Magic Elizabeth

by Kassirer, Norma

  “You must like California a lot,” said Sally rather wistfully.

  “It’s a very interesting place to live,” agreed Aunt Sarah.

  “I suppose you want to go back as soon as you can,” said Sally.

  “Well, I only came here to sell the house.”

  “I wonder,” said Sally, “if another girl will live here.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” said Aunt Sarah. “It’s the apartment owners who are interested in buying the house, for expansion.”

  “Expansion?” asked Sally. The word felt strange to her tongue. She didn’t like the way it felt at all. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, they want to make the apartment buildings larger, you see.”

  “You mean,” cried Sally, “they’d tear the house down?”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Aunt Sarah.

  Sally’s lips began to tremble. Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Why, Sally,” said her aunt, taking her hand. “Do you like this old house so much?”

  Sally gulped and nodded.

  “I wish you didn’t have to sell it,” she whispered.

  But her aunt only patted her hand and said nothing.

  Then one day Emily was allowed to come in and sit by her bed in the little blue chair, and they talked about everything — about Elizabeth, and Emily’s little brother Richard, who was only a baby. “I take care of him,” said Emily proudly, and Sally told her about Bub and how funny he was. Aunt Sarah, to their delight, brought up the little tea set, including the broken-handled cup, and they had a tea party like the one in the long-ago garden, with sugar water for tea.

  Emily said that when Sally was better her mother wanted her to come over to her house and play, and then she could see Richard, and they made plans to visit each other after Sally had gone home.

  “But I won’t be staying here,” said Sally unhappily, looking around the pretty room and thinking how much she had grown to love it. She told Emily about how the house would be torn down.

  “They can’t do that!” gasped Emily, and her eyes filled with tears just as Sally’s had.

  “But don’t worry,” she said kindly at last, wiping her eyes. “We’ll play at my house. We’ll play with Elizabeth.”

  But Sally shook her head sadly. “I don’t think I’m going to find her,” she said. “I’m not going to have time. I’ll be going back to school, and Aunt Sarah will go back to California, and the house will be — gone.”

  “Oh, but you will find her!” cried Emily, looking up at the picture. “I just know you will. I’d feel awful if you didn’t.”

  “So would I,” Sally agreed.

  But at last the day came when she was well enough to get out of bed and go downstairs for breakfast.

  “It’s so good to have you up and about,” said her aunt, smiling at her.

  “It’s good to be up,” said Sally. Then, “Aunt Sarah,” she said, “do you think I could go up to the attic today?”

  Her aunt said nothing for a time. She seemed to be thinking. She looked closely at Sally. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I thought perhaps you ought to play outside — but it is a little chilly. Oh, I suppose if you’re sure you feel all right, it won’t hurt you. Go ahead.”

  “Oh, thank you!” And off Sally went once more to the attic, followed by her faithful Shadow.

  How wonderful the attic looked to her after her long absence! It seemed indeed to welcome her. The little brass label on the other Sally’s trunk winked a greeting at her. It seemed to be speaking right to her, just as it had on the first day she had seen it. But she passed by the trunk and went straight to the mirror.

  She sat down in front of the mirror, feeling suddenly quite out of breath, and she remembered that she had just gotten over being sick, “There’s a sort of ringing in my ears,” she told herself, closing her eyes. For there was a faint jingling sound, rather like the sound of far-off sleigh bells. “Jingle bells, jingle bells,” she whispered. No, it seemed as if someone were singing — no, whistling — somewhere. Someone was whistling “Jingle Bells,” and there were bells ringing!

  “Oh my,” she thought, “I must still be sick.” Her head was spinning. She felt quite dizzy.

  And then she opened her eyes and saw the other Sally in the mirror. There was no mistaking her this time.

  She was wearing a little red velvet cape with a pointed hood that covered her hair entirely. Her hands were tucked into a white fur muff just like the one Elizabeth carried in the picture. The little doll was seated upon her lap, and she too was wearing a tiny red-hooded cape. Snow was swirling about them, and there were snowflakes on their hoods and even clinging to the other Sally’s eyelashes. And how dark it was; the stars looked as if they were falling too, all mixed up with the twirling of the snowflakes.

