Authors: Christine Heppermann
Sadie's Story (5 page)
I
n the backyard they parted ways, Ms. M into the playhouse, Wilson trotting at her heels, and Sadie into the kitchen for dinner.
“There you are.” Her mother, in purple tights and a yellow tank top, stood balanced on one leg in front of the stove. The sole of her opposite foot rested against her thigh. Sadie
knew the name of that yoga pose: tree pose. Imagining the birds from the park perched on her mother's “branches,” she giggled.
“You're all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” remarked her father as he entered from the study. “I knew that smoothie would perk you right up. Should we set the table?” He opened the silverware drawer.
“It's so nice out,” said her mother, transferring the contents of the wok onto a big platter. “Why don't we eat on the patio?”
“NO!”
Both her parents stared at her. Mom held up a wooden spoon like a torch, Dad a fistful of forks.
“I mean,” Sadie said, trying to steady her voice, “there are thousands of mosquitoes out there.” She scratched three or four places.
“Thousands,” her mother said. “That sounds crowded. We'll eat in here. Let me just check the rice.”
Her father set the steaming platter in the center of the table, leaned over it, and sniffed. “Mmmm, ginger. I feel my sinuses clearing already.”
Sadie stared at the mound of limp vegetables, most of which were the same shade of drab green. Probably right now Jess's grandfather was flipping juicy hamburgers at the grill. But at least she'd succeeded in keeping her parents out of the backyard. What if they'd heard a suspicious cackle? Smelled leftover soup?
Facts were facts: She had a witch in her
playhouse. A nice witch. An interesting witch. But a witch nonetheless. If her parents discovered Ms. M, they'd never let her stay. Not in a million years. Then there'd be no Jess, no Maya, and no Ms. M. Sadie would be alone. Again.
For a while they ate in silence, her mother methodically chewing and, Sadie knew, silently counting to thirty-two, the key to perfect digestion.
“I haven't seen Wilson all afternoon,” her father said finally. “I hope he's not locked in Virginia's garage again.”
“HE'S ASLEEP!” More staring. Sadie took a calming breath. “Asleep. I saw him sleeping under the bushes. He's okay. He needs his rest.”
Her father laughed. “Does he have a job I'm not aware of? Something strenuous like furniture moving?”
“You are so funny, Dad,” said Sadie. “How did your writing go? Mom, how was class? Wasn't it gorgeous out today? Except for the mosquitoes. They aren't gorgeous. They're, um, itchy.”
Her mother got up to refill her water glass, feeling Sadie's forehead as she passed. “My class was fine, thank you. We did the downwardest-facing dog we'd ever done.”
Sadie's father leaned back in his chair and stroked his short beard. “And my day was amazing. Early on, as you may recall, I couldn't do anything right. But later everything changed. I hardly know how to
describe it. It's like I found my voice again. I wrote four new pages and revised another ten.”
Hmmm, maybe the hokey-pokey spell
did
work after all. Just not for the right person.
Her mother stood. “Well, if you guys clean up, I think I'll go hunt for Wilson. Virginia will make a bath mat out of him if she finds him in there again.”
Sadie shot to her feet. “I'll look for him. I know just where he is.”
“Well, I hope you do,” said her father. “We wouldn't want him staying out all night and being late for work.”
The sun hung low in the sky as Sadie made her way across the lawn. Soon the grass and bushes would be engulfed by dark. She
thought of the birds settling into their nests. Tucking their heads beneath their wings. Closing their eyes. Did birds dream? And if they did, what about? People dreamed about flying. Did birds dream about going shopping or driving a car or eating beetles with a knife and fork?
She crept up to the playhouse and peeked in the window. There she was. Ms. M. Her Ms. M. Asleep on the ducky blanket, Wilson lying doughnut-shaped at her feet.
“Psst! Wilson!” she whispered. The cat raised his head.
“I'm awake, Sadie.” Ms. M rolled over to face her. “Come in.”
“I'd better not. My parents . . .”
“Grown-ups. I understand.”
“I just came to get Wilson. Mom wants him inside. But maybe he can sleep with you tomorrow night. You'll still be here, won't you?”
“Of course.” Ms. M's eyes stood out like gems in the gathering dusk.
“We can start looking for Ethel again first thing in the morning.”
