Pale Phoenix (21 page)

The women they passed wore bonnets, ruffs around their necks, shawls—even though the day was hot. Miranda stared openly at everyone, glad they couldn't see her. All had their heads covered, except for one young girl, perhaps eleven or twelve, who ambled toward them, swinging her bonnet by its long tie, her thick auburn hair held back from her face with a large tortoiseshell comb. She hummed as she passed them, settling the bonnet over her hair again as a group of men came into view farther down the lane.

"Amazing, isn't it?" asked Dan. He was turning left and right as they drifted along, eager to take in all the details. "I wonder how it would feel to live here now? We'd be considered adults already, for one thing. That much about history I know. There wasn't any such thing as teenagers—I mean, I don't think anyone called people our age that until the end of the nineteenth century. I'd be working in the fields. We'd both be getting ready for marriage soon." He glanced down at Miranda and tried to joke. "So, how about it, my love. Willst thou marry me?"

She fluttered her eyelashes. "Why certainly, my good sir."

Ahead of them Thomas stopped outside a two-story dwelling built around a brick chimney. The roof was covered with wooden shingles and the windows were small, set with diamond-shaped panes of glass. It looked nothing like The Sassy Café.

"We're here," Miranda whispered. "Thomas's house."

Thomas opened the door and stepped inside. The door swung shut behind him.

"Should we knock?" asked Dan.

"Would they hear us?" Miranda walked up to the door and tentatively put her hand out. She touched the wood, felt the rough surface under her hand, but at the same time felt the matter change, as if the atoms were rearranging themselves and her hand slipped into the wood as if into water. She snatched her hand back in panic, their lightheartedness of only moments before entirely forgotten.
Please get me out of here
, she prayed.
I want to go home.
Never mind helping Abby. What could ghosts do, anyway?

Miranda saw that Dan was just as pale as she felt herself. "Did it hurt?" he asked.

"No. But it's—awful."

"Well, let's go if we're going." He motioned for her to go through the door. "Ladies first."

She hesitated, then drifted straight into the door, holding her breath. A split second later she emerged on the other side to find a thin young woman in a black dress and white apron, with braids coiled at her neck, staring at the door. Miranda gasped, hovering only inches from the woman. But after a moment the woman turned back to the huge fireplace. Something bubbled in a heavy black cauldron, the enticing aroma of sage wafting into the air. Miranda slowly exhaled.

A little girl dressed like her mother in black with a white apron played in the far corner of the room near a bed. She cradled what looked to Miranda like a bundle of corn husks, but which appeared to be the child's doll.

Keeping his voice low, just in case the people might hear them, Dan said, "The woman must be Sarah. And I bet the little girl is Charity." He glanced around quickly. "But I wonder where Thomas went?"

"I wish we could take something back with us," said Miranda. "For Abby." She reached out experimentally and brushed her finger against a tankard on the table. Her finger passed right through it. "But we can't. We don't make any impression here at all. How are we going to let Thomas know Abby is safe?"

"Try the phoenix," Dan suggested, and Miranda drew the stone figure out of her pocket. She raised it to her lips and blew the long sweet note into the air.

Little Charity dropped her doll. "What was that, Mama?"

Sarah looked around the room. "I don't know. Perhaps the boys have come back from the garden."

They had heard the whistle! Miranda closed her eyes and blew again.

"There it goes again, Mama! And the boys aren't here at all." Charity sounded frightened. "It came from over by the door."

Sarah walked toward them then and opened the door. She stepped outside. Miranda held her breath. After a moment Sarah came back, closing the door firmly behind her. "It must have been someone out in the lane," she said, returning to the fireplace. Charity settled down with her doll again.

Miranda and Dan hovered near the door. "So they can hear the whistle. But how can we tell them about Abby?" moaned Miranda. "I wish I knew how to toot out a message in Morse code."

"Morse code hasn't been invented yet," Dan whispered back. "Anyway, you tried. That's what we'll have to tell Abby." They hovered silently, watching Sarah's dinner preparations. After another moment, Dan added, "But I wish I'd brought a camera. Pictures of this place would help Abby feel less homesick."

"Yeah, not to mention the great photo essay you could do."