  “How cozy it feels,” thought Sally, snuggling down into the fur rug which covered her knees and the knees of her mother, who sat beside her. Sally stuck out her tongue and caught a cold snowflake on its tip.

  They were riding in the red sleigh, the sleigh bells ringing as they glided over the glittering snow. Her father was seated on the driver’s seat high above them, whistling “Jingle Bells” and gently slapping the reins in his hands on the rising and falling back of the horse, who whinnied and raised its nose to the falling snow. When the horse turned its head, Sally could see its great eye flashing in the light of the lanterns that hung on either side of the sleigh. The cloud of its frosty breath hovered in the crystal air.

  Up a hill they went, seeming to be flying straight toward the round moon. Sally could hear the sound of the horse’s hoofs breaking through the crusty snow. Up and over the snowdrifts they flew, wind whistling past their ears. It nipped at Sally’s nose, and she drew her head further into the hood of her cape. Snow blew into her eyes and stiffened her lashes with cold. Snowflakes circled like moths around the lanterns, which swayed and bumped against the sides of the sleigh and cast leaping patterns of light on the banks of snow and the glittering ice-covered branches of the trees.

  The branches struck a frosty music from the air above them, and Sally reached up and broke a twig from a low-hanging branch as they sped along past the lighted windows of farmhouses, past the school-house and the reaching spire of the church, with the silver moon caught on its tip. “The moon looks like a crystal ball tonight,” thought Sally. She looked down at the icy twig she held in her mittened hand. It looked silvery, a twig from a silver tree in a fairy tale. She waved it at the wonderful moon, and then let it fall into the snow. It seemed a night when anything could happen.

  “Jingle bells, jingle bells,” sang her father’s deep voice, and he shook the reins and grinned around at her as the bells on the reins jingled a lively accompaniment.

  “Careful, John,” cried her mother in a worried voice. “We’re going very fast.”

  “Whoa,” said her father at last, standing up, the rug which covered his knees slipping over the edge of the seat as he did so. Sally reached up and caught the edge of the rug and looked up at him. “Here?” she asked.

  “Right about here, I reckon,” said her father, peering about. Sally could see that they had stopped at the edge of a forest. Her father threw the reins over the seat and jumped out into the snow.

  “Ah, there she is,” he said, lifting one of the lanterns from the sleigh and holding it so that Sally and her mother could see the fir tree, which lay on its side almost buried in the snow. “Perkins and I cut it this afternoon,” he said proudly. “Couldn’t bring it back then with all the wood we were carrying. But there it is — the biggest Christmas tree in the whole forest!”

  “Oh it is!” breathed Sally. As she moved to look down at it, her hood fell back from her hair. She didn’t notice it until her mother reached over and pulled it up. “It must be the biggest tree in the world!”

  “Will it fit into the parlor?” asked her mother.

  “Have to make the parlor bigger if it doesn’t,” said Sally’s father, and accomp
anied by some good-natured grunting and groaning and a few more bars of “Jingle Bells,” he stood the tree up, shook some of the snow from its branches, and hoisted it up onto the back of the sleigh. With some help from Sally and her mother, he secured it there with ropes.

  And back they drove through the frosted air, over the moon-sparkled drifts, the lovely piney smell accompanying them all the way and reminding them — though they hardly needed a reminder — that this was indeed Christmas Eve. The church bells were chiming as they passed the little white church once more. Light streamed out onto the snow from its doorway.

  Other sleighs passed them. “Merry Christmas!” called the people. The fluttering ends of the shawls and scarves in which they were wrapped waved gaily as they drove by.

  “Merry Christmas!” they shouted in return. Patience went by with her family in their sleigh, muffled to her ears in a yellow shawl that glinted in the moonlight. “Merry Christmas, Elizabeth!” she called, and Sally held Elizabeth up and made her wave a cotton hand at her.

  The tree was dragged into the house at last, along with a good deal of snow, which Sally’s mother did her very best to seem stern about. Rather unsuccessfully too, for she was as excited as any of them.

