The Witch at the Window Page 2

  Marjorie took a step toward the little tree. “Then you must be the same starling that was in our yard this morning.”

  “What if I am?” The bird fluttered to a higher branch and pecked at a berry.

  “Are those things good to eat?” Nick asked.

  “Of course, stupid,” the starling said. “Don’t you know a mulberry tree when you see one?”

  Marjorie decided not to waste her time talking to such a rude bird. “Come on, Nick. I thought you wanted to climb that tree.”

  Nick followed Marjorie along the path.

  The starling came flapping after them. “Didn’t you say your mother doesn’t want you to climb trees?”

  Marjorie didn’t answer.

  “Mom doesn’t want us to climb the magnolia,” Nick told the bird. “She thinks we’ll break it. We’re going to climb a much bigger tree.”

  The starling flew down onto the ground in front of the children. “Why don’t you go to the zoo and watch the sea lions? That’s much more fun than climbing trees. Those animals do tricks at feeding time.”

  “We saw the sea lions last week.” Marjorie stepped off the path to walk around the bird. Nick came after her.

  The starling fluttered up into the air again. It flew just over the children’s heads. Now and then the bird sat on a tree branch beside the path. All the time it kept watching Nick and Marjorie with bright dark eyes.

  They made their way through a tangled patch of honeysuckle and around a bend in the path.

  “Here it is!” Nick pointed to a large beech tree growing on the side of the hill.

  The trunk of the tree was covered with names and dates. Someone had cut KS L MT into the smooth gray bark and carved a heart around it.

  “June 1902,” Marjorie read. “The tree must have been here for ages.”

  “Longer than that.” The starling flew over to perch on the lowest branch.

  “Take a look at this, Marge.” Nick pointed to some words cut deep into the tree.

  STELLA’S TREE

  KEEP OFF

  Marjorie felt the thick ridge of bark around the S. “I wonder who Stella was.”

  “What do you mean by was?” the starling squawked.

  Marjorie looked up at the bird. Maybe it wasn’t the starling’s fault that it was so rude, she thought. Whoever taught it to talk had forgotten to teach it manners.

  “This carving looks much older than what was done in 1902,” Marjorie said. “The person who put it here must have died long ago.”

  The starling opened its yellow beak, but for a moment it didn’t speak. Then it said, “That’s the silliest thing I ever heard!”

  Marjorie reached high over her head. She grabbed hold of the branch and pulled herself up onto it.

  The starling flew down to the ground. “Why do you want to climb that tree? Those rotten old branches will break under you. The best tree to climb is an oak. I’ll show you one that’s right on top of Lookout Mountain. You can see all of Brooklyn from there.”

  Marjorie hooked her legs around the branch. “Come on up here, Nick.” She reached down to grab her brother’s hand.

  Marjorie helped Nick until he reached the branch. After that he could climb on his own. The branches were fairly close together.

  A breeze rustled the shiny little leaves of the beech tree. The sunlight was broken into little patches that seemed to dance all around the children.

  “It’s lovely up here,” Marjorie said. “Why didn’t the starling want us to climb this tree?”

  Nick put his arms around the trunk and swung himself to the other side of it. “I think I’ve found the reason, Marge. Look at this.”

  Marjorie worked her way around the tree.

  Nick pulled aside a clump of leaves to show her a large hole in the trunk. “My guess is that the starling has a nest in the tree. Maybe there are baby birds in it.”

  “Leave it alone, Nick,” Marjorie said.

  “I just want to peek at it.” Nick looked into the hole. “It’s pretty deep. I don’t see a nest.”

  Nick sat on the edge of the hole and let his legs hang down inside it. “This makes a great seat! You ought to try it, Marge.”

  Suddenly the bark crumbled under Nick. Before Marjorie knew what was happening, he slid out of sight into the hole in the tree.

  “Didn’t I tell you to stay out of this tree?” a harsh voice said.

  Marjorie saw that the starling was perched on a nearby twig. She didn’t answer the bird. Instead she looked down into the dark hole.