Miranda looked around her, willing herself to remember details so she could report to Abby. It was a wonderful room, she thought, filled with an astonishing array of things—a museum exhibit come alive. There were no "do not touch" signs posted, and the utensils and furnishings were bright and new rather than darkened with age. This was a real house, a place where a family lived. How Mrs. Hooton would love to see all this! For a fleeting second Miranda wondered whether there could possibly be invisible visitors from the distant future in her own house in Garnet, looking around, marveling at the "quaint" lifestyle of the late twentieth century.

The enormous fireplace with its pots and kettles on wooden crossbars was the main feature. The beams above were full of hooks from which bundles of dried herbs hung, and not only herbs—dried corn and apples dangled from strings; huge sides of ham and bacon had been strung high inside the fireplace to smoke. Near the fireplace was the long table flanked by benches and two chairs at either end. There was a bench next to the fireplace, with a hinged seat. Miranda recalled having seen one in the Hootons' museum. It was called a settle, and the compartment under the seat was for storing linens or clothes. A narrow, enclosed staircase led upstairs from one corner by the fireplace.

Miranda and Dan floated together toward the far wall. Shelves contained bowls and rough-looking metal dishes. "They're pewter," Dan whispered. "We have them in the museum. No one here knows about lead poisoning yet." They moved toward the fireplace, passing the small and large spinning wheels under the narrow window and the loom for weaving, which took up one entire corner.

Sarah reached above her head and pinched sprigs from a dried rosemary plant hanging from the ceiling beam. She threw the herb into the bubbling stew and the aroma from the broth made Miranda's stomach rumble. Then a low door in the back wall opened, and Thomas ducked through with a small boy on his shoulders. Another boy came in behind them. Thomas set the child down and latched the door. She noticed that both little boys wore shoes of leather decorated by large buckles. At least
something
looked just as the history books showed.

"They must be Daniel and Nicholas," breathed Dan.

Thomas walked across the room to Sarah, who quickly wiped her hands on a coarse cloth, her eyes on his face. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her roughly to him. Her arms came up to stroke his back, then tightened around him in a hug.

After a moment, he set her away from him and sank onto the settle. "Charity?" he said, "Where is a hug for thy father?" The little girl left her doll and came to him.

"I missed thee," Sarah said. "It seemed a long time."

Sarah's eyes were sorrowful as she ladled stew into heavy pewter bowls and set the bowls around the table. She placed a large loaf of dark bread covered with a white cloth on a board. Then she poured some amber liquid into a great tankard and set that on the table as well. "We had best eat," she said. "This is another sad day, but at least we are together, the five of us. That's something to be thankful for."

"Daniel and Nicholas," called Thomas. "Come to the table."

"I wish we could eat something, too," whispered Dan. "It smells so good." They watched the family gather around the long table for the prayer.

"Lord," began Thomas in a deep, resonant voice, "we ask Thy blessing on this food that Thou in Thy abundant mercy hast given. We know it is not by good food and contentments of this world alone that we preserve our life and health. It is by Thy strength and Thy grace that we survive this time of grief and loss. We ask, Lord, for Thy protection against future perils. We ask for Thy blessing on our souls, and on the souls of our family and friend who did not survive the fire." When he paused, everyone around the table remained silent, heads bowed. After a moment he added softly, "Please protect my sister, young Abigail, wherever she may be. Amen."

Sarah and the children echoed him. "Amen."

But before they could begin their simple meal, there came a heavy knock upon the door. Thomas rose from his chair to answer. "Why, it's Henry Mather. Come in, Neighbor."

A thickset man wearing a black hat and a long tunic like Thomas's entered and nodded to the family. "Goodwife," he said to Sarah, removing his hat to reveal a bald head. "Forgive the intrusion at mealtime. Thomas? I have important news. We have found—"

"Is it Abigail?" Thomas grabbed the man's arms. "Henry, have you found my sister?"

Henry hesitated. "No, I am sorry we have not. But I must speak about the fire, Thomas."

"Please, do sit and try the soup," Sarah invited him. "'Tis a vegetable broth flavored with pork. I know you must be hungry."