  They stood the tree up in a corner of the parlor next to the melodeon, which made a continuous tinkling comment upon the proceedings as they worked. The tree fit exactly, its tip just brushing the ceiling of the room.

  “It’s beautiful!” said Sally.

  “Twee!” cried little Bub, and they had to hold him back, for he rushed at it as if he meant to push it over, if possible, just for the fun of seeing it raised again to the ceiling. Mrs. Perkins caught him just in time. “Little dear,” she cried, kissing him. “The little, little dear.”

  Aunt Tryphone vowed she had never seen such a tree in all her ninety-five years. “And I even doubt,” she said, “that my dear papa who once spoke to Mr. Washington saw such a tree. Mr. Washington himself may not even have been so fortunate.”

  “Put your apron on, Sally,” said her mother, “to keep your dress clean.” And Sally ran to the kitchen to get her white apron with the borders of lace.

  Mrs. Niminy Piminy, to everyone’s surprise — for they would have believed her too dignified for such behavior — tried to climb up the tree, and like Bub, had to be restrained. Her grown-up kittens behaved much better, sitting in a line and blinking in astonishment as the tree was being decorated. There were strings of popcorn and cranberries — Sally had made them with Bub’s “help” during many evenings at the kitchen table — and cotton-whiskered Santas, and beautiful shining balls of red and gold and green glass. There were swans and birds with feathered tails, and angel-hair and tinsel, and tiny red candles in silver holders. When it was all done at last, everyone stood back to admire it.

  Sally, holding Elizabeth in her arms, was looking especially hard at the top of the tree. Then she looked down at Elizabeth, smiled, and hugged her. “We need a Christmas angel!” she said, pointing at the top of the tree. “Elizabeth could be our angel.” And indeed, Elizabeth, her feet flying as Sally lifted her, looked as if she were already winging her way to the topmost branch of the tree.

  “Ango,” cried Bub, clapping his chubby hands.

  They all looked fondly at Elizabeth and nodded.

  “She’ll make a dear little angel,” agreed Mrs. Perkins.

  Aunt Tryphone could be heard to murmur something about Mr. Washington and Christmas angels.

  “I’ll bring the ladder back,” said Father.

  And he did. He helped Sally climb almost to the very top of the ladder, and then he handed Elizabeth up to her.

  Up there, Sally could smell the piney smell of Christmas, which is like nothing else in the world. She felt quite delightfully faint with it.

  “Steady there,” warned her father as she swayed, and Sally lifted Elizabeth high into the air. “Here’s some string,” said her father. “Can you tie her to the peak?”

  Sally took the string and gently tied Elizabeth to the top of the glittering tree, and blew a kiss to her.

  Sally came down again and they all stood looking up at Elizabeth.

  “She’s the most beautiful angel in the world,” said Sally.

  “Indeed she is.”

  “Dear little thing.”

  “Fing, fing.”

  Tom sat looking up longingly at his friend. “He wants to be up there with her,” said Sally.

  Her mother said, “He’d better not try to get there!”

  Then, with Sally’s mother playing the melodeon, they all sang Christmas carols — “Jingle Bells” and “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” and last of all, “Silent Night.” And while they sang, snow fell upon the house and upon the hills and upon all the sleeping fields.

  It was Sally who first saw that Elizabeth was gone.

  They had stopped singing at last, too tired to go on, and they had all turned to admire the tree once more.

  Sally, of course, looked for Elizabeth first of all.

  “Mama!” she cried. “Elizabeth! She’s gone!”

  “Goodness!” cried her mother. “So she is.”

  “Dear little thing,” said Mrs. Perkins. “No doubt she’s fallen.”

  “But then where is she?” cried Sally, for she was looking all around the bottom of the tree and could not find her.

  “In among the branches probably,” said her father, bringing the ladder back once more. They searched and searched among the branches, but Elizabeth was nowhere to be found. They looked and looked, till they all knew that there was no point in looking any more.

  “But where could she go?” Sally was sobbing. “She couldn’t just vanish!”

