The Courage of Cat Campbell (10 page)

Cat dug her nails into her palms, refusing to cry until she got outside. She pushed through the heavy front door and ran down the steps. With no one to see her, Cat let out a wail of sadness so raw and sharp it startled a black cat sitting nearby, and he ruffled his fur in distress. Sinking onto the bottom step, Cat buried her face in her hands. How could she tell her parents she had failed, and Auntie Charlie and Uncle Tom? Peter had been right about her odds, Cat realized. She had never really stood a chance.

“Cat,” Marie Claire called out, limping her way slowly down the stairs. Cat couldn't answer. Her throat was too full of lumps. “You did the best you could. I'm proud of you.” A deep shudder swept through Cat. She turned around and saw the pity in Marie Claire's eyes. “I know how much you wanted this,” Marie Claire said.

“Even if I'd done the most amazing magic ever, I don't think Ms. Roach would have given me a place.”

“How can you say that,
chérie
?”

“Because of what Mamma did. You saw how most of the teachers looked at me. And the girls. Ms. Roach doesn't want anything more to do with our family. She's scared I'll turn out like Mamma.”

“You know this is not your mother's fault,” Marie Claire said, putting a hand on Cat's shoulder.

Cat knew Marie Claire was right, but she also needed someone to be mad at. “I just wish Mamma hadn't done those things,” she whispered.

“Come on,
chérie
, let's go home.”

“Not right now. I can't. I want to see Granny and Grandpa.” And Cat started to run. It hurt so much: being given what she wanted more than anything else in the world, and then having it snatched away from her because she wasn't good enough. She'd never be good enough according to Ms. Roach.

C
AN I STAY HERE TONIGHT?”
Cat said, curled up on her grandparents' sofa.

“You can't run away from your troubles, Cat,” Grandpa Roger said, rubbing the arms of his chair.

“Oh, let her stay for the night,” Granny Edith clucked, putting a cup of tea down beside Cat. “Just till she feels better. She's had quite a shock, not getting in to Ruthersfield. We all have,” Edith added. “I can't pretend I'm not a little bit upset myself.” She stroked a hand over Cat's hair. “I mean, if anyone should have been offered a place, it's our Kitty Cat.”

Cat sipped her tea, glad that she hadn't gone straight home. Granny Edith tucked a blanket around Cat's feet, and the soft murmur from the television was comforting, even though Cat wasn't used to watching it so early in the day. “Why didn't you ever tell me about Mamma?” she asked in a small voice. “About what she did to you both?”

“Old history,” Grandpa Roger said sternly. “We all wanted to forget about it.” He gave Granny Edith a hard look. “Maxine should never have told Cat.”

“It just doesn't seem like Mamma,” Cat said. She rubbed a corner of the blanket between her fingers. “Weren't you mad at her? How could you forgive her?”

“Poppy had every right to be furious with us,” Grandpa Roger said. “We didn't listen to her, Cat. We did some things I really regret. I hate to say this, but we weren't good parents.”

“Yes, we were,” Granny Edith snapped back, taking Cat completely off guard. She had never heard her grandmother talk this way before. “We only wanted what was best for her.”

“But we didn't listen to what Poppy wanted.” Grandpa Roger looked serious. “You know we didn't, Edith. We messed up in a big way, and I don't blame her for turning us to stone.”

Granny Edith fiddled with her wedding ring. “We made mistakes, I'll give you that,” she muttered. “But things got out of hand.” She drooped her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes for a moment. “I hate thinking about the past. Let's leave it at that.”

All of a sudden her grandparents looked so sad and old that Cat leaned over and gave Granny Edith a kiss on the cheek. “You're both wonderful,” she told them. “Best grandparents in the world!” Cat hesitated a moment, then said quietly, “I think Ms. Roach was worried my magic would get out of control like Mamma's did.”

“Now, don't go blaming your mother because you didn't get a place,” Grandpa Roger said. “Ms. Roach might be tough, but she's always been fair.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Come on, Catkins. I'm taking you home.”

Poppy was frosting cupcakes in the bakery kitchen, piping swirls of buttercream on top of buttery golden cakes. She put down her piping bag as Cat walked in holding on to her grandfather's hand.

“The wanderer returns,” Grandpa Roger joked, picking up a little cake. “These look delicious, Poppy.”

“Take some back to Mum,” Poppy said, talking to her father but looking straight at Cat. “I'm so sorry it didn't work out, Cat. I know how much you wanted this.” Poppy licked a blob of frosting off her finger. “If I could give you my magic gene, I would, willingly.”

Cat nodded, finding it difficult to speak about what had happened. The hurt inside her was still too raw. “I know, Mamma.” She turned to Marie Claire, who was sitting at the table sipping a cup of caffe latte. “I'm sorry I ran off, Marie Claire.”

“That's all right,
chérie
. I quite understand,” Marie Claire replied.

“I made your favorite cupcakes,” Poppy said. “Vanilla with buttercream frosting.”

“Thank you, but I'm not too hungry,” Cat said, feeling as flat and deflated as a squashed balloon. “Maybe later. Right now I'd just like to be alone, if you don't mind.”

Cat knelt on her bedroom floor and stared out the window. She had wanted to go to Ruthersfield so badly. Now she would have to stay at the elementary school with kids who were scared of her, worried she might go on a rampage and turn them all into stone. “And that's so silly,” Cat whispered out loud. “Because I just want to be like Great-Great-Granny Mabel and make my family proud.” Even Anika, her best friend, still wouldn't sit next to Cat on the bus. The only person she felt like seeing right now was Peter.

