He was a big man, towering over Grandpa, and did not look in the least like an antique dealer, in Holly’s private opinion. More like a farmer or one of the men working at the lumbering camp. She had often seen them drive through town.
“Good to see you, Luther, Mercy!” he rumbled in a voice as big as he was. “Saves me a ride out to give you an order, Mercy. I’ve got it written down for you—whole set of candles for the Livingstones. They got some this summer and wrote back that they want more. Come in—come in.”
While he and Grandpa, with Crock standing by to help if need be, got the table unloaded, Grandma and the girls went inside. Holly was afraid to move around much. The room was so crowded with things, things she believed would break easily and cost a lot of money. Every table, the shelves of tall china cabinets, the tops of old desks, had cups and saucers, little figures, vases. No one could even see it all, it was just as crowded as Tamar’s house.
Grandma had taken the statue carton in by herself and now was loosening the top as Mr. Correy came over to the end of the room where there was a big old desk with just piles and piles of papers and notebooks messed on top of it.
“Now what kind of a treasure have you got for me this time, Mercy Wade?” he asked.
“It came out of the Elkins place—in th’ trash,” Grandma said as she loosened the packing around the figure and began to pull it out. “Thought as how it might just be one of them Rogers’ pieces you were talkin’ ’bout. But I don’t rightly know. It was broken pretty bad—but I did get it together.”
“Even restored, when you do it, Mercy, it’s well worth showing,” he said. “Here”—he swept a lot of the papers into a single pile and made room on the desk for her to set “The Young Witch” in plain sight.
“There you be.” Grandma brushed a last wisp of straw from the kilted-up skirts of the figure.
Mr. Correy just stood and looked at it, his eyes a little narrowed. “If it is ’a Rogers’,” he said slowly, “it’s a new one to me. Might be somebody trying his hand at the same kind of folk sculpture. ’The Young Witch.’ You know, Mercy, that face now, it might almost have been done as a portrait.”
Now he took it up carefully and ran his hands over it. “Marvelous job, Mercy, just like you always do. I tell you—Halloween’s coming on—we’ll just trim up a season display in the front window and make our young witch the center of it. Leave it on consignment as always, Mercy?”
Grandpa nodded. “You do your part of the business in your own way, Mr. Correy. To tell the truth—that there’s somethin’ I’m glad to see the back of.”
“Why?” he asked curiously.
“Can’t say. Just it gives me shivers a little. I get a feelin’ like some old sadness was a-peckin’ at my mind, tryin’ t’ make me ’member somethin’ I’d do well to forget. Well, an’ here’s the mornin’ wastin’. You jus’ give me that list of candles now an’ we’ll be on our way. We’ve got some shoppin’ to do.”
“Right here”—he flipped through the pile of papers. “Yes, here it is. She’d like them before Thanksgiving, she says.”
“She’ll git ’em, providin’ all goes well.” Grandma hesitated. “You heard ’bout the Meetin’, Mr. Correy? How they is sayin’ Dimsdale is an eyesore as has to be gotten rid of?”
He frowned. “I heard. And they’re going to hear from some of us on the other side—don’t you worry about that, Mercy. We’re getting up a counter-petition that will make that Deever female think a bit.”
“That’s good hearin’, Mr. Correy. ’Course we won’t never know how a wind is blowin’ till it hits. But I’ll get you the candles, whether or no, anyhow.”
The dime store was much further along Main Street, in that section where there were newer-looking buildings, a drugstore, a restaurant, and some other stores. All these had a big modern signs which somehow looked too bright and a little trashy. Only a small section of the street touched the park with its two statues, one of a Revolutionary soldier and the other of a Union Army man, who faced each other over a pyramid of cannon balls and the cannon which maybe had once fired them. The houses around three and a half sides of the park were all big and old, most of them painted white, with white wooden fences marking off their front yards. At two corners stood churches, and at the third was a big building toward which Grandma started out first. That was the old posting inn, almost two hundred years old, and it was where they would deliver the box of candles Crock now carried.
