The Jewel and the Key (6 page)

“Oh, now, that's lovely with your chestnut hair,” Mrs. T. said. She bent forward and looked more closely. “I'll bet its nearly a hundred years old. Amazing it isn't in shreds.” She pulled out some grainy, dark gold-colored material that had been folded beneath it and stepped out of the closet as well. “This shawl goes with it. It's heavy. Maybe there's a clasp or something inside.” Addie held out a hand and gently touched the fine material. “Go on,” Mrs. Turner urged. “Give it a try.”

“All right.” Addie took it from her. She was right; the shawl
was
heavy. “I'll be quick.” She turned to go, but Mrs. T. stopped her. “We'd better put this all back first.” She glanced at her watch. “I promised Becky I'd drop by.
And
I've got to stop by the hen house and feed the girls before I leave.”

“You go, then. I'll take care of it. And I'll put the dress back when I'm done.”

“All right. Bye, then.” And Mrs. T. hurried off toward the back door.

Addie hung the dress carefully over the rolling ladder, laid the folded-up shawl down on a chair, and packed the costumes back into their crates. Then she ran up the two flights of stairs to her bedroom, the vintage clothes clutched in her arms.

She stripped off her T-shirt and jeans and pulled the dress over her head. The fabric rustled stiffly as she worked her arms into the sleeves and then smoothed down the skirt. It had a tight bodice and a sash.
This couldn't have been a costume,
she thought. It had the feel of a well-loved, much-worn dress. A springtime dress—not too heavy, but not light either. Addie examined herself in the mirror on her dresser and was surprised at the way the material hugged her body. Funny. It was so old-fashioned, but somehow it really suited her. She pulled on her ankle boots. Maybe wearing it would make the book buy more fun.

Then, just as she got up to head downstairs, she remembered the shawl. She sat down again and began unfolding the fabric in her lap. It was some sort of silk. Whatever was wrapped up inside it was round and smooth and felt like metal.

In a moment, the shawl was shimmering in folds on the ground, and she was holding a small silver mirror. The glass was clear in some places, dimmed with age in others, but before she could really look in it, she noticed there was something engraved on the other side. She turned it over and gasped.

Three dancers wearing long flowing dresses were etched in the tarnished silver. Their hair was bound and wreathed like Greek goddesses', and the silversmith had sketched a grove of laurel and olive trees behind them. It was one of the loveliest things she had ever seen.

Were the women the three Graces? Or the Muses? Or the Fates? They looked so graceful and fresh in the giddiness of their dance.
What a perfect image.
In her imagination, it burst into life. She saw the women onstage, dancing under greenish-silver branches. Now
that
would work in the scene in
Peer Gynt.

Putting the mirror down, she lifted her arms above her head and spun, letting the dress bell out around her calves. Oh, yes, that was perfect....

Then she stopped.
I won't be in
Peer Gynt, she reminded herself.

She closed her eyes and saw herself twirling around the stage in this dress, turning and facing the troll king. His question from her dream echoed in her memory: “What is
she
doing here?”

But this time Addie was ready with an answer.

I belong here.

Opening her eyes, she picked up the mirror and slid it into the pocket of the dress. A wave of dizziness hit her.

That was odd. Why was she dizzy all of a sudden? She went to the back window and threw it open to get some fresh air. A breeze swept in, bearing a faint scent of wisteria. The day was clear and bright, and she could see for blocks from her third-floor perch. In the alley, Whaley was strolling home from the grocery, a bag in his hand.

“Whaley!” Addie leaned out and shouted. “What time is it?”

He squinted up at her and called back, “Almost time to open. What are you doing up there?”

“You'll never guess what we found!” But a mayhem of clucking swelled from Mrs. Turner's chicken coops and drowned her out.

“What?” Whaley shouted back.

Before she could get another word out, loud, high-pitched bird song burst from the cherry tree in Mrs. Turner's backyard. Addie looked around, bemused.

And suddenly it wasn't just birds. All over the neighborhood, dogs were howling; cats were crying. Frowning, Addie leaned out the window, half expecting to hear donkeys braying and elephants trumpeting.

Sparrows burst out of the baby green foliage, chirping like crazy. And then, just to add to the chaos, a truck drove by, rattling the window until it shook in its frame.