  “Nick,” she called, “are you all right?”

  “I’m not hurt, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “My feet are jammed against one side of the tree trunk and my back against the other. I guess I’ll be all right for a little while.”

  “I’ll go home and get a rope.” Marjorie started climbing down the tree. It was much harder than climbing up. She was afraid she’d get dizzy if she looked down. It seemed a long time before she came to the lowest branch. Marjorie dropped to the ground and rolled over and over.

  She jumped to her feet and began to race down the path around Lookout Mountain. She ran past the mulberry tree, along the lakeshore, across the roadway, and over to the big iron park gate. Here Marjorie slowed to a walk and crossed the wide street outside the park. She decided to jog the rest of the way home.

  Marjorie ran up the steps of her house and opened the door with her key. She remembered that her mother had a clothesline somewhere in the basement. Mrs. Gordon used it when the dryer was out of order.

  Marjorie found the rope behind the laundry room door. Her mother always wound the clothesline around a stick to keep it from getting tangled. The stick had snapped in half and fallen out onto the floor.

  Marjorie tore upstairs to her room. She took her little square flashlight off her night table and dropped it into the pocket of her jeans. Then she took the big wooden spoon out of her dresser drawer. She carried it down to the laundry room and wound the clothesline around it.

  Marjorie held tight to the big spoon and jogged back to the park. The young man was still jogging along the roadway. He waved to Marjorie. “Isn’t this great? This is my third time around.”

  Marjorie waved back. She crossed the road and jogged along the lakeshore. A duck with four ducklings went paddling by. Marjorie would have liked to stop and look at them, but she kept jogging until she came to the path up the big hill. Then she began to run.

  When she came to the beech tree, Marjorie tossed the rope over the lowest branch and used it to pull herself up. She wound the rope back onto the spoon and started up the tree.

  The starling was still sitting on the same twig. “Here comes your sister now, Nick,” it called down into the hole in the tree. “You should be out of there in no time.”

  The bird stared at the spoon under Marjorie’s arm. But it didn’t say anything.

  Marjorie tied one end of the clothesline to a branch with the square knot her father had taught her. The rest of the rope was still wound around the wooden spoon.

  Marjorie thought for a minute. If she let the rope down into the tree it might get caught on something and never reach Nick.

  She turned on her flashlight. Marjorie held the flashlight in one hand and the spoon in the other. As she slowly let herself down into the hollow tree, the rope unwound from the spoon.

  “Why don’t you just pull your brother out?” the starling screamed. “This way you’ll both get stuck down there!”

  Marjorie held tight to the spoon and inched her way down into the hollow tree. The little flashlight glowed in the darkness.

  Nick looked up at his sister. “I came down a lot faster than that, Marge.”

  “I feel like a caterpillar,” Marjorie told him.

  When she reached Nick, he grabbed hold of the rope too.

  “You climb up first,” Marjorie said. “You’ve been down here long enough.”

  “I kind of got used to it, Marge.” Nick looked at the wooden spoon. There wa
s still a lot of rope wound around it. “Let’s go all the way down this hole. I’d like to see what’s at the bottom.”

  Marjorie shone the flashlight into the hole. “It looks like a lot of tree roots.” She started working her way down.

  Nick was close beside her. The inside of the tree was twisted and lumpy. They moved from one lump to the next. It was like going down a rough stairway.

  Something fluttered past Marjorie’s ear. She jumped back, still holding onto the clothesline. “Nick, that wasn’t a baby starling!”

  “Maybe it was a bat,” Nick said.

  Marjorie began to wish she were back outside in the sunshine. But she didn’t want Nick to think she was afraid. Anyway, they were getting close to the bottom of the hole.

  A few feet farther down, Marjorie’s feet touched the ground. At the same time the last of the clothesline unwound. She began to shine the flashlight all around. “This is like a little cave.”

  Nick let go of the rope and left it dangling. “Marge,” he whispered, “look!”

  Marjorie saw a narrow door set among the thick roots of the tree. It was open just wide enough for her to see a faint red glow on the other side of it.

