The Wishing Thread (33 page)

His breathing was hard; her hands made tight fists in his jacket. She fit herself into the curve of his chest, and the noise he made was somewhere between pain and relief.

“I won’t do this to you again,” he said. “From here out, whatever happens between us, happens between
only
us. I promise.”

Aubrey smiled against his coat and held him tighter. It did not occur to her until later, much later, that she might have promised him the same.

Carson had fallen under the spell of Tarrytown. He had—Meggie realized—become obsessed with Internet videos of ghost hunters, spiritual pioneers who arrived with their microphones and heat guns and Geiger counters to prove the existence to Tarrytown’s living-impaired. The ghosts of Tarrytown were as merry and popular a party as one could expect of dead people: the insane monk who killed the five virgins; Major John André, the gentleman soldier whose execution stirred the sympathies of even the most dogged revolutionaries; sweet Matilda Hoffman, just seventeen when she died on the brink of her wedding, and the fiancé who never married after he lost her, Washington Irving; Hulda the Witch, the Bohemian pariah who was a deadeye for a redcoat until her mortal wound; and occasionally, the Hudson River’s own Flying Dutchman, the
Half Moon
, with its mutinous crew watching the dangerous shores and biding their time.

The armies of Halloween had arrived in full strength to take up their posts all over Tarrytown and Sleepy Hollow; long-nosed witches grinned in shop windows, faceless ghosts hung on fishing line, dismembered hands crawled up from dying lawns. And that, coupled with Carson’s ghostlore infatuation, meant Meggie was not surprised when her nephew
announced what he wanted to be for Halloween. Meggie had borrowed Aubrey’s car and spent the morning gathering the necessary things: the three-cornered hat, the dusty old black jacket, the rickety wooden cane, the gray wig, the scuffed black boots. And now Carson stood admiring himself in the mirror of Meggie’s room, hunching his shoulders and pointing his feet to the sides. Meggie smiled to see that he was happy; she could not leave Tarrytown until her obligation to him was fulfilled.

“Think anybody’s gonna know who I am?” he asked.

“Around here? You bet.” She stood up from her bed and handed him a book. “Plus, you’ll be carrying this. This is the kicker.”

He posed with
The History of New York
tucked with scholarly jauntiness against his ribs. Then he turned to Meggie and tipped his hat. “Why … hello there. Diedrich Knickerbocker, at your service.”

“How do you do,” she said, laughing a little.

He turned to the mirror and took off his hat and gray hair. “The wig itches me.”

“You can always take it off and just wear that hat.”

He considered it, then put the wig back on. She did not tell him how adorable he looked; she struggled to keep from launching herself from the bed and pinching his cheeks. He asked her: “Why didn’t Washington Irving just put his own name on the book? Why did he have to write it as Diedrich Knickerbocker?”

Meggie thought. “It was like a different persona. Like acting and trying on a new voice. I guess, anyway.”

“Or maybe he was shy,” Carson said.

“Maybe,” Meggie said.

“Hey, guess what.”

“What?”

“I decided what you’re going to be when we go trick-or-treating.”

Meggie said nothing.

“Don’t you wanna know? It’s
really
good.”

“Carson.” Meggie pinched the crocheted afghan on her bed. “Come sit down.”

He did not move immediately. She saw his face slam shut, and she knew the look—that he was already steeling himself for disappointment. She did the same. He walked toward her, his boots clomping until he climbed onto the bed beside her. She put her arm loosely around his slight shoulders. Already, she missed him.

“I’m not staying for Halloween,” she said.

“But I thought you said I could pick out your costume?”

Meggie faltered. She’d broken many hearts before, but never a child’s. It was more painful than she could stand. She thought for a moment about agreeing to stay after Halloween—but that would only prolong the misery. “I’m sorry,” she told him.

“But … why?”

“I just can’t.”

He didn’t speak.

“I know it seems like a surprise,” she said. “But I have responsibilities. Grown-up stuff.”

