ears were not stopped—she just had to listen.
Holly repeated what she had overheard, and what Grandpa and Grandma said afterward. Judy had stopped putting her pieces away. Now she faced about, the anger gone from her round face.
“What are we all going to do, Holly?” she asked slowly.
“There’s this meeting, a lot of people don’t want it to happen. But this old Mrs. Deevers, whoever she is, she wants to do away with the dump. And somebody called Mr. Reuther wants to buy the land here to build a lot of new houses.”
“He can’t,” Judy said flatly. “Tamar won’t let him! Tamar won’t let them take Dimsdale away from Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Judy, you know Tamar’s not here. She lived a long time ago.”
“She’s here, you saw her your own self,” Judy declared. “And she—she loves Dimsdale.”
Holly stared at her sister. Judy’s calm certainty surprised her.
“Tamar—she’s not real,” Holly began again, not quite sure just how to find the words to impress Judy. How could you say that a person was not real when you had been in her house, eaten her food, talked to her?
“I don’t mean she wasn’t real once,” she corrected herself. “But she’s not real now. We must have gone back in time to see her, Judy.”
“I say she’s real, and she’ll help us!” Judy’s stubbornness was back. “You are just saying that because when you tried to take us to Tamar we never got there! I’ll bet Tamar didn’t want to see you!”
Holly’s desire to prove Judy wrong, to tell her that they had gotten to the heart of the maze a second time, was so strong it actually choked her. However, again she could not say the words; again something prevented her. Holly now believed that Hagar had more power than Tamar. Hagar—she would help. But she could not get to Hagar without the pillow, and she was well aware that she would get nothing directly from Judy as to where the younger girl had hidden it.
“No”—Holly chose her words carefully—”we didn’t get to Tamar. But we ought to, we ought to tell her about Sexton Dimsdale—before Halloween. And we ought to tell her about what may happen now, see if she can help us.”
Judy gazed at her sister thoughtfully. “Maybe—” But she did not sound sure. “I’ll think about it. Only next time there’s not going to be any cheating about the pillow!”
“Yes.” Holly was ready to promise anything. Though she knew that if she could only find the pillow—and she was sure it was not in their room—she was not going to be bound by that promise. She was going to try to get to Hagar!
When they went down for supper, Grandma and Grandpa said nothing about their visitor of the afternoon. In fact they talked about things in the future exactly as if they were always going to be right here in the barn-house, and nothing would happen to it.
“You young’uns been thinkin’ ’bout yore dress-ups for the party?” Grandpa asked, as Grandma started to pile the dishes together. “There’s prizes, you know. Them what gets the most unusual costume, or fancy or whatever, they get the prizes.”
“I know what I’m going to be,” Crock announced almost before Grandpa was finished. “A robot. I’m going to get me some of that heavy foil and make a regular robot suit. Got a picture—look here!” He took out his Christmas wallet and from it took a picture cut from a magazine, passing i
t over to Grandpa, who held it quite close to his eyes as if he did not want to miss a single detail.
“A robot, eh,” he commented. “One o’ them walkin’, talkin’ machines as they think we is gonna have to do all our work in the future. Ugly-lookin’ cuss—”
“But I can make a suit like that out of foil, can’t I?” Crock wanted to know.
“Need somethin’ a mite heavier’n foil, I opine,” Grandpa announced. “Think maybe, was we to put our heads together, we could cook us up something. Take a look-see ’round tomorrow . . . And what about you, now?” He looked to Judy and on to Holly.
What did any old Halloween costume matter? Holly thought. She didn’t even want to go to any old party, but she supposed they’d make her. Ought to dress up like a piece of junk—maybe—
If Holly had not made up her mind, Judy was firmly set on her own plan. “I’m going as a cat, a cat like Tomkit, not a black one but a gray one,” she said with the firmness of somebody who did not intend to be argued out of her choice.