Henry set his hat on the settle, nodding tiredly. He sank onto the bench next to Daniel and smiled at the children, who greeted him politely. Sarah ladled some soup into a bowl for him, handed him a hunk of bread, and passed him the heavy mug. All the family drank from the one tankard, Miranda noted.

Henry drank deeply and sighed as he set the mug down on the table again. "Ah, that is fine ale, Goodwife."

She thanked him. They ate in silence, and the atmosphere in the room grew heavier. Thomas waited until the man had finished before speaking. He said, "Perhaps you children would like to play out in the lane for a time?"

"Oh, aye," they chorused and left promptly, Charity dragging the cornhusk doll.

Thomas turned to Henry. "Now, Henry. What would you have us know?"

Henry cleared his throat. "Clara was berrying in the woods behind the Prindle House when she saw the Indian woman kneeling by a small fire and muttering an incantation. Her shack is there, you know, on the hill, and Clara would not go too close. But she came to tell me that Willow's eyes were wild. As my daughter in all innocence passed by, hidden by the trees, Willow, looked up and cast her eye upon the girl. As she did so, the small fire leapt up and caught some dry leaves—and the Indian had to hurry to put out the flames lest the whole forest be burned." His voice cracked. "Thomas, I'm telling you, I fear that woman. People are saying now that she cast her eye on your parents' house and similarly started a fire. I think they must be right." Henry looked at his neighbors and raised his hands, palms up in a gesture of supplication. "'Tis frightening to know such evil is among us. But how else could the roof catch so suddenly as it did unless the devil were about?"

Sarah's face was very pale.

Henry glanced over his shoulder as if searching for an unseen presence and lowered his voice. "Josiah Prindle swears he saw a large bird on the roof of his house just before William left to join your family for the meal. The bird flew along with him and rested atop your family's roof as William entered the house. It was a devil bird, Josiah believes. A spirit sent by the Indian to harm poor William."

Thomas sprang suddenly to life. He stood next to Henry and placed a hand on his broad shoulder. "I thank you for coming to tell us this news."

"But, Thomas, we must act." Henry thumped his fist on the table. "You owe it to your family and to your neighbors to help extinguish the evil flame among us. Both your parents are dead now, man—and your three sisters. One body cannot even be found—can you tell me that is not a sign more than anything else of witchcraft? The Indian must have spirited Abigail's body away—to use for only the Devil-knows-what infernal purpose!"

The back of Miranda's neck prickled.

"The men are assembling now. We must act quickly, my friend." Henry reached for his hat.

Dan shook his head. "What total bull," he said loudly. But of course no one but Miranda heard him. "Let's get out of here."

B
UT MIRANDA
didn't budge. "Wait a minute."

"Godspeed," Thomas said to Henry-Mather, seeing him out. Then he closed the door gently and turned to his wife. "Oh, Sarah."

"It's starting again," she whispered and tightened her fists in her skirts.

"As if we didn't already have enough to bear."

"I grieve for thee, dear Thomas." She reached out her hands to him. "I know how precious thy family was to thee, how precious Abigail was especially. But remember, she no longer suffers. She has gone on to a new life. They all have. It's what we must believe."

Miranda's heart pounded hard. A better life? Had she? Was it? She. remembered her promise to Abby. She must try to comfort Thomas.

"Thomas!" Miranda called, floating across the room to him. She tried to grasp his arm. "Listen to me. Abby
didn't
die! Please don't look so awful. She's all right, she's living with us now. Willow gave her a little statue, and that's what saved her from the fire."

"Get back here," hissed Dan. "What are you doing?"

Thomas shook his head at Sarah. He didn't notice Miranda at all, though she hovered at his side. "If 'tis true what our neighbor says, and the fire was no accident but brought on by an evil witch's spell, then justice must be done."

"No, Thomas, don't," implored Sarah. "Thou knowst it must have been an accident. There has been no rain in so long, the fields and woods are dry as bone. The roof of the house might easily have caught by a spark from the chimney. Do not follow those who would chase out and accuse a poor woman of"—her voice dropped—"witchcraft."

Miranda tried again, drifting this way and that around Thomas and Sarah. "Willow wasn't evil! She helped Abby. Oh, Thomas, don't!" she implored.