“I understand,” he said, and though his voice was a thin thread he did not cry. “When are you going?”

She pulled him a little closer. “Today.”

“Today?”

“Yes.”

“How come you didn’t tell me before?”

“Nobody knows,” she said. “And I need you to keep this a secret just between us. You can’t go telling your mom or sister or Aunt Aubrey.”

“Will they yell at you?”

“Yes. And I don’t really want to be yelled at. So, can you promise? Can you promise me you won’t tell?”

He gave a sigh, deep and long, and his small body in his old man’s clothes was so replete with pathos that Meggie might have laughed if she wasn’t so sad.

“Hey, don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll see each other again soon. You have my absolute word that I’ll be back again, and I’ll find you, wherever you are.”

He blinked up at her; she saw his eyes were swimming, though tears did not fall. “But I won’t get to pick out your costume.”

“Still.
You
have a great costume, and that’s the important thing. You’re going to have a fantastic Halloween.”

He seemed to grow smaller inside his cravat.

“Now let’s get you back into your regular clothes so your costume can be a surprise for everyone on Halloween,” Meggie said with all the false cheer she could drum up.

“Okay,” Carson said.

Nessa lay on the scuffed and scarred floor near the stairs at the top of the tower. She knew for certain she was going to get in trouble for what she was about to do; the question was, How much? She’d read deeply into the night from the giant beast of a book that she’d found in Aubrey’s room, and she knew now that it was only a matter of time before she attempted to conquer the unconquerable with her own magic spell. But because she did not yet know how to do magic and because she did not have much time, she was stuck with her usual, non-magical methods for fixing things that went wrong.

She adjusted her leg so it jutted more vulnerably. She pulled a blue plastic jar from her sweatshirt pocket and
smeared its contents under her eyes. She heard her mother pounding heavy and fast up the tower stairs, followed closely by Aubrey and Meggie. She drew in a breath just as her mother appeared around the sharp corner of the stairs below her.

“Are you okay?” Bitty asked. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I’m not supposed to be up here. I just—”

“Tell me what happened,” Bitty said. “What’s hurt?”

Nessa sniffled and rubbed at the tear that slid down her cheek. She’d learned the trick about smearing vapor rub under her eyes from a TV show, and she was surprised at how well it worked. She was perched at an awkward angle, her left shoulder against the wall joint at the top of the tower stairs, her right leg stuck out and her knee bent inward. The outside of her ankle bone was a hard white knob where she’d taken off her sock.

“I was only going to be up here for a second,” she sniveled. It sounded very convincing to her own ears. “I swear, Mom. I’m really sorry.”

“Is it your ankle?” Meggie asked, crouching beside her.

Nessa nodded. “I know Mom told me not to, but I had to come, and then when I started to go back down the stairs I just stepped on my foot the wrong way.” As she spoke, she began to imagine the scene exactly as she’d described it, and the vision of herself tumbling, gasping in surprise and pain, made her eyes sprout fresh tears—real tears, having nothing to do with vapor rub—even though her fall hadn’t actually happened. She squeaked: “Is it … do you think it’s broken?”

“Can you move it?” Aubrey asked.

“I don’t know.” Nessa feigned experimentation, the slightest flex of her toes. She sucked air hard between her teeth, then gave a little cry.

“Shoot.” Bitty raised herself up to stand and Aubrey did the same. “I guess we have to go to the emergency room.”

“No! No emergency room. I’m fine. I’ll be okay. I just need a minute.” Nessa lifted her eyes to her mother with what she hoped looked like suffering bravery. This next line she was about to speak was the most important line of all. If anything was going to make or break the charade, it would be this. She let a tear fall. “Could you guys, like, give me a little air? I just—I can stand up. I just need everybody to give me a little room.”

“Let me help you,” Bitty said. “Here, take my hand.”

Nessa shot her an angry look.

