The Marvelous Magic of Miss Mabel (17 page)

“Well, I suppose a day out will do you good,” Nora sighed.

Early on Sunday morning she gave Mabel a shilling for the train ride and the cost of an ice cream, and Daisy packed a bag of ham sandwiches to contribute to the Tanners' picnic. Mabel had decided to keep her
competition idea a secret, and apart from Ruby, Daisy, and Nora, she hadn't told anyone else. Especially as Mabel had a sneaking suspicion that if the teachers knew she was attempting to harvest wind, they might try to stop her. Miss Mantel did know she was collecting something, because Mabel had asked for permission to use the little glass bottles that were kept in the potions room. “Just make sure you bring them all back when you have finished with your experiment,” Miss Mantel had said. “I'll be curious to see what you come up with, Mabel.”

The Tanners had arranged for Bill Moor, a farmer who lived just outside Potts Bottom, to take them all to the train station in his hay wagon. They were collecting Mabel on the way, and she was waiting outside when they pulled up, clutching her broomstick and satchel of bottles. Luckily, Nora, who wasn't fully awake yet, hadn't thought to ask Mabel why she was taking her broomstick but not her cat to the beach, since she wasn't allowed to fly without him. Before she could ask, Mabel quickly climbed into the back of the wagon to join Ruby and her sisters, all dressed in clean pinafores and sunbonnets, giggling with the thrill of a day out at the sea. Mr. and Mrs. Tanner sat up front with Farmer Moor, looking stiff and formal in their smart Sunday clothes, the baby perched on Mrs. Tanner's lap.

It was a bumpy ride, and the cart swayed and bounced as they trotted along, winding through the lanes toward Little Shamlington. Farmer Moor's horse started to whinny right before Mabel heard the distant roar of an engine behind them. It got louder and louder, and she glanced back to see the Delacy car speeding in their direction, its headlights looking like the huge glaring eyes of a mechanical beast. The car overtook them as they rounded a corner, forcing the hay wagon into the ditch. Mr. Tanner said something that would have gotten his mouth washed out with soap if Daisy had heard, and Mrs. Tanner clutched at her youngest daughter, who almost flew out of the cart. Mabel saw Winifred peer around at them as the horse lumbered back onto the road.

But even Winifred Delacy couldn't ruin such a beautiful day. Ruby and Mabel's sun spells had worked, and Mabel felt like a roasting chestnut as they crowded into the steam train at Little Shamlington. She sat next to the window, squished up against Ruby. Mabel was quiet on the journey, staring out at the fields and villages that flashed by, her good mood tinged with an edge of melancholy. When they pulled into Melton Bay, Mabel felt a little dizzy as she stood up, from the memories as well as the heat.

It was strange, walking through the streets as a tourist, following the stream of day-trippers heading toward the beach. A lady wearing a lavender gown and glasses strolled past. She had freckles across her nose and flyaway brown hair, and for an instant Mabel wondered if this might be her mother. She wanted to reach out and touch the woman's skirt, see if they recognized each other. But the woman had already gone, leaving Mabel with a deep sense of yearning. She stopped at the end of Oak Lane and rested against a streetlamp. “Do you mind if I just go up here for a moment?” she asked Mrs. Tanner. “It's where I used to live. Number Fourteen, Oak Lane.”

“Go right ahead. We'll wait for you,” Mrs. Tanner said, handing baby Eva to Ruby and fanning herself with her hand. “My, it is hot.”

Mabel knew what she was looking for as she stood in front of the redbrick house that used to be her home. She stared for a long moment at the two large terra-cotta flowerpots that sat on either side of the doorway, overflowing with purple petunias. Without quite realizing what she was doing, Mabel walked up the path and crouched down, wrapping her arms around one of the flowerpots. It was warm from the sun, and Mabel stuck her hand in, touching soft earth. A tear slid down her cheek and splashed
onto a flower, as Mabel imagined her mother leaving her there. How could anyone do such a thing? How could she? Picking up a stone, Mabel flung it as hard as she could, hitting the wall of the house opposite. Then taking off her glasses, she used her sleeve to wipe her eyes so the Tanners wouldn't notice she had been crying. For a few moments Mabel crouched in a fuzzy haze, the world all blurry and out of focus. But she couldn't hide here forever, and slipping her glasses back on, Mabel stood up and walked back along the lane to join the others.

The pier was crowded. Mabel could hear the organ grinder playing, and bursts of laughter came from the direction of the Punch and Judy show. It was as if she had stepped back into the past. Memories flooded her as they climbed down onto the beach. As soon as Ruby's little sisters saw the donkey rides, they started jumping up and down. “Please, Ma, please, Pa. May we have a go?”

Mr. Tanner put the picnic hamper down on the sand, and with his small daughters hanging on to his hands, led them off toward the donkeys.

“Can we take a walk?” Mabel whispered to Ruby. “I need to find somewhere quiet.” She nodded along the beach. “Not many people used to go beyond those rocks.”

“I'll
have to ask Ma,” Ruby said. “She may insist Beatrice comes with us.” But the sun and sea air had made Mrs. Tanner most agreeable, and she waved the girls off with a smile.

“Don't go too far now, and stay together.”

“What's the broom for?” Beatrice asked from under her parasol.

“The broom?” Mabel repeated, swallowing nervously.

“I'm just teasing you,” Beatrice said. “Don't look so worried, Mabel. If I were a witch, I'd keep my broomstick with me all the time. I'd sleep with it in our bed like Ruby does, tickling my feet with the bristles!”

“Not always.” Ruby glared at her sister. “Only the first night I got it.”

“Go on with you now,” Mrs. Tanner said, flapping her hands at them and settling herself back on a blanket. “Enough chitter chatter. I deserve a little peace and quiet.”

