“Can’t you bring them over now? They’d make a great breakfast.”
“Nope. See you when you get here.”
“Fine. Good-bye.”
After we said our farewells, I grabbed a pink notecard and wrote the following:
I made a mistake, but it’s not the end of the world. I suppose it hardly ever is.
After I pinned it to my bulletin board, I went down the hall to Alice’s room. She was probably still sleeping. She would probably not be happy if I woke her up. But I didn’t want to wait. I wanted to tell her the good news. So much had happened since she’d become upset with me last night before the party.
So I knocked quietly. No response. I knocked louder. Still not a word from Alice. I swear the girl could sleep through a fire alarm. I opened the door and went over to her bed. She had the pillow practically wrapped around her head. No wonder she couldn’t hear the knocking.
I gently, carefully, placed my hand on her back, which was facing me, since she was curled up in a ball, and shook her slightly as I said, “Alice? Hello?”
She sat straight up, her eyes wide with terror. “What is it? What’s going on?”
“I need to talk to you.”
If eyes could shoot daggers, hers would have shot to kill. She didn’t say a single word. Instead, she threw herself down on the bed, face first, with a loud moan. Before I could say anything else, she grabbed the pillow and covered her head with it again. The message was loud and clear—scram.
It seemed like there was nothing else to do but wait for her to wake up in her own time. And hope I hadn’t done yet one more thing to make her want to never speak to me again.
The day was long and boring. Mum had Alice and I do chores, which is an absolutely horrid way to spend one of the last days of school holiday. To make matters worse, Ned texted me to tell me they couldn’t come over until later in the evening because their car had a flat tire that needed to be fixed.
Meanwhile, every time I tried to talk to Alice, she wouldn’t have any of it. Pretty soon I decided I didn’t want to tell her the good news, because she didn’t deserve anything good. Mum told me to leave her alone and give her some time to cool off, so that’s what I did.
Dad came home a bit earlier than usual, which cheered me right up. “Ready to go?” he asked me as I put away the last of the clean dishes.
“I can’t wait! Let me just grab my things.”
“I’ll tell Alice to get ready as well,” Mum said.
I looked at her. “Wait. Are we all going?”
“Yes. I think this will be a rather interesting meeting, and I would love for all of us to be there.”
I turned to Dad. “I want you to know I called Ned and asked if we could have the compact back. He said he and his mother had already discussed it and had decided that was the best thing to do, because of its value.”
He smiled. “Pheebs, that’s wonderful! I’m so proud of you. Have you told Alice the news yet?”
“I tried. It’s a long story. But in a way, I think maybe it’s best that I haven’t. Because all day I’ve been thinking about meeting Sheila—imagining me showing her the letter and photo I found. How can I possibly do that without giving her the compact as well? I mean, it must have belonged to her sister, right? And I think it would be terrible of us to keep it, when it may have been one of her sister’s most treasured things.”
No one said anything for a moment. Finally, my mother said, “I think she has a point, Peter.”
My dad turned to my mum. “I finally made time today to do a fair amount of research. The compact is worth more than I even imagined. Trips back and forth between here and America during holidays will be paid for. And not just the first year, but most likely all four years.”
Mum and I both let out a little gasp.
“Dad. Are you serious?”
He walked over to me and put his arm around me. “Yes. Completely. Sweetheart, I know you have a good heart, and because of that, you want to do the right thing. But I don’t see how we can possibly give it back when we could really use the money.”
Suddenly, this whole thing seemed messy and ugly, and I wished I had three of the compacts, so there was enough to go around. But of course that was impossible. There was only one, and obviously Dad felt very strongly it was now his to do with as he pleased.
“I don’t see how I can go and visit this kind, old lady and tell her I found the compact and not give it to her. That will seem so selfish.”
“I can see your point,” Mum said. “But I also understand what your father is saying. We bought the compact fair and square, so it’s ours to do with as we please.”