“Okay, okay,” Bitty said. And she took a few steps back with her ten fingers lifted as if Nessa had pointed a gun. Aubrey backed up with her. The tower room was not especially large and was packed with stuff, and so there wasn’t a lot of space between Nessa and her mother—just a few feet. Hopefully it would be enough.

Only Meggie hesitated where she was squatting beside Nessa. Meggie’s eyes were sharp and suspicious. Nessa felt a little watery snot dripping from the tip of her nose, and rather than wipe it off, she let it be. She hoped it was the finishing touch.

Wordless, Meggie pushed her body up with her hands on her knees, then stepped away.

Here we go
, Nessa coached herself. Tentatively, she wiggled her foot. Her mother and sisters were watching her like hawks: Bitty’s arms crossed in disapproval, Aubrey’s face contorted with worry, Meggie’s hands on her hips and a wary glint in her eye. Slowly, Nessa got to her feet without touching her sore foot to the floor. Her mother started toward her.

“No!” Nessa shouted. “Stay back.”

She pivoted on one foot until she was facing the hard darkness
of the stairs. The smell was familiar, musty and old; she’d smelled it once before when she’d stuck her face against the bars of a mausoleum.

“Okay?” Aubrey asked.

“I think …” Nessa put her foot on the first stair that led down into the dark. Then, after only the slightest pause—which stretched to eternity—she began to run. She took the stairs two at a time, her footfalls booming. She registered the sounds behind her, shouts of disbelief, dismay. She counted on shock to give her the few seconds she needed to get ahead of them. She reached the open door at the bottom of the stairs and turned around as fast as she could to throw her weight against it.

“Go go go!” she shouted to Carson, who was waiting for her. He stared at her stupidly for a second that was nearly a second too long. “Come on!”

Jolted, he dragged a solid wooden chair up against the door. They wedged it under the old glass knob just a fraction of a second before it turned. She heard her mother, drumming the flat of her hands on the wood.

“Nessa! Nessa, you let us out of here right this instant! Nessa—you’re in a lot of trouble for this!”

“No!” she shouted at the closed door. “You’re in time-out.”

She heard her mother pause. “Nessa—I’m not joking. You better unlock this door right this second!”

“Or else you’ll do what?”

Her mother growled, a sound Nessa hadn’t known she could make. “Let us out! I said, right now!”

Nessa walked herself closer to the door so that she could talk through it without yelling. “Okay. I’ll let you out. No problem. But first, you guys have a lot of talking to do. And we’re not opening this door until it’s done.”

“What are you talking about?” Bitty said.

“You’re not coming out until you’re not fighting anymore.”

“What fighting?” Bitty said. “Nobody’s fighting.”

“But you’re not getting along all the way,” Nessa said.

“Sure we are.”

Nessa rolled her eyes “Okay. So then I’m sure you know that Meggie is planning to sneak out later today? Like, leaving and not even telling you?”

There was no reply.

“That’s what I thought,” Nessa said.

“You are so grounded,” Bitty said. She banged the door. “You’re grounded until you’re eighteen. No—until you’re old enough to be tormented by kids of your own! Nessa? Nessa!”

Nessa took in a shaky breath. There was nothing more that needed to be said. She looked at her brother, whose big eyes were wide and mousy.
Okay?
she mouthed. He stuck up his thumb. She knew she was going to get in trouble—this had been
her
plan, after all. But it was worth it. Carson had come to her an hour ago, blubbering and snotting on his sleeves because Aunt Meggie was planning to run away. Nessa sometimes wondered if she was the only grown-up she knew.

“How long do we leave them in there?” Carson whispered.

“You’re asking me?” she scoffed. “I have no idea.”

Her brother’s eyes were beginning to water again.

“It’s fine,” she told him sharply. “If anybody’s going to get in trouble here, it’s me.” She heard her mother yelling behind the door, making pathetic threats about Nessa’s cell phone and mall privileges and driver’s license and college and whatever other things she could think to name. Nessa pulled herself up straight, looked at her brother, and spoke loudly. “It’s getting a little noisy. Let’s go downstairs.”