Escape to Witch Mountain (2 page)

A doctor stitched up his arm. Later, Mrs. Grindley put him on the mat. She had already disposed of Truck by turning him over to the police.

It did no good for Tony to protest that he hadn't started the fight. Why, if the star box had been taken, hadn't he asked for help instead of trying to settle matters himself ? To his obvious answer, Mrs. Grindley shook her head. “That's no excuse. I warned you about fighting. Now you'll have to take the consequences.”

She paused a moment and looked at him strangely. “Tony, I would have said it was physically impossible for anyone like you to do what you did to Truck. How did you manage it?”

It was the sort of question that was always asked, and he dreaded it. “I—I'm just quicker than most people, I suppose.” He swallowed. “Are you going to send me away?”

“Not this time. But all your privileges are canceled, and you will be restricted to the dormitory for the next two weeks.”

He managed to look glum, but he felt like shouting.

During his stay in the dormitory, the other boys gladly took turns bringing up his meals. With their help, Tia smuggled books to him from the small library she had discovered in the front of the building. No one suspected that he talked with Tia daily.

He accomplished it by standing at a rear window in the boys' wing, and peering out over the kitchen roof until Tia appeared in the far comer of the playground. It was the only part of the playground he could see, and ordinarily, with all the noises of the city about them, it would have taken much shouting to be heard from such a distance. But between Tia and himself shouting was unnecessary, and their lips barely moved. It was, he had once reasoned out, a sort of ultrasonic speech that could be heard by no one who was not blessed with the most acute sense of hearing. Only, he had often wondered, why couldn't Tia speak normally?

Tia began smuggling books to him during his first week upstairs. The library, he learned later, was a musty little room crammed with old cast-off volumes that almost no one ever bothered to read. Even so, Mrs. Grindley, who seemed to have a hatred of books, insisted upon keeping the place locked most of the time. Tia, however, was able to enter it. To her, it was a shining gold mine—as all libraries were.

“It's got seven sets of encyclopedias!” she called to him from the comer of the play yard. “
Seven!
Isn't that perfectly wonderful?”

Tony agreed that it was wonderful, and groaned when she said she was sending him a book on botany, and another on woodcraft.

Tia said, “I want you to read all about genus Toxicodendron— that's poison ivy.”

“What for?” he asked curiously. Woodcraft was great, even though he had never been in the woods; but botany was for the birds.

“Because there's all kinds of Toxicodendron up at Heron Lake— and that's where everybody's going soon. On vacation. The city is sending us to Heron Lake Camp for a
whole week!
Don't say anything about it because we aren't supposed to know it yet.”

Tony didn't ask how she'd heard. Often, Tia seemed to know things without being told. Part of it, of course, was her memory. Tia never forgot anything.

Suddenly excited at the prospect of being able to leave the city, if only for a week, Tony closed his eyes and tried to visualize Heron Lake Camp. It wasn't always possible to visualize places he had never seen, but sometimes he could manage it. He heard Tia, who was just as excited, call wistfully, “Can you
see
it, Tony?”

“I think so.”

“What's it like?”

The picture that came into focus behind his closed eyes, as real as a movie film, was a little disappointing. Heron Lake—if that was what he saw—was hardly more than a man-made pond; it was surrounded by a few scrawny pines, with some barrackslike buildings on one side. It was just the sort of place, he thought, that poor city kids were always being sent to in droves. He could see them swarming around it now, and crowding a muddy strip of beach till there was hardly standing room.

“Oh, it's O.K.,” he told her. “Anyway, I'd sure rather be there than here, and I'll take the poison ivy.”

“So will I. Tony, something's going to happen at Heron Lake.”

“What?”

“I don't know. But it's going to happen. I feel it.”

* * *

A chartered bus took them away from the hot city one July morning, and dropped them at slightly cooler Heron Lake Camp a few hours later. The place looked exactly as he had seen it in his mind except for one important detail, which had been hidden by the barrackslike buildings. There were mountains on the horizon. Mountains, misty blue and mysterious in the distance.

Tony stared at them, entranced. He had often visualized mountains, but these were the first real ones he had ever seen. He felt Tia clutch his arm, and knew the sight affected her the same way. There was a curious appeal in mountains. Somehow, he was certain, they were going to be very important in their lives.

It was a feeling that did not leave him during their entire week at Heron Lake. But it was not until their final day—their final minute, in fact—that anything unusual happened.

There was much confusion that morning. The incoming buses, jammed with new children, were arriving before the outgoing buses were ready to leave. While they waited in line to get aboard, a car stopped near them and two gray-robed nuns got out. The smaller one, who seemed much older than the other, glanced at Tia and saw the star box dangling from her wrist.

“What an unusual box,” the nun exclaimed softly, as she came over and stooped beside Tia. “My dear child, where did you get it?”

“Tia's always had it,” said Tony. “We don't know where it came from. I—I wish we did.”

The nun touched the gold design with a delicate finger. She was a frail little person, with deeply sunken eyes. “A double star!” she whispered. “And done in gold leaf. That's very uncommon. I teach
design, and I've seen this particular one used only once before in my life. It was on a letter.”

“A letter?” Tony repeated wonderingly. “Would—would you mind telling us about it?”

“It was several years ago,” the little nun said. “A man wrote to me, asking for information about certain unusual aptitudes in my pupils. Apparently it was for some research he was doing. Anyway, I remember his letter had a double star at the top of it. It was exactly like this one, with the same number of points. And it was even printed in gold.”

Tony was speechless for a moment. The confusion and the rumbling bus being loaded beside him were forgotten. That curious, unknown world seemed just around the comer.