10
Blight
Holly sat with her project notebook before her. But for a good ten minutes or more she had not made any additions to the lines she had already written there. What she had put down was all Grandma and Grandpa could remember about Dimsdale in the days when Miss Elvery was still alive and they had come to take care of her and the rundown property.
“Things, they was in such a mess as you couldn’t believe, didn’t you see them for your ownself,” Grandma had declared. “Miss Elvery was a lady an’ she weren’t never used to do hard work. She had a couple of girls. Girls? They was old women when I first knew her but they didn’t have no other place to go, an’ Miss Elvery kept ’em. Emma Watkins, she was bedfast an’ Miss Elvery nursed her like she was close kin.
“Liza Peabody, she hobbled ’round doin’ what she could, but that weren’t much, I can tell you. As for the outside—lawsy, you had to cut a path in like they do in the jungles you see in the Geographic pictures, it was all growed up so much. There hadn’t been a hand turned to keepin’ it up after Miss Elvery’s pa died an’ she had to let Silas Hawkins go.
“We, Luther ’n me, had just got married an’ we wanted a place to ourselves. There weren’t none roundabouts as we knowed of. In those days, folks, black like us, we weren’t welcome to move into town. It was better to keep to our own kind. But Miss Elvery, somehow she heard ’bout us, an’ she came drivin’ over with that old horse an’ a broken-down buggy. She offered us the barn-house free an’ clear o’ any rent, and land for growin’ things.
“Luther, he was workin’ on the roads makin’ cash money, an’ with the barn-house an’ a garden, we knew we could manage good. Then when I saw the mess up at the house—an’ Miss Elvery never complaining about it neither, well, I pitched in an’ did what I could for her.
“She began to teach me things, too—all about herbs. She had a garden of them, only things she tended outside. An’ she said as how anybody could get learnin’ jus’ by tryin’. She lent me an’ Luther books an’ showed me all kinds o’ fine sewin’ an’ the like. She treated us like we was friends an’ neighbors. Emma, she died that first winter we was here. That was a welcome release for the poor old soul. An’ Liza, she had a stroke. Fell down right in the kitchen an’ only lasted a day an’ night after that.
“So then I took over in the house. It was way too big for Miss Elvery, so we closed up a lot of rooms. She had her bedroom right off the kitchen. An’ she used that for a sittin’ an’ dinin’ room an’ didn’t try to keep up the rest of the house—’cept the library. Miss Elvery loved readin’. She read the same books over ’n over. Used to tell me how live the people in ’em seemed to her, like they was sittin’ right in the room talkin’ about all their troubles an’ such.
“Once in a while she’d go through the house with me an’ point out things an’ tell me their history—good as readin’ a book. Pity it was all burned up. She had things better’n in the museum Miss Sarah started at the library. Then she got the rheumatics, an’ when it got cold she had to stay in bed a lot. But she was still alive in her mind, an’ she read an’ she quilted. Her piecework quilts, they’s all burnt up too, they was like pictures they was so pretty. Never saw any to touch ’em.
“Luther, betweentimes when he wasn’t on the road crew or gettin’ a day’s work on some farm, he went at the garden. We raised most all we ate. ’Cept meat. Come butcherin’ time Luther’d give a helpin’ hand for part of the meat. Miss Elvery—she didn’t have no money, ’cept once or twice when she tol’ me
to sell something out of the house for her. She knew that the old things were beginnin’ to interest the summer people. But she had to be hard-driven ’fore she did that. And mostly she used the money she got from that to help other people, too.
“She always worried ’bout the taxes, but she’d manage to scrape up something. Me and Luther, we’d add what we could. ’Cause we had the barn-house, you see. Then toward the end, Miss Elvery, she got lost in time, you might say. Her rheumatics got better, an’ she’d think it was years back an’ she was goin’ to a tea party or the like. She took to wandering ’bout the house at night, huntin’ something. Though she never made plain to me what it was. Then—well, she got in the old parlor an’ she must have fainted like an’ dropped her candle. Lucky I was comin’ up to check on her when I saw the flames. Luther, he heard me screamin’ an’ he broke the window an’ got Miss Elvery out.