“I like that plan.” The witch gently lifted the floppy cat and passed him through the playhouse window into Sadie's arms.
“Sweet dreams, my dears.”
“Sweet dreams, Ms. M.”
The sound of her parents laughing together and the clink of dishes being loaded into the dishwasher floated through the open kitchen window. As Sadie crossed the patio, cradling Wilson, she wondered how early she could go to bed without her mother feeling her forehead again. Just this morning she had nothing to look forward to. Now tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.
S
adie's mother left right after breakfast to teach an eight o'clock class. Her father had already shut himself in the study with a Cranberry Creativity smoothie to try to, as he put it, “recreate the magic of yesterday.”
Sadie set her half-full cereal bowl in the sink and rushed outside.
“Ms. M? Ms. M?”
No matter how loudly she knocked, Ms. M didn't answer. Either the witch was a heavy sleeper orâ Sadie opened the playhouse door and peered in.
She could almost hear Maya:
vanished, evaporated, dematerialized
. But they all meant the same thing.
Gone.
Poof.
“Up here!”
On a medium-high branch of the maple tree, a crow with an intelligent expression shook its feathers and nodded in her direction.
“Ms. M! Not you, too!”
“No, dear. Up here. On top of the garage.”
Now Sadie saw her. Scooting down the
side of the roof that faced Sadie's mother's meditation garden, the witch waved merrily with one hand and clutched a red-handled broom with the other.
A broom! Today promised to be even more exciting than Sadie had thought.
“Can you give me a turn?” she called, picturing herself doing loop-de-loops over her house, over the neighborhood, over the whole city. Maybe even all the way to Moose Butt Lake.
“That's lovely of you to volunteer, but I'm more or less finished.”
Sometimes Ms. M made no sense. “Finished flying?”
“Flying?” The witch sounded genuinely puzzled.
“On your broom. I'd like a turn on your broom, please. I promise I'll be careful.”
Ms. M reached the bottom of the roof slope. She sat on the edge, her skinny legs
dangling. “Sorry to disappoint you, dear, but I just brought this old broom up with me in case the gutters needed cleaning. And I'm glad I did. I'm surprised your parents don't know that keeping gutters and downspouts in good condition requires regular maintenance. Now, would you mind holding the ladder steady while I climb down?”
The witch indicated with the broom the spot where, indeed, a ladder leaned against the garage wall, partly concealed by the rhododendron bush.
“How about if I come up?” It wasn't exactly magical, but a rooftop adventure sounded okay, too. Though perhaps she should run back inside first to trade her flip-flops for shoes with better grip.
“Don't you dare. My spells for mending broken hearts and broken promises are almost always reliable, but my spell for mending broken arms takes six weeks to six months to work.”
A sweet, dusty scent tickled Sadie's nose. A comforting smell, growing stronger as Ms. M wobbled down the rungs toward her.
When the soles of Ms. M's pointy shoes clanked onto the last rung, Sadie stepped back. “Thank you,” the witch said, hopping to the ground. She detached a clump of brown leafy muck from the broom's bristles and flung it onto the grass. “Your parents really should consider hiring someone.”
“Were you looking for Ethel?”
“Always. Though when I climbed up, I did
observe a pair of
Columba livia
.” Ms. M smiled and gazed upward. “Remarkable specimens. But then, all of them are.” She returned her focus to Sadie. “â
Columba livia
' means âdove the color of lead' in Latin. Such regal birds.”
Fancy doves! Just Sadie's luck to have missed them. “Are they still there?” she asked. “Can I borrow your binoculars?”
“No need. I'll call them down. So you can meet in person.”
Ms. M fluttered her lips. “ppbbbBBBRRR!” She puffed out her stomach and quickly sucked it back in. She did it again. “Some warm-up exercises,” she explained. “To engage my diaphragm.”
Dove calls must be difficult. Sadie didn't know if she'd ever heard a dove before. When
she tried to remember, all she could think of were pictures in books. Pictures of snow-white doves carrying olive branches in their beaks or popping out of magicians' hats.
After a few jaw and neck stretches, during which Ms. M's hat tipped precariously but somehow did not fall off, she said, “Okay. Now I'm ready.”
Sadie waited. Any moment now. . . .
“Bob! Lois!”
Hwhapwhapwhapwhap.
With a flurry of wings, two gray birds landed on the driveway.