“A cat—hmmmm—” Grandma looked at Judy and then at Tomkit, sitting on the hearth, washing a hind leg with a great deal of attention. “Black cats are usually for Halloween—”
“Like Tomkit,” Judy insisted. “Holly says it’s too hard to make a costume like that, but I’ll bet you could do it, Grandma.”
“Gray—” Grandma seemed to be thinking. “Well, now, I jus’ remembered ’bout that old blanket—the hairy one. I think as how that could be dyed gray. Then they do have cat masks in the dime store. Those I seen last time I was in. That’d be black, though, not gray.”
“Maybe you could paint one gray,” Judy said eagerly.
“Don’t know about that. But we can try. You gotta remember that Halloween is gonna be cold. We have to have anything you young’uns wear big enough so underneath you got room for sweaters an’ jeans. Otherwise you might take your deaths of cold. Well, we got us a cat, an’ a robot. What are you going to try, Holly?”
A thought had suddenly flashed into Holly’s head, she did not know how or why. “I’m going to be an African princess.” She could do it, she had that djellaba Mom had made her from the brilliantly colored piece of material they had found on the remnant table last year. It looked as if it came from Africa or some far-off place. Her hair—yes, she knew just what she was going to do about her hair. Something she had wanted to do for a long time, but Mom had said she wasn’t old enough. It was her hair, wasn’t it, and she could do it by herself. She had watched Eva Lee Patterson do hers often enough back home. She could get some big hoop earrings at the dime store, and wear a couple of long bead necklaces.
“I’ve got the costume already,” she continued. “Mom made it for me last year.”
Grandma nodded. “That’s good, Holly, ’cause there won’t be much time for fixin’, an’ I’ll have to bend my mind a little for this cat suit Judy wants. Now, Luther, I got to get into town tomorrow anyway. Mrs. Jeffries has ordered all them special candles for to send to her daughter, an’ I got me quite a few odds and ends o’ shoppin’ to do. So when you run in to drop that side table at Mr. Correy’s, you can just take us along. That one little bitty table ain’t gonna crowd up the truck so much we can’t pack in. Then you can pick us up at the Emporium ’round noontime. How’s that sound?”
“You sure, Mercy, you all be through shoppin’ by noon?” Grandpa laughed. “All right, it sounds to me like somethin’ which can be did.”
After the dishes were washed, Grandma brought out some newspapers and started measuring them against Judy, slashing them up with her big scissors here and there as she worked out a pattern for a cat suit. Grandpa and Crock were prowling around in the stalls, hauling things around. Holly sat on the settle by the fire, watching. She tried to coax Tomkit to come and sit on her lap but he ignored her, firmly hunching down on the hearth, his eyes fixed on the fire as if he saw something of absorbing interest in the flames.
Putting the cutout papers to one side at last, Grandma went to an old box against the wall and pulled out a queer-looking blanket (if blanket it was) that had long hair fastened into its weaving, more like one of the pieces of fake fur people used now for rugs.
“Mohair,” Grandma said. She unrolled it and began to lay her newspaper patterns here and there on it, changing them around to take advantage of every bit of the blanket. It was a yellowish-white and there was a big stain of yellow right in the middle.
“It’ll have to be a dark gray now,” Grandma pointed out to Judy, “seein’ as how we got to cover up this here stain. An’ you’ll need a bit of wire or somethin’ in the tail part to make it stand up a little an’ not just drag along.”
“I knew you could do it!” Judy’s eyes were shining. She hugged Grandma impulsively.
“It ain’t been done yet, child.” Grandma smiled. “But if it can be done, we’ll do it.”
Holly had a lonesome feeling. With it, she was unhappy. How could Grandma, Grandpa worry about an old Halloween party and act as if making costumes for it were important? What was important was maybe saving their home and getting back at people like this Mrs. Deever who just went about making trouble for everybody. When she got her witch wishes—she’d take care of Mrs. Deever. Her thoughts made a wall between her and the others. Was she the only one who cared—who wanted to do something? If she could only make Judy understand about the importance of getting back to Hagar! However, if she could not talk about Hagar, then she would have to use Tamar—insist again that they warn her about the trouble on Halloween, use that as a talking point to make Judy produce the pillow.