“We brought her down here. There was no savin’ the house, nor nothin’, ’cause the town fire department was too far. We had no phone an’ couldn’t call ’em. Luther, he went runnin’ down to the forks where the Wilsons lived. They called the doctor an’ come back with him. By that time the house, it was gone. An’ Miss Elvery—the doctor said her heart was weak. Though she lived for a little while here, she never remembered nothin’ an’ finally just went to sleep. She was a good lady.”
Then Grandma had sat silent for a moment before she roused and added, “Make sure you say that ’bout her, Holly. She was a mighty good lady as worried ’bout others. Maybe people have forgot. I ain’t, an’ I never will.
“Then the lawyer, he came out. Seems she didn’t leave no will—or if she did, it got burned up in the house. But he did have a paper she give him a long time before with the name of some kinfolk as went west years an’ years earlier—after the Civil War, it were. He said he’d try to trace them down. Meanwhile, Luther, he had the paper Miss Elvery had given him when we first came to live here an’ he showed it to the lawyer an’ Sheriff Haynes. It said as how she wanted us for caretakers.
“They got together an’ said we could live on here, an’ then this idea of the dump started. The Selectmen, they put Luther in charge of that. But there was somethin’ wrong about the old survey of the whole property—nobody could sell or buy it till that was settled. It seemed as if”—Grandma paused—”until right now, nobody cared.”
By questioning, Holly had been able to learn what the Dimsdale house had looked like, and she had tried to draw out the picture, with Grandma there to tell her if she was wrong or right. Also she was able to learn about the big garden.
But when Holly had mentioned the maze, Grandma shook her head decisively. “That there’s unlucky,” she declared. “Miss Elvery, when we first came, she warned Luther not to try to cut into it any. Of course, we wondered why, it was so old and thick an’ maybe full of snakes. But she was afraid of the maze—that I know, from the way she talked about letting it alone. She seemed to think that all the bad luck did come from inside it somewhere. I told you, Miss Elvery, she believed that her family was cursed an’ the evil was in the maze—”
“Maybe the witch lived there.” The words were out of Holly’s mouth before she could stop them.
Grandma looked at her quite crossly. “There weren’t never no witch! There was a girl as old Sexton Dimsdale wanted to git rid of so as he could have the land an’ house. It was mighty easy in them days to say ’witch’ an’ cause someone a heap of bad trouble. I read a book ’bout what happened in Salem. They told lies ’bout good people as never did no wrong, and they hung ’em, too. It’s mighty easy to tell lies ’bout people who are different, who ain’t like other folks. We as got black skins, we should know that. Miss Elvery, she was too deep into them old books an’ things in that house of hers. It made her believe when she had no reason to. Misfortunes, those happen to everyone, they ain’t sent by no witch. A lot of bad things we bring on ourselves ’cause we have bad thoughts in our heads, or hate in our hearts.”
Holly squirmed. There was a witch—at least there was Tamar, and Hagar, her thought added. And they did live in the maze. But she could not explain all that to Grandma. Now, as she finished writing out all Grandma had told her, and what Grandpa had shown her of what had once been the Dimsdale gardens, she still did not have enough. To get into the town library and see Miss Noyes, ask her about the Elkins journal she had shown them, that was the next important thing. But how to do it? They had not gone in on Saturday since two weeks ago when they shopped, and then Holly had had no time to visit the library. She could not go over after school or she would miss the bus home. She chewed the end of her ball-point pen and read over the little information she had gathered.
There was not much about witches, except Miss Elvery’s story. Unless she dared set down their own experiences in the maze. If she did that, no one would believe they were true. Nor had she been able to persuade Judy to say where the pillow was. Judy spent much of her time tagging after Grandma, asking about herbs and how they grew, what they were for. Her notebook was fat already. And Crock was mostly after Grandpa. Sometimes Holly got so impatient she wanted to throw things, stamp and yell. But she knew that that would not get her the pillow; such actions would just draw attention to what she wanted no one to know. She had reluctantly decided she must allow Judy to think she had given up about the pillow. Judy might then let slip where she could find it.
