Stealing Magic

by Marianne Malone

  “Yes, thank you,” Ruthie said.

  “It’s too bad Jack is sick.” Mrs. McVittie put a cold glass of milk in front of Ruthie and sat down. “Tell me—what is your newest adventure?”

  Ruthie wasn’t sure how Mrs. McVittie knew, but it felt natural to talk to her about everything that had happened since last Sunday. After all, Mrs. McVittie and her sister had experienced the magic in the rooms themselves when they were young. And she had helped Ruthie and Jack figure everything out by reading Sophie’s French journal for them and, most important, by going along with the story about finding Mr. Bell’s lost album in her storeroom. Even though Jack had already told Mrs. McVittie about the note in the bento box, Ruthie explained about her dream and how it had set everything in motion.

  “You two did quite a daring thing by leaving the note in the bento box. If my sister and I had done something like that, who knows what might have happened!”

  “Maybe Caroline Bell might have found it when she was a little girl,” Ruthie said. “Or maybe Jack and I might have.”

  “Anything is possible, isn’t it?”

  Then Ruthie told her about meeting Louisa Meyer outside room E27.

  “You must warn her to leave Europe,” Mrs. McVittie agreed. “It was a terrible time.”

  “I’m so worried that we won’t be able to find her when we go back. Or what if we can’t convince her? We’re just kids.”

  “You will find a way, I don’t doubt. Wait—I have an idea.” Mrs. McVittie rose from her chair. “Follow me.”

  Ruthie followed her back through the apartment and down the hall past the guest room and a study, into her bedroom. Mrs. McVittie opened a door to the most enormous closet Ruthie had ever seen. Inside were hundreds of articles of clothing, neatly arranged on racks that filled the entire space.

  “It used to be a third bedroom, but I had it converted to a closet. You can see why,” she explained.

  “Mrs. McVittie, where did you get all these clothes?”

  “Some are mine, and some I’ve collected because they were beautiful.” She walked along one wall and pulled out a dress. “I wore this when I was about your age.” She held up a blue dress with a white collar and sash and puffy sleeves. “I think this would fit you. Here, try it on.”

  Ruthie took it off the hanger and slipped it on over her T-shirt and jeans. It fit, but when she glanced in the mirror she wasn’t so sure about the style—she thought it made her look like a six-year-old!

  “Isn’t this fun?” Mrs. McVittie said. “I remember wearing that dress. Here, how about this one?” She handed Ruthie a yellow one, without puffy sleeves and with a differently shaped collar and patch pockets. A black Scottie dog silhouette was stitched near the bottom. Ruthie admired herself in the mirror. This dress looked kind of cool in a vintage way.

  “I think that is just the one,” Mrs. McVittie said. “You should wear it when you go to find Louisa. You’ll fit right in.”

  “That’s a great idea, Mrs. McVittie. Thanks!”

  “I might have something to fit Jack too, with a little luck.” She rummaged through the closet and pulled out a pair of light-colored pants that had a different cut than Jack’s usual cargo pants, a white polo shirt, and a green V-neck sweater. She even had shoes to match. “These belonged to a cousin of mine. I think they’re charming!”

  “I don’t know if Jack will wear these,” Ruthie said doubtfully. “But they look like they’ll fit.”

  Mrs. McVittie was tireless, and they spent a long while looking through all the clothes, which were organized by decade. Drawers filled to overflowing contained all kinds of accessories; jewelry, scarves and handbags spanning more than seventy years. It made the time pass on what could have been a very slow day. Ruthie took a cab to the museum Saturday morning and loved the freedom of riding in one by herself. Soon she was climbing the grand steps with her cell phone to her ear, Mrs. McVittie’s voice reminding her to call again when her lesson was over. She went directly to the meeting place by the information desk just inside the front doors.

  Dora Pommeroy was already waiting. Ruthie observed her stylish clothing—skinny dark jeans, a silky turquoise T-shirt and a light-colored jacket with lots of gold buttons. Several strands of pearls and beads were looped loosely around her neck, along with an Art Institute ID tag. Her shiny, white-blond hair was pulled back, like before, and she wore a different pair of cool glasses. Ruthie was wearing regular jeans, another Oakton T-shirt, and her sweatshirt. She felt so boring.