  Both children stood quite still. They listened for any sound, but all they heard was their own breathing.

  Nick took a step toward the door. He peeked through the opening. Then he gave the door a push. It didn’t move.

  Marjorie leaned her shoulder against the door and shoved hard. The door creaked open.

  “There’s nobody here,” Nick said. “Let’s explore this place, Marge.”

  The two children stepped through the doorway into the cave on the other side.

  Marjorie looked around. The yellow light of her flashlight showed a big iron pot set over a bed of glowing embers. Pale gray steam rose out of the pot, but no smoke came from the red coals.

  She flashed the light over the uneven dirt walls. “I don’t see any door to the outside, but somebody must live here.” Marjorie pointed to a tattered blanket thrown over a pile of dry leaves. “There’s the bed.”

  A big table stood in the middle of the cave. Nick sat down on a three-legged stool next to it. He opened a large book on the table. “Look at this, Marge.”

  Marjorie went to shine her flashlight on it. She saw a bookplate inside the front cover. “This book belongs to Stella,” Marjorie read.

  “Stella was the name cut into the tree,” Nick reminded her.

  Marjorie began to turn the pages of the book. They were dog-eared and stained. Some of them were stuck together. “It looks like a cookbook.”

  She started to read. “Nick! These aren’t recipes. They’re magic spells!”

  Nick leaned over the book. “Now’s our chance! Maybe we can work one.” He started turning the pages.

  Marjorie looked over his shoulder. The flashlight seemed to be getting dim. She could barely make out the words.

  “It’s no use,” Nick said. “To make yourself invisible, you have to have six tigers’ teeth and a cup of sand from the Sahara Desert.”

  “You’re right.” Marjorie shut the book. “We could never do those spells. Anyway, we need steaming brew to make them work.”

  “Maybe that’s brew in the big pot,” Nick said.

  The light from the flashlight was very faint now. In a few seconds it was just a spark. Then it went out.

  “I must have had it turned on too long.” Marjorie put the little square flashlight on the table.

  The cave was very dark now. There was only the red glow from under the pot.

  Marjorie was quiet. She was thinking. When she spoke it was in a whisper. “Nick,” she said. “I read in that book that you have to use a special spoon to work those spells. It’s a wooden spoon. The book says it’s something every witch must own.”

  Nick tried to see into the dark corners of the cave. “Stella must be a witch!”

  “And we’ve got her spoon,” Marjorie said. “That’s why she was trying to get into our house. She can’t work her magic without it.”

  Nick reached for the spoon. “Let me have that for a minute, Marge.”

  “Be careful what you do with it.” Marjorie handed the spoon to her brother.

  Nick picked up the flashlight and walked over to the iron pot. He put the flashlight on the bowl of the big wooden spoon. Then he lowered it into the dark, steaming brew. It started to hiss and sizzle.

  “One,” Nick counted, “two, three—” When he came to “seven,” a light began to glow down in the depths. Nick raised the spoon out of the pot. He grabbed the flashlight and waved it in the air.

  It was brighter than Marjorie had ever seen it before.

  “How’s that for magic?” Nick grinned. “I think I’ll write this spell in Stella’s book.”

  “Give that to me, Nick. We’d better take care of it.” Marjorie took the spoon.

  Nick set the flashlight on the table. It was so bright now that it lit up the whole cave. He walked over to a shelf that was cut into one of the dirt walls.

  “Hey, Marge—look at all these bottles and boxes!”

  “Maybe that’s where Stella keeps her food,” Marjorie said.

  Nick picked up a dusty green bottle and shook it. The bottle rattled. He unscrewed the cap and poured something into his hand. “Stella must have broken a plate.”

  Marjorie came over. “That’s not broken china, Nick. Those are teeth.”

  Nick took a good look. “Great big cats’ teeth,” he said. “Tigers’ teeth?” He put them back into the bottle and screwed on the cap.