“Perhaps,” Dad said, “there is a solution here we’re not thinking of.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“I wonder if it might be best if you didn’t go and meet Ms. Hornbaker after all. If it’s going to make you feel badly about the entire situation, there’s no one saying you have to go.”
Not go? How could he even suggest that? I wanted to meet the woman behind the letter, and to find out what had happened to Kitty. I wanted to know if the spell worked, and if it did, if she had any tips for me as I tried to complete it. Why, she might even know which of the seven cemeteries the spell was talking about.
“Dad, I have to go,” I said, trying not to sound like a whiny brat. “It’s important to me. I can’t even describe how important it is. All I know is I have to meet her.”
“Then you have to figure out how to tell her that we’re keeping the compact,” Dad said. “Because you can’t give it back to her. You simply can’t. We need it too much.”
I grabbed my things while Mum went and told Alice where we were going. I didn’t know what I’d say to Ms. Hornbaker about the compact, but I knew that not going altogether was not an option. So we were going. And I’d have to figure out what to say on the way. Or when it came up, at the very latest. Maybe she’d hate me for it, but maybe not. Maybe she’d understand. I could only hope.
“I don’t really see why I have to go along with you,” Alice said as she slid into the backseat next to me. I repressed a groan. Of course she had to be bratty right off the bat. “Is this why you woke me earlier?” she asked me. “To tell me about this?”
“Maybe,” I said. She was still being horrible. So for now, the good news about keeping the compact was staying with me. It was as if she was dead keen on being in a bad mood. I mean, she was acting as if we was taking her to scrub the streets of London with a toothbrush. As I imagined that, I kind of wished it was true. I’d suggest a certain lamppost near a shoe shop and an Indian restaurant to start with. Wouldn’t she enjoy that?
“I think it’ll be good for you,” Dad said as he pulled out onto the road. “Meeting other people and hearing about their hardships can often be an eye-opening experience.”
“It can make you feel grateful for all the things you take for granted,” Mum explained.
“Are you saying I’m ungrateful?” Alice asked. “Thanks a lot, Mum.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Mum said. “Besides, I think we all need a reminder from time to time, no matter who we are.”
That’s not what I would have said. I would have said, “The truth hurts, so deal with it.” But I bit my tongue and kept my thoughts to myself.
Dad turned on the radio, and that was the end of the conversation, thank goodness. I didn’t want to listen to any more of Alice’s complaining.
When we reached the little white house, Dad parked on the street and turned the engine off. I sat there for a moment, my heart beating like I’d just finished a race. I was nervous. Or excited. Probably both.
“You ready, lovey?” Mum asked.
“I don’t know, but I suppose we’re about to find out,” I replied.
I thought of Nora in Paris, and how she’d had to go to all of those places and talk to complete strangers about her beloved grandmother. It hadn’t always been easy for her, but she’d done it. And in the end, the tre
asure hunt had been a blinding success, all because she didn’t let a bit of fear stop her. I carried Nora’s strength up the stairs to the porch and gave a quick, loud knock.
And then we waited. And waited. I finally turned around and looked at Mum and Dad, disappointment filling me up like air in a balloon. “I don’t think she’s home.”
But before they could respond, the door slowly creaked open.
“Hello?” the elderly lady said. She was tall and thin and had a bit of a bump at the top of her back. She walked slightly bent over, as if her spine wouldn’t straighten out all the way anymore. “How may I help you?”
“Hello,” I said. “Are you by chance Sheila Hornbaker?”
“That I am. And who are you?”
I gulped. We’d really found her! “My name is Phoebe Ainsworth. And this is my family: my dad, Peter; my mum, Collette; and my older sister, Alice. We’ve come because I wanted to meet you after I read a letter you wrote to your sister, Kitty, during World War Two.”
At the mention of the word Kitty, her eyebrows shot up.
“A letter?” she asked. “To Kitty? Well, how utterly fascinating.” She opened the door completely. “Please, won’t you come in?”