As soon as school got out, Cat packed up some cupcakes and walked over to Kettle Lane, where the Parkers lived. She was grateful that her mother hadn't made her go back to school for the remainder of the day, because that would have been too awful to bear. During the summer months the flower beds surrounding the Parkers' cottage bloomed with roses and hollyhocks and blue waving lupines. Right now it looked a little bare, but a patch of bright pink cyclamen still offered some color. Auntie Charlie loved to garden. She also loved animals. The Parkers' goat bared its teeth at Cat as she walked up the path. Standing on the doorstep, Cat knocked a few times, waiting for someone to answer. Maybe Peter wasn't home yet, and knowing Auntie Charlie wouldn't mind if she waited inside, Cat pushed the door open. She stepped into the hallway and a trumpet sounded. “Intruder, intruder,” a voice shouted. “Stop right there; put your hands in the air.”

Cat dropped the cupcakes and flung her hands up as Peter came charging down the stairs.

“Yes!” He raised his fist. “It worked! My homemade burglar alarm!”

“Peter, that scared me half to death,” Cat said.

“Which is just what it's meant to do. Look, I rigged up this wire under the rug, and when anyone steps over it, the alarm is triggered and the recording goes off. Adam did the voice for me.”

“But I'm not a burglar, Peter.”

“Well, I'm only going to set it at night, Cat. Duh!”

“I see.” Cat picked up the cupcakes and burst into tears. “That's clever.”

“Oh, Cat.” Peter shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “I'm guessing it didn't go well.”

“It was the opposite of well. It was awful,” Cat said, rubbing a sleeve across her eyes.

There was a slightly awkward silence. Finally Peter said, “Come and have a Twirlie bar, Cat. That always cheers you up.”

The kitchen was warm and smelled of animals. Midas, the Parkers' Labrador, had just had a litter of puppies, and in the corner by the fire was a box with a sick goose in it. Auntie Charlie insisted that geese made the best pets, although by the look of things, this one didn't seem to be doing too well. A cage with two ginger-and-white guinea pigs sat on the counter, and Cat could hear them squeaking as she watched Peter root about in his backpack. After a great deal of hunting, he pulled out a rather squashed Twirlie bar. “Knew I had one in here somewhere.”

“Thanks, Peter.” Cat pulled off the wrapper and took a bite. “If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk. I just like being here.”

“Fine with me,” Peter said, starting on the cupcakes. “I really am sorry, Cat,” he murmured at one point.

“I know.” Cat sighed. “So am I.”

They were sitting in silence when Auntie Charlie walked in from the garden, wearing a man's green jacket that was far too big for her, a basket of eggs in one hand. She took one look at Cat's face and hurried over to give her a hug. “Not good?”

“Not good,” Cat agreed. “I'm trying to be brave, but it's difficult because I keep wanting to cry. So can we talk about other things?”

“Absolutely,” Auntie Charlie said, putting the eggs into a wire basket. “Well,” she said cheerfully, “my chickens are finally starting to lay. I think it was Marie Claire's music that did it. She lent me some opera, and the chickens really seem to like it.”

“Hey, where's Dad?” Peter suddenly asked. “He's usually home by now.”

“There's some sort of crisis going on down at the station,” Auntie Charlie said. She picked up the goose and stroked him. “I'm not sure when Tom's going to be home.”

“What sort of crisis?” Peter said in surprise. “Nothing exciting ever happens in Potts Bottom.”

“I don't know.” Auntie Charlie kissed the goose on its head. “I'm sure we'll find out soon enough.”

I
T WAS BEGINNING TO GET
dark as Cat walked back home to the bakery. At the bottom of Peter's lane a small group of Ruthersfield girls flew past on their broomsticks, smells of beef stew wafting from the plastic shopping bags that dangled over each handle. Cat stopped for a moment, unable to drag her gaze away. She watched by the light of the street lamps as some of the girls swooped up and knocked on doors, delivering bags of stew to the occupants. They were like agile, graceful hummingbirds, and Cat gave a long shaky sigh, a lump forming in her throat. She was so caught up watching the girls that she didn't see Clara Bell land beside her until a soft hand touched her on the arm.

“I'm so sorry, Cat,” Clara Bell said. “I did my best to convince Ms. Roach.” She paused and then added, “I know how much magic means to you.”

Cat nodded and tried to smile, but her mouth wouldn't keep still, and the smile wobbled away. “Ms. Roach told me I'd never be good enough, that my magic is too out of control.” Cat stopped for a moment, trying to steady her voice. “That hurts. It really does, because I'm not ready to give up on being a witch.”

“Then perhaps you should trust your instincts,” Clara Bell said softly. She clapped her hands and raised her voice. “When you've finished your delivery, girls, you may go home.”

“What are they doing?” Cat asked, blinking back tears.

“Community service. All our girls are expected to do it. This is the meals-on-broomsticks program for the elderly.”

“It looks so fun,” Cat said longingly. “I'd love to do that.” She sniffed and wiped a hand across her nose. “But it's never going to happen now.” The sound of the girls' laughter drifted toward them on the still air. Turning to Clara Bell, Cat said suddenly, “What did you mean? About trusting my instincts?”

“Well, if this feels like the right path for you, Cat, then maybe you shouldn't give up just yet. You could always reapply next year. There are no rules to say that you can't.”