Uneasily, she spun around to see the walls of her bedroom rippling like a musical saw.

The door writhed in its frame, and the coffee cup she'd left on her dresser that morning crashed to the floor. Then the floor drew itself up like a cat arching its back. It stretched and sprang, once-solid floorboards flowing in waves under her feet. Framed photos on her desk followed the suicidal coffee cup. She looked out the window and saw Whaley sheltering his head under his arm as the gutters crashed around him.

The Douglas fir in their backyard thrashed in the bright windless sky, a giant trying to pull up its roots and run. Her books shuddered to the edges of the bookshelves and jumped.

Then something in Addie's brain clicked, and every earthquake drill she'd ever been in flashed into her head. She sprang away from the window into the shelter of her door frame.

Stay put,
the earthquake-drill voice told her.

But the black power lines were thrumming across the blue sky, and someone was yelling her name, and she flew from the door frame out into the hall and down the stairs.

The steps to the second floor boinged beneath her feet like rubber. She darted through the hall and down the bottom flight of stairs as the walls cracked and sheets of plaster crashed to the ground.

A brick from the chimney careened past her head as she ran into the yard. She looked up to see masonry give way and bricks crumble down the slope of the roof.

Whaley sprinted into the yard, yelling, “Is anyone inside?” His hair was flecked with the cherry blossoms that had been shaken off the boughs.

“No,” Addie croaked, realizing the shaking had stopped. Whaley ran his hand over her head and neck, feeling for broken bones.

“I'm fine!” Addie protested, examining him in turn. “Nothing hit you, did it?”

Whaley shook his head.

“Thank goodness. I'd better call Dad and see how he is.” Her voice caught. “And if Zack's all right.” She reached into her pocket for her phone and then realized that, of course, she'd left it upstairs in her jeans pocket. All her hand closed around was the handle of the small mirror. “Darn it! I don't have my cell.”

“I'll call,” Whaley said, and started dialing.

Addie waited nervously as he stood with the phone pressed to his ear. “Any luck?”

He frowned and shook his head. “Nope. No signal.” He slipped the phone into his pocket. “Don't worry. I'm going to check around the front of the store anyway, see what the damage is. Maybe someone else's phone will be working.”

“Oh ... Okay. I'll go next door and see if Mrs. Turners all right.” She suddenly realized she was shaking.

Whaley headed off around the side of the building, and Addie crossed into Mrs. T.'s backyard, examining her house to make sure nothing had collapsed. It looked all right, but you never knew....

Just then, a chicken burst out of the hen house and began running in circles, squawking. To Addie's relief, Mrs. Turner dashed out of the house after it. “Messalina!” she called. “Come back here, you addle-brained girl!” Addie felt her face relax into a weak smile.

The hen was big and speckled and completely out of her mind. She ran into Addie's yard and around the Douglas fir, white feathers flying, and then doubled back,
bauck-baucking
like a wind-up toy gone berserk. Mrs. Turner gave chase, swerving and feinting behind her, coaxing and scolding.

But then Mrs. T. ventured a full-out dive. Addie winced as Mrs. T's shoe caught on a tree root and her body hit the ground with a thud. Addie rushed over and squatted down next to her. “Are you all right?”

Mrs. Turner blew a strand of pink hair out of her eye. “Catch her for me, sweetie. I've corkscrewed my ankle.”

Messalina wasn't hard to catch, but holding on to her was like hugging a windmill. Her legs churned and her wings flapped until every feather stuck out in distress. A sharp peck from her little beak broke the skin on the back of Addie's hand.

“Stop that!” She felt deeply moronic, yelling at a chicken.

The squawking bird tried to fly out of her arms, but Addie hung on. Pinned, Messalina stretched her neck and pecked frantically in the direction of Addie's face. “Here.” Addie thrust the mass of bristling feathers at Mrs. Turner. “Heresy our—chicken!”

Once in Mrs. Turner's arms, the hen folded herself up like a cat. The only remnant of her fit was a prolonged, muffled clucking.