  They all stood looking unhappily down at Sally, not knowing what to do. Then her mother knelt beside her and took her in her arms and kissed her. “Sal,” she said, “you mustn’t. Elizabeth wouldn’t want to spoil your Christmas, darling, you know she wouldn’t.”

  “I know,” sobbed Sally into her mother’s comforting shoulder. “I know, but I can’t help it. I miss her so.” She sniffed and looked up at her mother. “Oh, Mama,” she said, “I had such good times with her.”

  “There, dear,” comforted her mother. “Don’t cry, don’t cry.”

  Chapter 16 - Elizabeth

  “Don’t cry, Sal. Don’t cry, there, dear.”

  Sally looked up to find Aunt Sarah seated on the attic floor, holding her in her arms. “Sal, Sal, what’s the matter, dear?” she was saying. “You’ve overtired yourself. I shouldn’t have let you come up here.”

  Sally rubbed at her eyes. “No,” she said, “it’s all right. I was crying about Elizabeth, when the other Sally lost her.”

  “There, dear, you were dreaming again,” said Aunt Sarah, gently smoothing her hair back from her forehead.

  “No,” said Sally, shaking her head, “no, it wasn’t like a dream. It was just as if it were happening. And the other Sally had an apron like yours, like the ones you had when you were a little girl.”

  “Did she?” murmured Aunt Sarah. She was looking off somewhere over Sally’s head, as if she too could see into the past.

  Sally gulped and nodded. She sat up slowly. “Where’s Shadow?” she asked.

  “Up to his usual tricks,” said Aunt Sarah, pointing at him. He was poking at something between the roof and the floor, poking and poking. “Aren’t cats funny?”

  “But they don’t like to be laughed at,” said Sally.

  “Well,” said Aunt Sarah, “perhaps they don’t mind so awfully much.”

  “Shadow looks like Mrs. Niminy Piminy, but he looks even more like Tom.”

  “Old Tom,” sighed Aunt Sarah.

  But Sally didn’t hear her. She was remembering something — the bonnet found by Emily, the golden thread in Shadow’s paw, and Tom, sitting under the Christmas tree, gazing up at his friend Elizabeth. Tom, who had carried Elizabeth in his mouth, in the garden. What if, while they were singing, Elizabeth had fallen off the tree? Wh
at if Tom had still been sitting there, watching her? What would he have done if she had fallen to the floor? Her eyes flicked to Shadow, poking his paw into the space under the roof. What if Tom had taken Elizabeth in his mouth? What if, while they were singing, he had walked silently past them, up the stairs, and up more stairs, and what if the attic door had been open? Yes, what if Tom had been like Shadow? They were both cats, weren’t they?

  Sally sat up very straight. Her heart was pounding as she stared at Shadow.

  “What is it, Sally?” asked Aunt Sarah.

  But Sally didn’t answer. She jumped to her feet and ran over to Shadow. “Shadow!” she cried. “What are you doing?” Shadow looked up at her, then went on poking with his paw. She could hear him growling low in his throat. “He’s trying to get something out of there,” she said. She knelt beside him, pushed him gently aside, and reached into the dark space.

  Her hands closed over something soft, something that made her fingertips tingle. She drew it out and held it up.

  “Elizabeth!” she cried.

  For it was indeed the little doll herself, muff, ruffled dress, and all. Dusty, rumpled, and rather dirty, but without any doubt whatsoever it was dear, dear old golden-haired, sweet-smiling Elizabeth! Tears were running down Sally’s cheeks onto Elizabeth’s head as she hugged her and then hugged her again.

  “What is it, Sally? What’s wrong?” cried her aunt. And she moved so suddenly that she knocked against the mirror in passing, and it fell and broke with a crash that reverberated through the attic.

  But her aunt ignored the mirror and hurried over to her. “Whatever is it, Sally?” she asked.

  Sally, laughing and crying all at once, wordlessly held the doll up to her.

  Aunt Sarah uttered a strange little cry of joy. She sat down on the floor. Tears ran down her wrinkled cheeks.