When she had worked that out, Holly felt relieved. Why had she not seen that way of doing it before? Judy would listen if she was careful about saying she was afraid for Tamar.
But there was nothing she could do about it now, not until she got Judy alone. Holly was bored watching Grandma and Judy, Grandpa and Crock—all so busy. With even Tomkit ignoring her, she was alone. She could plan tomorrow about shopping at the dime store. There were things for her to buy, if she had the money. Holly suddenly remembered that she had not, because of the scene with Judy, emptied out her purse to see just how much of her allowance was left.
Upstairs was cold. Grandma brought up hot soapstones to put in each bed when they went to sleep, and she said soon they would move downstairs. They could clean out some of the stalls and those would be bedrooms. Also Holly knew better than to light the candle which was kept beside her bed for emergencies: Grandma had warned them about fire.
“Now that’s all we can do tonight, child,” Grandma said to Judy as she cut out the last piece of pattern for the cat costume. “Tomorrow when we get home I’ll boil me up a mess of dye an’ we’ll give this blanket a good dousin’ in that. Has to dry then, an’ it’ll shrink some. But we can still get out what we need, I’m certain sure o’ that. Time’s gettin’ on, we’d best start bedward.”
Judy was very full of the cat costume and her need for a cat mask. She was sure there would be one at the dime store. Holly held to her patience as her sister talked. Put Judy’s back up again and she would never get any help out of her. She dug down into one of the suitcases with their summer things in it, which Mom had said did not have to be opened now, to find the djellaba. In the lamplight its colors looked brighter than ever—really cheery. For the first time she was rather interested in the thought of dressing up, though she was not looking forward to the party.
Holly was still undecided about when to approach Judy on the subject of Tamar, but she had no chance to argue further that night. For when she climbed into her bed, she was suddenly as tired as if all the unhappiness of this day had thickened into a sleep weighing her far, far down.
The next morning there was so much to do: Breakfast was followed by what Grandma called “slickin’ up a mite.” Which really meant making the living portion of the barn-house as tidy as they could. Then Grandma brought out the statue she had mended.
“I got me a funny feelin’ ’bout this,” sh
e said as she fitted it into a carton and stuffed old rags and dried grass tightly in around it. “First off, when I was workin’ on it, I liked it—wanted to have it around. Now, I don’t. I’ll just take it to Mr. Correy, an’ if he can make anything of it—so much the better!” She tapped down the lid of the carton. “Now let’s see: There’s m’ candles, an’ them jars of preserves an’ pickles I set aside to let Mrs. Pigot have for the Emporium, an’—I guess that there’s the whole of it.”
The children were already wearing their gloves, jackets, and caps. Grandma put on a coat with a fur collar, which fitted very snugly up about her chin, and a knitted cap almost like theirs.
“Tain’t fashionable, I know,” she stated as she fastened the tie ends, which pulled the cap well down over her ears, under her chin. “But m’ ears don’t take kindly to the chill. Better to be comfortable than cold any day!”
Holly and Crock volunteered to go in the back of the truck: Holly taking on the responsibility of seeing that the carton holding Grandma’s repaired statue suffered no injury, Crock keeping an eye on the other carton with the jars of jam and pickles. It was bright and sunny, but there was a strong wind. They sat with their backs to the table Grandpa had lashed in with rope, pulling over it and them the tarpaulin to keep out the force of the wind.
Holly was very glad when they reached town. They did not stop at Mrs. Pigot’s (Grandpa would do that on the way back, to leave the carton), but kept on down the main street, pulling up in front of a small building Holly knew from their class’s walk across town had once been a combined blacksmith’s shop and livery stable. This was Mr. Correy’s antique shop now, and he came right out almost before the truck stopped.