“There, there. What an excitable girl! Watch out or you'll stop laying.” Mrs. Turner looked up at Addie, shaking with laughter. “I'm sorry. She's high-strung, Messalina.” She pushed herself up off the ground, but as she put pressure on her ankle, the color drained out of her face.

“You're really hurt!” Addie exclaimed, quickly offering her arm for support.

Mrs. Turner gritted her teeth, and with Addie's help, she lowered herself back down. Just then, Whaley came into the yard. “Sorry, Ads. I tried some other people's phones, but you can't get a signal anywhere. I think—”

“Mrs. T.'s hurt her ankle,” Addie interrupted. “Can you take a look? I'll get the first-aid kit.”

She ran to the back door, but Whaley sprinted after her. “Stay out here. There could be aftershocks. I'll get it.”

“Do you even know where it is? And if I can't go in, why can you?” She dashed in after him. But when she caught a glimpse of the store through the half-opened back door, she froze. Then, fearfully, she entered.

Shelves were upended. Books were strewn all over the floor. Light fixtures had smashed, and tiny fragments of glass powdered the wreckage like confectioners' sugar. Dust and plaster granules floated in the air. The bay windows, where she'd seen Zacky curled up with Magnesium just two nights ago, were nothing but empty frames. Addie stared.

Then she heard Whaley coming down the stairs and went into the hall to meet him. The first-aid kit was in his hands. It was an old metal lunch box that Zack had painted white and put a red cross on for a play they'd done in the backyard. But it had real bandages and medicine in it.

“Whaley, did you look in the store?”

“I looked.” He seemed almost angry. “So much for my job,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. C'mon. I'm not kidding about the aftershocks. Lets go.” They left the building and he handed her the first-aid kit. “You get Mrs. T.s ankle fixed. I'll check on the neighbors.”

“Tell Almaz I'll be over soon.”

“Don't worry. I will.”

Mrs. Turner was sitting on the tree root that had felled her, holding her twisted ankle. Messalina was calmly stalking around the yard, pecking at worms. Addie sat down beside Mrs. T. and took a roll of bandages and tape out of her kit. Gently, she propped Mrs. Turner's foot on her lap, located the end of the bandage, and pressed it against her ankle.

“Pretty silly to survive an earthquake and get injured by a chicken,” Mrs. T. joked.

Suddenly, she jerked upright. “Becky! Oh, my God! I need to check on her!”

“Who's Becky?” Then Addie remembered. “Your friend who owns the theater?” She got the tape into position and fastened the bandage. “Why do you need to check on her? Is she an old lady or something?”

Mrs. Turner gave her a look of mock irritation. “No, dear.
I'm
an old lady. Becky just isn't well. She had an operation and it left her partially blind. And when I think of furniture falling and windows breaking ... and Dave's out of town.” Mrs. Turner stood up again, but winced as her weight came down on the injured ankle. “I'm going to go see her.” She stopped short. “Damn it! My car's in the shop. I guess I'll just have to hobble over on my own two hooves.”

Addie shut the first-aid kit. “You can't walk anywhere!”

“Well, I'll have to. What if she's pinned under a big mantelpiece, or a bit of machinery in the shed? Your family hikes. Don't you have one of those hiking sticks? Loan me one of those.”

“I'm serious! Sit down!” Addie looked at her sternly. “I'll go. Just tell me where she lives.”

Whaley came back into the yard. Addie jumped to her feet and whipped around. “Is Almaz all right?”

“She's fine. Her dad's giving out bottled water to everyone in case the pipes are burst.”

“Good. Listen, Mrs. Turner needs me to check on her friend. What's her name again?” she asked, turning to Mrs. T.

“Becky Powell.”

“She's a blind lady or something. I think I should.”

Whaley frowned. “I don't know. What if there's an aftershock? Why don't I go instead?”

“Whaley! I can manage. Besides, you should stay close to the store until Dad and Zack get back. I mean, the windows are all broken, and—”

“Okay.” He still sounded uneasy. “But if something looks unsafe—”

“I know, I know,” Addie said. She grinned mischievously. “Hey, it suits you.”

“What does?”

“Worrying.” Then, more seriously, “Caring.”

Whaley just made a face, turned, and headed toward the store.

“Try it more often!” Addie called after him. “Join the rest of the world!”