  “Good morning, Ruthie!” Dora smiled and looked at her watch. “You’re right on time. Excellent! Shall we get started?” Ruthie made a mental note to always be on time for Dora since it seemed to please her.

  Dora flashed her ID at the guards as she walked past the entrance, Ruthie following.

  “Before we begin,” Dora said, stopping at a bench near the grand staircase, “let’s go over the supplies I’ve brought for you.”

  Ruthie watched as Dora pulled art supplies from an enormous leather tote bag: a sketchbook (on which she had already written Ruthie’s name), a small metal pencil case containing six artist’s pencils, a squishy gray gum eraser, and something that looked like a pencil but was really a stick of rolled-up paper, called a smudger, for shading. Dora explained how to use each item.

  Probably because it was the first Saturday of spring break, the museum wasn’t very crowded. They went downstairs into Gallery 11, which was emptier than Ruthie had ever seen it during the day.

  “This is great,” Dora said. “We’ll be able to linger over one room for a long time without annoying anyone. Do you have a favorite?”

  “Every time I pick a favorite, it changes as soon as I look at another room!” Ruthie answered.

  “I know; me too!” Dora agreed. “Let’s start with the basics: one object.” She moved down the wall, needing to bend to look through the glass, and stopped at room E1. “Why don’t you pick something from this room?”

  Christina’s room!

  “Would you like to start with a different one?”

  “No. This one is fine,” Ruthie tried to say casually. It was, after all, the first room, but the choice made her uneasy.

  “How about that stand there, with the beautiful book on it near the window?”

  Christina’s book! Ruthie caught herself before she made an audible gulp. She and Jack had learned all about the magic of the key from this book—a book filled with so much magic that it had carried the voice of the young duchess across the centuries for Ruthie to hear. It would be hard for her to stand there and keep calm while trying to pretend it was just a run-of-the-mill miniature.

  “On second thought,” Dora began, moving down the wall a few windows, “let’s start with something simpler. Here, room E5.”

  Ruthie went along, relieved. The room was a cottage kitchen from England in the early 1700s. “I think I could draw this.” She pointed to an unadorned table on the right-hand side of the room. A small blue pitcher and a common white bowl sat on it. Next to the table a bay window looked out onto a beautiful garden bursting with flowers, and she could see neighboring houses. Across the room, an open door piqued Ruthie’s imagination. Where did it lead? Was this world alive? It appeared perfectly still, but if she had the key and were inside …

  Ruthie got to work while Dora opened her own sketchbook to draw along with her. Dora instructed her to do the best job she could so she could see her skill level. When she was finished, Ruthie handed her sketch to Dora.

  “Very good! I think you have a feel for this!”

  Ruthie beamed. They spent about a half hour on this room, drawing a plain wooden chair and a candlestick, Dora giving drawing tips as Ruthie sketched. She looked at Dora’s pages. “Yours are sooo good.”

  “Practice. But you know, when you love something, it comes easily. And I love these rooms!”

  “So do I!” Ruthie felt a bond with Dora, which kind of surprised her. How could Ruthie have anything in common with an elegant person lik
e Dora Pommeroy?

  Dora let Ruthie pick a few more rooms to work on, and the two of them talked as they sketched. She was so easy to talk to, and Ruthie found herself getting very comfortable with her—more comfortable than she’d been with any teacher before. Since Dora was doing her own research about the rooms, she was excited to hear about the paper Ruthie and Jack had written for Ms. Biddle. Ruthie told her everything she remembered learning from the archives.

  “I should make you my research assistant.” Dora laughed. “You remind me of myself at your age!”

  “Have you ever decorated a room to look exactly like any of the Thorne Rooms?” Ruthie asked, sketching a vase from room E26.

  “I’d love to try, but it is difficult these days to find antiques as wonderful as the objects Mrs. Thorne created. If you can find them, they’re very expensive,” Dora explained.

  “This is one of my favorites,” Ruthie said as they approached E27.