“You don’t mind?” I asked.
“No, not at all. I’ll put the kettle on for some tea and then we can chat. How does that sound?”
“Perfect, thank you,” I responded.
She led us into the front room of her house, which was filled with beautiful vintage furniture. I looked over at Dad, knowing he’d be eyeing it all with interest. And envy. He ran his hand down the back of a gold loveseat that was lined with ornately carved wood and tufted cushions. He and my sister took a seat together, while Mum and I sat on a larger sofa—a red one, also with tufted cushions.
When Ms. Hornbaker came back to join us, Dad told her, “These are some beautiful French provincial pieces you have, Ms. Hornbaker.”
“Please, call me Sheila,” she replied. “That goes for all of you. And thank you. I’ve gathered quite the collection over the years. I tell myself I have enough, and then I find a new piece I adore, and before I know what I’ve done, I’ve made another purchase.”
“My dad runs an antiques shop,” I told her.
She smiled. “Brilliant. I’ll have to make a visit. If it’s not too far?”
“Not far at all,” Dad said. “Greenwich.”
While Dad had been admiring the furniture, I’d been eyeing an old black-and-white photo on the mantle. “That photo up there,” I said, pointing. “In the pretty red frame. Is that you and Kitty?”
“It is, indeed,” Sheila replied. She took a seat while I went over to take a closer look. “It was taken right before she was sent off to live with her host family.”
I stared at the girls in the photo, so happy to finally know what both of them looked like in real life. The strange thing was, they didn’t look that different from what I’d imagined in my head. Of course, I’d had the picture of Sheila, but nothing to tell me what Kitty had looked like.
“So please, do tell me,” Sheila said, “how did you come to find one of my letters to Kitty?”
And here it was, the question I’d been dreading. I didn’t even get a chance to ask her any of my questions first. Still, it didn’t seem like there was anything to do but answer her. I took a deep breath and hoped this nice lady with beautiful furniture would continue to be nice when she heard what I was about to tell her.
When we were in Paris last week,” I began as I returned to the sofa to sit down, “I stumbled upon a booth at a flea market with lots of bits and bobs. Straight away, I was attracted to a vintage makeup compact, which I purchased for a small sum. It must have belonged to your sister, because inside I found a black-and-white photo of you along with a letter you wrote to her.” I reached into my bag, pulled the items out, and handed them to her.
A pair of reading glasses hung from a chain around her neck, and so she put them on and peered at the photo. “That certainly is me,” she said. Next, she carefully unfolded the piece of stationary and I watched as her eyes scanned the page. “Oh my goodness,” she said. “The magical spell! I’d forgotten all about this.”
Forgotten? How in the world could she have forgotten about something like that? Unless …
“Did it work?” I asked, probably a little too eagerly. “Did it bring your sister home to you? I’ve been dying to know ever since I found it.”
She took her glasses off and looked at me. Her face had lots of wrinkles, and her white hair was wispy thin, but none of that mattered. For just a moment, as she considered my question, all I saw was sadness.
“No. It didn’t work. Poor Kitty ended up staying with her host family for a total of five long years. I’m guessing my dear friend threw the spell together in an effort to give me hope. I know she felt bad for me when Kitty was sent away. But there was nothing she could do for me. There was nothing any of us could do but wait. And hope. And wait some more.”
This was not the answer I’d wanted, or even expected. I’d imagined a happy homecoming for young Kitty, after her sister did everything she could to bring her home. But I kept repeating her words over and over, trying to make it sink in.
It didn’t work. It didn’t work. It didn’t work.
“Let me get our tea,” she said as she stood. “I’ll be right back.”
“Would you like some help?” my mum asked.
“That would be lovely, thank you,” Sheila said.
After they left, I looked over at my dad and sister. “Try not to be too disappointed,” my dad said. “We haven’t heard the whole story yet. Maybe there’s still a happy ending.”