Suddenly he begged, “Please, can you give us the man's name? We don't know who our people are, and he may be a relation.”

The nun pressed her thin hand to her forehead. “It was something like Caroway, or Garroway. No, Hideaway seems closer—though that couldn't be it. Anyway, I do recall that he lived in the mountains, but much farther south. Somewhere down in the Blue Ridge.”

Tony gasped. “The mountains—the Blue Ridge? You're sure?”

“Yes, because he mentioned them. He said—”

They were interrupted by the bus driver, who shouted, “Hey, you kids! Get aboard—or aren't you going to Hackett House?”

“Wait!” Tony pleaded. “Just a moment—please!”

“I ain't got all day,” the driver grumbled.

The nun said hastily, “The letter may be on file at the school. When I get back tonight I'll look it up. If you'll give me your names…”

Tia was already swiftly scribbling their names and address on a piece of notepaper. The nun took it and folded it away, saying, “I'm Sister Amelia, of St. Agnes School. If I can find the letter, I'll—”

Her voice was drowned by the roar of another bus approaching. They were forced to separate as two other nuns came over and took Sister Amelia by the arms. Tony had no chance to talk to her again. Reluctantly he followed Tia aboard.

He was in a daze of excitement and uncertainty all the way back to the city.

A
t Hackett House that night, Tony lay awake long after the other boys had gone to sleep. Somewhere in the mountains was a man who was almost certainly a member of the same family as Tia and himself. It had to be that way. Why else the double star? You wouldn't use such an uncommon design on a letter—and print it so exactly—without reason.

It was galling not to know that person's name, or where he lived. Everything depended on Sister Amelia. So much depended on her, in fact, that it suddenly worried him to realize he didn't know her address. She'd merely said St. Agnes School, as if she thought he knew where it was—but St. Agnes School might be in any of a dozen towns within a few hours' drive of Heron Lake.

The next day he borrowed the telephone directories and searched through them carefully. St. Agnes School was not listed in the city, or in any of the suburbs.

He told himself it didn't really matter, for surely they'd hear from Sister Amelia within a day or two.

But three long days passed and dragged into four; then four became five, and five turned into six. Finally a new week had begun, and still there was no word from the little nun.

Tony despaired. What could have happened? Had Sister Amelia lost the paper Tia had given her? Or, worse, had she been unable to find the all-important letter?

“No,” said Tia to the last question. “She'd write if she could, no
matter what. I'm
sure
of that, Tony. She knows how important it is. I—I'm awfully afraid about her. She's old, and I know she wasn't at all well when we saw her…”

They had finished their assigned tasks for the afternoon, and had met in the tiny library. It was the only spot where they could talk without interruption. The place was stifling. Tony unlocked the front window and opened it for ventilation. He peered glumly out at the ceaseless traffic and the old rooming houses across the street.

What were they going to do?

Absently he took the tiny wooden doll from his pocket, placed it on the windowsill, and pointed his finger at it. Feeling as he did, his curious ability to make things move was at a low ebb. The doll lay crumpled and motionless until he found his harmonica and blew a few soft notes. Gradually, life seemed to enter it. It stirred, rose slowly, and finally began to dance as he played. The music was Tony's own, the softest whisper of a melody that came from somewhere deep within him. Tia listened, entranced, then opened the star box. Now the other doll joined the first upon the windowsill.

The drab world around them was forgotten. Here for a moment there was magic. Magic in the music, in the dancing dolls, and in the thought that somewhere, surely, there was a magical place where they would find other people like themselves.

Could it really be in the mountains? And why there?…

Tony stopped playing, and bleak reality returned. Reluctantly, the dolls and the harmonica were put away.

Tia said, “If you try
hard
, maybe you can
see
the man who wrote Sister Amelia. Then, if you could see where he
lives
…”

“I've been trying,” he grumbled. “But when you don't know what to look for… Tia, we've got to be practical. The first thing is to locate St. Agnes School.”

“It must be listed somewhere. If we could get the right directory—”

“Oh, any priest ought to know where it is. What's the name of that one we met once? He runs that place down where South Water Street nears the bridge.”

“Father O'Day,” Tia said instantly. “At St. Paul's Mission.”

“Well, I've heard he's a pretty good Joe. I'm sure he'd help us. I'd like to go and see him—if Mrs. Grindley will let me—and tell him all about things.” Tony paused and searched through his jeans. He scowled at the four pennies he found, and added, “I ought to phone him first, but I'll need six more cents. Have you any money?”

Tia looked startled. “Why—why yes. I've
lots
of money. I meant to tell you, but I was so
worried
about Sister Amelia…” She reached deep into the star box and handed him a folder of paper. “I don't know how much is there,” she added.

It was just like her, he thought, to ignore any money she'd found. She'd always said that there must be something very bad about money, because those who needed it most never had it, and so many who had it would do such awful things to get more of it.

The folder, he saw, was part of an old road map, badly worn. He opened it slowly, and stared. Inside were nine twenty-dollar bills, and two fives.

“Tia!” he whispered, hardly believing his eyes. “Where'd you get all this?”

“From the bottom of the star box. I mean, from
between
the bottoms. It's been there all the time.”

“But, Tia—”

“The star box has
two
bottoms, see?” She opened it and showed him the removable piece that fitted tightly inside. It had been loose
for some time, she explained. Last night she took it out to fix it, and found the folder of money.

“I don't get it,” he muttered. “Why would money be hidden in your box? You ought to be able to remember something about it. Can't you?”

“Tony, all I know is that I had the box when we came to live with Granny Malone. I've tried and tried, but that's as far back as my memory goes.”