  “I love this one too,” Dora agreed. “I love the view of Paris over the balcony.”

  “My dad was telling me about this period in history. It was pretty scary.”

  “But the design style was fabulous: high modernist.” Dora changed the subject. “Now, I’ll have time to see you tomorrow for another lesson if you’d like. I’ll show you how to use one-point perspective, and you can practice till the next lesson. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Ruthie was disappointed that the lesson was over.

  Dora walked her upstairs and out of the museum to help her hail a cab for the short ride back to Mrs. McVittie’s. Waiting for the traffic light in front of the museum to turn green, Ruthie watched through the window as Dora strode effortlessly up the stone steps and disappeared back inside.

  JACK’S VOICE SOUNDED LIKE SANDPAPER on wood. Ruthie had called him right after she had talked to her parents on the phone and helped Mrs. McVittie clean up the dinner dishes.

  “Actually, I’m feeling a little better. I slept till dinner,” he told her. “And my temperature’s almost normal. Probably one more day.”

  “That’s great. I was worried you’d be sick for all of spring break,” Ruthie said. “I’ll come over after my lesson tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot—she’s coming over tomorrow,” Jack said as an afterthought.

  “Who? Dora?”

  “Yeah,” Jack answered.

  “Why?” Ruthie felt a prickle of jealousy.

  “She wants to talk to my mom about painting some mural. For some rich lady’s apartment that she’s decorating or something.”

  The explanation made Ruthie feel better and, in fact, amplified her excitement; she might get to learn more about how Dora worked if Lydia was going to be involved. But still, it was just like Jack to have such good luck and hardly notice it at all.

  Ruthie went to sleep that night with French words streaming through the headphones. The lesson was all about food and dining, and she heard phrases such as “Je voudrais manger une pomme, s’il vous plaît” and “La viande est délicieuse.” She wasn’t sure if “I would like to eat an apple, please” or “The meat is delicious” would come in handy in 1937 Paris, but she had to start somewhere. As she drifted off, the sounds of the words turned into pictures in her head and she saw the letters v-i-a-n-d-e floating by, and then p-o-m-m-e morphed into shiny apples bobbing like a dancing chorus line over the bed. Soon she was dreaming of rooms and tables and pencils. More juicy-looking apples appeared; Ruthie tried to grab one, but they were just out of reach.

  Ruthie remembered to arrive on time—actually a few minutes early—for her drawing lesson on Sunday. Dora’s height and long stride made her stand out among the crowd of people, and Ruthie waved to her. Dora checked her watch as she had yesterday and smiled in approval.

  “You’re early!” she said in greeting.

  “I hate being late,” Ruthie responded.

  “Me too! We seem to have a lot in common.” Dora looked over Ruthie’s practice sketches and gave her comments and a few pointers. Again, they chatted while they worked; she appeared genuinely interested in everything Ruthie had to say. After they had sketched for some time—Ruthie worked on a New England bedroom with a canopy bed—Dora made an offer.

  “How would you like to see the installation? I mean in the corridor behind the rooms. I need to make a few notes for my own research about how the rooms were constructed, and I don’t think it would be a problem for me to show you.”

  Ruthie tried to look excited, though she had already been in the corridor many times. “Sure, that would be great.”

  “I have use of the key. The archivist gave me authorization.” Dora dangled the key like a fishing lure.

  Stepping into the corridor, Ruthie heard the familiar sound of the door locking automatically as it shut.

  It was odd to be in the corridor with someone other than Jack. Ruthie pretended she had never seen any of this before. They walked along to the first turn, just steps away from the duct-tape climbing strip. Ruthie had devised this a few months ago so she and Jack—after shrinking—could climb up and crawl through the heating duct to reach the corridor that ran behind the American rooms. She hoped Dora wouldn’t notice it.

  “Just like you, I’ve learned loads of fascinating things in the archive. Mrs. Thorne was meticulous about explaining the details,” Dora said. “But what surprises me most are some of the unexplained aspects.”

  “I know,” Ruthie agreed.

  “Did you come across her notes about the secret shop in Paris?”

  “Yeah. Jack and I were really interested in that!”