Holly had never been so patient in her life. Usually, when she wanted to do something, it had to be done right away. But this time there was no other answer. She drew out a book she had borrowed from the library shelf at school. It was a story, not real history, but it was about the Salem witches, and she read it with care. There had been girls, just like her, or Judy, and they had started it all, accusing people of bewitching them. The book made Holly uncomfortable, but she had read it through.
That was Salem. This was Sussex. But there had been a witch hunt right here at Dimsdale. If she could only find out more about it!
She was still staring down at a page when she was aware that Judy was standing by her side.
“Holly!” Judy no longer treated her as an enemy, by now. But neither did she tell Holly everything she was doing, as she used to. “Holly, there’s something wrong—”
Judy looked anxious and uneasy. She had on her jacket and cap, and Holly knew that she must have just come in from outside.
“Wrong—where?” Holly snapped shut her notebook.
“In Grandma’s plant place. Holly, it’s—it’s bad!”
Holly sat very still. She had gotten plant food, dumped it into those pots where she had planted the seeds and the root Hagar had given her. She had gone in to water them at times. But so far none had shown signs of life. And she was afraid that if they did not grow, she would have no chance to bargain with Hagar.
She did not dare to ask what Judy meant, but she must see. Now it took only a few moments to scramble for her own outdoor clothing, follow Judy.
“Grandma,” Judy explained as they went out into the cold, “said she would let me water all the pots; I could learn about herbs that way. But Holly, I must have done something wrong!” Judy was very close to tears now. “They’re all dying! They’re turning yellow and looking funny as if they’re sick. Do plants get sick, Holly?”
Holly was really afraid now. If Hagar’s plants died, how could she ever make her bargain? What had Judy done to them?
When she demanded to know that, Judy shook her head. Tears were rolling down her cheeks now, and she made no attempt to wipe them away with her mittened hand. “I didn’t do anything at all. ’Cept put water on them from the little can just like Grandma showed me. That’s the truth, Holly.”
When they entered the garden end of the fix-it shed, there was an odor which made Holly’s nose wrinkle. It smelled a little like when you open a garbage can on a hot summer day. She could see the drooping plants: yellow and indeed sick looking.
“Tamar’s things, they were just beginning to grow good.” Ju
dy gulped down a sob. “And they’re dying, too. Grandma will think I did something bad, and I didn’t. I just gave them water, ’zactly how she said to. Holly, what ever could have happened to them?”
But Holly was hardly listening. She was pushing aside pots in which things drooped and had lost proper color, looking for her own planting. Yes, there were shoots showing. And those were not sickly looking at all, but standing up well and healthy looking. She gave a big sigh of relief. So far, then, she was safe—
“What’s that thing?” Judy had crowded closer. “What’s that you’re looking at, Holly?”
Without thinking, Holly answered. “One of those I planted. It’s all right. What about the others?” She shouldered Judy out of her way to find the next pot she had hidden, and the next. In each there was visible growth looking both vigorous and healthy.
“You planted? Holly, what do you mean? Those Tamar gave us, I planted. And they were all in the red pots. I ought to remember, because I put them in just like she said. So where did you get something to plant?”
Holly was squatting on her heels by the table, peering under it at the larger pot in which she had put both the root and an extra helping of the plant food. There was a shoot almost as tall as her middle finger.
“Holly.” Judy’s hand closed pinch-tight on her shoulder, jerking her back so she overbalanced and landed sitting on the floor. “I’m asking you—where did you get those plants? Who gave them to you?”
Again before she thought, Holly answered. And this time she was able to say the name: “Hagar did. And Judy, they’re all right. She said if they grew and were all right she and I—she said I could have witch wishes! I can get rid of that Mrs. Deevers and all those who want to take away Dimsdale—”
Judy was no longer crying. Her face was stern, set; in that moment somehow she looked just like Mom when Mom was angry.