  Marjorie started to look at the other things on the shelf. “There aren’t any labels.” She peeked into a little cardboard box. “Ick! Mouse tails.”

  “Here’s a bag with a label, DOMINO SUGAR.” Nick opened the yellow paper bag and put a few grains on the end of his tongue. He spat them out at once.

  “It’s not sugar, or salt. Hey, Marge! Maybe it’s Sahara sand!” Nick put down the bag and ran over to the table in the middle of the cave. He began to look through the big book.

  “I suppose you’re looking for the spell that makes you invisible,” Marjorie said.

  “Yes,” Nick told her. “I know I saw it in this book.”

  “Maybe it’s listed under disappearing,” Marjorie said.

  “That would be near the beginning of the book,” Nick said. “I know it wasn’t there.”

  “Look under vanishing,” Marjorie suggested. Secretly she was just as eager as Nick to learn this magic trick.

  Nick turned to the last pages of the book. “Here we are!” He read the spell. “We ought to be able to do it, Marge. You have to put the teeth and the sand and your favorite finger ring into a bag. Then you tie the bag to the spoon with a brand-new shoelace. You stir them around in the brew while you count to twenty-one.”

  Marjorie thought for a minute. “I don’t have a favorite finger ring. Do you?”

  “No.” Nick looked at the book again. “There’s one of those little starry things next to ring.”

  Marjorie came over to look at the book. She saw another little star at the bottom of the page. Beside it in tiny letters was printed or another small metal object worn every day. “Read this, Nick. Maybe we can do the spell with my house key.”

  “How about the brand-new shoelace?” Nick said. “Mine are worn out, and yours don’t look much better. How much do shoelaces cost?”

  “Didn’t you just invent a magic spell that mends things?” Marjorie sat down on the dirt floor and took the lace out of one of her sneakers.

  She tied the shoelace to the witch’s spoon and dipped it into the big iron pot. The brew began to sizzle. Marjorie counted to seven. When she brought up the spoon, the shoelace was bright and new with a shiny tip on each end.

  “Maybe Stella has a measuring cup.” Marjorie went to look among the boxes and jars on the shelf. She found a teacup with a broken handle. Marjorie filled it to the brim with sand from the yellow paper bag.

  Nick watc
hed her. “How are we going to get a bag for the spell? That Domino Sugar sack would fall apart in the brew.”

  Marjorie was carrying the teacup over to the table. On the way the sneaker without a shoelace fell off. Marjorie set the cup on the table and went to get her shoe.

  She was about to shove her foot into the sneaker when she caught sight of her sock. Marjorie pulled it off and shoved her bare foot into the sneaker. “Go get six tigers’ teeth, Nick.”

  The sock was a stretchy one. Marjorie poured the sand into it. Nick dropped in the teeth, one at a time. Then Marjorie took the key from around her neck and pushed it into the sock. She left the string on it and pushed that in too.

  The sock was bulging. Nick held it while Marjorie tied it to the wooden spoon with the bright new shoelace. She twisted the lace several times around the spoon and the sock. And then she made a double bow.

  “Now for the spell!” Nick said.

  Marjorie carried the spoon with the heavy sock tied to it over to the iron pot. Slowly she let it down into the steaming witch’s brew.

  The steam turned yellow and then green. The brew foamed up. Marjorie was afraid it would boil over.

  “Don’t forget to stir,” Nick reminded her.

  Marjorie counted to twenty-one, giving a wide stir with each number.

  “Stop!” Nick said.

  Marjorie hauled up the spoon with the dripping sock. She walked over and laid it on the table in the middle of the cave.

  Nick came after her. “Marge, look at the shoelace.”

  Marjorie stared at it. The lace was stained and the tips were frayed.

  “It’s just the way it was before we enchanted it,” Marjorie said. She began to untie the double bow. It took her quite a while because the shoelace was soaking wet, but at last she managed to undo it.

  Marjorie dumped everything out of her sock onto the table. “Nick,” she said, “the desert sand is still dry and so are the tigers’ teeth!”

  “Where’s your key?” Nick asked.