Mabel led Ruby down the beach. There were groups of children making sand castles, and even though Mabel knew that Eliza Cranford probably wore her hair up and her skirts down by now, she couldn't help scanning the faces of the sand castle builders, looking for Eliza's cruel smile. Once they
got past the rocky outcrop at the end of the public beach, Mabel hurried around the point, red faced and sweating.

“Good, there's no one here,” she panted, untying her pinafore.

“What are you doing?” Ruby asked in alarm.

“Trying out my trousers,” Mabel said, tugging off her dress and petticoats and exposing the trousers she had made in sewing class. “Gosh, I was hot under here!”

“Mabel!” Ruby gasped in horror. “You look like a boy!”

“I still have my braids,” Mabel said, giving a little skip. “But I've got so much more freedom.”

“My mother would faint if she saw you,” Ruby said.

Mabel picked up her broomstick and slung the satchel of bottles over her shoulder. “If I'm going to fly about collecting wind, I can't risk falling off into the ocean.” She flung a leg over her broomstick. “This way I'll have more control.”

“What if someone sees you?” Ruby said.

“People may think it a little strange, but they're not going to report me to the police or anything. It's a Ruthersfield rule I'm breaking, not a law.” Ruby shook her head, but she was smiling as Mabel swooped into the air.

Carefully lifting one hand off the broomstick, Mabel pulled a bottle out of the bag. The breeze dropped as she tugged the cork out with her teeth and scooped up some of the wind. Using her mouth, Mabel immediately stuck the cork back in and, still hovering, grabbed the pencil from her trouser pocket and wrote a number 1 on the label. Tucking the bottle into the bag, Mabel removed another and waited for the breeze to pick up a little. As soon as it did, she pulled out the cork and trapped some of the air inside. Mabel wrote a 2 on this bottle. For the stronger winds she flew farther out, dipping and diving and catching the gusts in her bottles. Depending on the strength of the wind, she would write down the corresponding number.

It was difficult to stop her glasses from slipping down her nose, and she had to keep tilting her head back to slide them into place. The wind was gusting fiercely as Mabel held up the last bottle, almost knocking her off her broomstick. She gave a soft cry of fear and her hand shook as she wrote a wobbly number 10 on the label. Turning her broomstick around, Mabel flew shakily back to shore.

“I thought you were going to fall off,” Ruby said, as Mabel landed on the sand beside her.

“Me too,” Mabel panted. “I would have if I'd been riding sidesaddle.”

“How was it?” Ruby said. “It looked so dangerous.”

Mabel smiled at her friend. “That is the only way to ride a broomstick, Ruby!”

T
HE REST OF THE DAY
was one Mabel would never forget. She enjoyed being part of a big noisy family, although it was impossible to ignore the feeling that somewhere close by might be her mother. A shadow mother that hovered over her while she paddled in the ocean, and sat beside her while she ate the picnic Mrs. Tanner spread out. And when Mabel bought an ice cream from the vendor on the pier to share with Ruby, she wondered if her mother had ever tasted such a treat, creamy like custard and cold as snow.

On the train ride home Mabel fell asleep. Her face was sore with sunburn and her braids had come unraveled. She didn't
wake up until Ruby gently shook her when they arrived in Little Shamlington. Farmer Moor was waiting with his horse and cart, and Mabel stumbled into the hay wagon, along with the Tanner girls. She leaned against Ruby, staring up at the wide star-filled sky. “One day,” Mabel murmured, “I want to catch the stars and use their power to fuel the world. Like this new electricity everyone is talking about, but bigger, better.”

“And how will you do that, Mabel?” Ruby said with a yawn.

“I don't know,” Mabel replied. “But don't you get the shivers just looking at all that space, wondering what's up there? I want to invent a broomstick to fly to the moon.”

The Tanner girls laughed at this, and Mr. Tanner turned around. “You are a dreamer, Mabel,” he said, and then softly added, “It's good to have dreams.”

Nora and Daisy were waiting up for her when she got home. After a cup of warm posset—hot milk flavored with treacle—Mabel fell straight into bed, relieved that Nanny Grimshaw wasn't there to insist she brush her hair one hundred times first.

“Did you get your wind samples?” Nora asked, smoothing the patchwork quilt over her.

Mabel nodded, too tired to speak. “And ice cream,” she mumbled. “So delicious!” Nora smiled, and before she had even left the room, Mabel was fast asleep.

Getting up for school the next day wasn't easy. Daisy had to shake her three times. “You need to get going, Miss Mabel.”

“Magnolia,” Mabel murmured sleepily.

“If you can't get yourself up and dressed, then your mama may think about hiring a new nanny.” That sent Mabel scrambling out of bed. There was no way she was going to risk having another Nanny Grimshaw in the house.

Mabel had completely forgotten about the good works program they were starting that afternoon, until Miss Seymour announced it in class. Ruthersfield put a great deal of emphasis on its girls helping out in the community, and although there were some groans from a few of the students, Mabel was delighted to escape having to work on her knitting project, a pointed black wool nightcap with a floppy brim that looked more like a squashed porcupine than something you'd wear to bed.

“Florence and Winifred, you will be offering assistance at the soup kitchen,” Miss Seymour said. “And Diana and Tabitha, you are both going to be working with Helping Hands.” Helping Hands was an
organization of witches that spent time visiting the sick in hospitals. They would sit quietly beside patients, resting their hands on broken bones and wounds and using their healing powers to speed up recovery. The Helping Hands witches wore red and purple capes with the healing hands insignia on the front, a pair of hands clasped around a witch's hat. They were known for their beauty and style, and patients were always falling in love with them.