  “Yes! So intriguing!” Dora responded. “And did you find any documents about a key?”

  Ruthie’s stomach tensed, but she was able to answer truthfully. “No. We didn’t find any documents about a key.”

  “That’s too bad. I found a couple of obscure references to a very old key that one of her craftsmen acquired. They seemed to think it was extremely important. I was hoping maybe …,” she began, but just then they arrived at the climbing strip. Ruthie’s stomach clenched even more.

  “Look at this.” Dora stopped to examine the vertical oddity. “What on earth could it be?”

  Ruthie kept quiet.

  “Hmmm,” Dora murmured, observing how three lengths of tape ran from the ground to the air vent. She touched the three strips. “This center one has the sticky side out.” She turned and aimed her very blue eyes at Ruthie. “Any theories?”

  Ruthie shrugged.

  “I should probably say something to the staff about this.” Dora kept staring at Ruthie.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t,” Ruthie finally blurted out.

  “Why not? Whatever it is doesn’t belong here,” Dora said logically.

  “I don’t know.” Ruthie wished she’d stayed quiet.

  “Ruthie?” Dora asked in a voice that Ruthie’s mother might use when Ruthie was being less than truthful. “Is something wrong?”

  Ruthie stood there in the dim light of the corridor not sure what to say. She was a terrible liar! If only Jack were here, she thought, he’d have some convincing story ready.

  “No, nothing’s wrong.”

  Dora continued to look at the climbing strip. “Yes, it should be removed. It’s collecting dust.” She used a fingernail to pull it off the wall some, but the duct tape held fast. “Anyway,” she said, working away at the adhesive, “the references to the key in the archive really got me to thinking. You know, I just have the feeling it’s a key to something important and no one seems to know anything about it. Maybe it’s been lost.”

  Ruthie could feel the blood rushing to her face; she might as well have had the word guilty written across her forehead. Dora noticed. “Ruthie, are you sure you didn’t come across something when you were doing your research?”

  Ruthie stayed mute and frozen while Dora looked at her.

  “Ruthie?”

  The hum from the diorama lights seemed to blare in the silence. “I don’t think you’ll believe me if I
tell you,” Ruthie said.

  “Try me,” Dora said.

  And so Ruthie began. “I do know something about that key.…”

  She only meant to tell her a little. But Dora looked so interested and listened so patiently that the whole story of the key, the magic and the shrinking just spilled right out.

  When she was finished, Dora was thoughtful for a moment. “It’s quite a story! It’s hard to believe.… I shouldn’t believe it.… But I want to because of what I’ve learned in my own research. Mrs. Thorne left some big hints about magic.”

  Ruthie was more than relieved. It would have felt horrible if Dora had thought Ruthie was just some nutty kid who made things up.

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Dora vowed.

  “We’re going to return the key. We just don’t know where to put it yet,” Ruthie clarified.

  “I hope you’re keeping the key in a safe place.”

  “We are. Jack has it.” Ruthie remembered how she’d felt when they had confided in Mrs. McVittie, reassured and grateful that she had someone else to talk to about it all.

  Dora smiled at her. “I’m glad you decided to tell me.”

  Ruthie noted a different feeling when they returned to the gallery. She had revealed something important to Dora—something huge—and now she wondered if they would still be teacher and student. Ruthie very awkwardly asked if they could continue this lesson.

  Dora checked her watch. “Yes, we can work for about another half hour, and then I have an appointment.”

  “With Lydia?” Ruthie asked.

  “That’s right. Did Jack tell you?”

  “Yes. And I’m supposed to go to his house this afternoon too.”

  “Then why don’t we go together?” Dora suggested. “How perfect!”

  “Okay.” Ruthie looked down at her drawing, which was less than perfect so far. Maybe if she hung around Dora enough, some perfection would rub off on her.

  “It’s so nice to see you again.” Lydia welcomed Dora—and Ruthie—into the loft.

  “Your work came to mind immediately when my client suggested a trompe l’oeil painting,” Dora enthused. Then she saw Jack in the doorway of his room. “Hello again. What a wonderful loft. And, Jack, you have your own house!”