“I hope so,” I said softly.
My sister didn’t say anything. Just sat there, staring at a pretty painting of a field of red flowers, except for one yellow flower, smack-dab in the middle.
When Mum and Sheila returned with the tea set, Sheila placed the tray on the coffee table and poured each of us a cup. When Sheila sat down again, she picked up right where she’d left off.
“When Kitty came home, I was much older. We all were, of course. It was a difficult adjustment for everyone. In a way, her host family had become her new family. The first few months were especially difficult. Looking back, I think she must have missed them terribly but didn’t want to admit that to us. During any other time, I would have most likely been married and living away from home. But with the war, and all of the young men enlisted, many of us continued to live with our parents.”
She stopped to sip her tea. “For a long time, we rarely talked, Kitty and me. It was as if we were strangers. And I suppose, in a way, we were. But then one day, something happened. Something almost … magical.”
This made me sit up a bit straighter. “What was it?” I asked. “What happened?”
“She woke me early one morning. Very early. Told me, ‘Get dressed and come outside. There’s something you have to see.’ So I did as she said. And when I stepped outside, I saw a sky like I’d never seen before. It was pink and purple and so very lovely. She told me the strange light coming through her window had woken her up. And when she saw it, she’d wanted to share it with me. That was when I reached out and hugged her. And we both started to cry.”
“How come?” I asked.
She looked over at my sister, then back at me. “I think for a while it seemed as if we’d lost each other. But we hadn’t. Not at all. And I believe that realization made us so happy that tears came with the smiles. You see, no matter what, sisters are forever. Through thick and thin, as the saying goes.”
My heart hurt because I wanted a moment like that with my sister. A moment where everything in the past faded away into the colors of the sky and we could just be together. Happily.
I was so lost in my thoughts, wishing and hoping things could be different, it startled me when Alice spoke. “May I ask what happened to Kitty?”
“She eventually married and moved to France,” Sheila said as she
returned her teacup to the table. “We’d get together every six months or so, and we always had a wonderful time. Sadly, she passed away last year. I’m guessing her daughter didn’t realize the letter and photo were inside the compact when she gave it away or sold it.” Now she turned to me. “Did you happen to bring it along with you? I’d love to see it.”
I looked nervously at Dad, but of course there was nothing he could do. I’d wanted to come here to meet her, even if I knew the subject of the compact might come up. I’d decided in the car to simply be as vague as possible for as long as possible.
“No, I didn’t bring it with me,” I said. “Sorry.”
“Well, that’s all right,” she said with a smile. “I have my own collection of trinkets that belonged to Kitty. Her daughter was kind enough to send me a box of them. And I kept many of the letters Kitty mailed to me during the war. Those are the real treasures, I suppose.”
“That reminds me, I have something else for you.” I reached into my bag yet again and pulled out the silver box. “I found this. At Twinings Tea Shop?”
“Ah, yes,” she said. I swear there was a happy little twinkle in her eye as she took the box from me. “Thank you. I haven’t thought about this for a long, long time.” She opened the box and read the poem to herself. Then she asked me, “Were you hoping the spell would work for you?”
It felt kind of silly to admit it, but it felt even more wrong to lie. So I gave her a little nod.
“Well, don’t give up hope,” she said. “Sometimes magical moments happen when we least expect them. I’ll wish for a bit of magic to find its way to you very soon, all right?”
“Thank you,” I told her. “Can I ask you one more question? About the spell? Because I’m curious and it’s the only place I haven’t visited that’s mentioned in the letter.”
“Of course,” Sheila replied.
“Which cemetery is it referring to?” I asked. “Do you know?”
She gave me a little wink. “That’s the most difficult clue of them all, isn’t it? I remember being puzzled by that one as well. I believe it’s referring to the Nunhead Cemetery. It’s a beautiful place with lots of birds. You should visit there sometime, if you’re able.”