The Wishing Thread (41 page)

“You’re total CIA material,” Meggie said. “Great job, Cars.”

She held up a hand for a high five.

And Carson, in all his exuberance and pride, gave it the hardest, loudest, lightning-striking-in-the-middle-of-a-field smack he could muster.

At the far end of the park, the flashlight came back on. The
patrolman’s voice called out over the pine-dotted grass, his voice like a gunshot. “Who’s out there?”

“Crapballs,” Meggie said.

She grabbed Carson’s hand, and like a herd of clumsy trampling deer, they began to run.

On Halloween morning, Tarrytown woke to a spectacular day. The sky was crystal blue, the hills splashed with oranges and reds and the last lingering green of fertilized yards. Children lined up anxiously for the morning’s parade, dressed as princesses and ninjas and gorillas and spiders and their favorite Saturday-morning cartoons. The Boy Scouts hitched their “Legend of Sleepy Hollow” tableaux to the back of the pack master’s pickup truck. The high school band warmed up. The mayor’s assistant ran his boss’s cherry-red convertible through the carwash one last time.

But even before the parade began, perceptive people began to notice strange things. Joggers who rose early saw that a stoplight was covered with a cardigan sweater, and the red, yellow, and green were like three oversized buttons running down. Weekend commuters saw that the black receiver of Tarrytown’s last remaining phone booth had been wrapped in a rainbow of garter stitch. The tree trunk in front of the mayor’s office was encapsulated snugly in a tuber of stockinette. And lacy white sheets were draped like monster cobwebs on the decorative shrubbery in front of the bank.

One by one, the people of Tarrytown pointed to the odd vandalism that didn’t quite seem to be typical of Halloween, to the big peace sign of yarn that had been woven into the
chain-link fence at the high school, to the curls of yarn that hung like streamers from the awning of the pet store. But few people knew what to make of what they saw. Some smiled to see such a funny thing as a NO PARKING sign made to look like a pumpkin. Others, who had other things to worry about, hardly noticed at all.

Mischief night
, they said.
Every year, it’s always something
.

In his house high on the hill, Steve Halpern was going out to get the paper off the front lawn in his bathrobe. His wife was inside, spinning his tie rack in an effort to find the flaming Horseman tie that he wore every Halloween. He bent to reach for the paper on the dewy grass and saw that the old cement horse tie-up at the curb had been covered in some kind of crazy, mismatched yarn. It seemed to him to sparkle for a moment, a Technicolor obelisk, and his first instinct was to laugh with delight. But then he thought of the Stitchery and everything his mother had told him about it. He thought of Tappan Square.

He yanked the yarn sock—or whatever it was—off the concrete tether with some difficulty, and then he tossed it into the bottom of the neighbor’s recycling bin. When he went inside, he did not mention what he’d found to his wife. He knew she would have tried to assure him. Instead he thanked her for the tie.

Little by little, theories about the yarn began to spread among people who did not know about the Stitchery. Bloggers took pictures of the hats that had been fit over the pumpkins in front of the day care. The local online news magazine reported on the mysterious displays, teasing out the fine line between vandalism and art. It seemed an excellent omen, many people along the parade route agreed. Good-natured high jinks. A friendly rib.

But Tarrytown’s old burghers—who did not want to credit
the displays with even the barest acknowledgment, and who had always thought the Van Rippers would be Tarrytown’s downfall—stood in the Halloween sunshine at the parade they had organized, clutched their steaming cups of spiced cider, and smiled so fiercely that passing children had to squint at the shine off their teeth—all the while wishing for the end of Tappan Square.

“I can’t believe we didn’t get caught,” Meggie said.

Bitty looked up from her cereal—delicious sugary cereal that she hadn’t eaten in uncountable years of calorie counting. Although she had every reason to be exhausted, she could not sleep. She had tucked her children into bed when the sun had started to rise an hour ago. Carson seemed to be unconscious before his head hit the pillow. Nessa had mumbled something about shadow knitting before passing out. Aubrey had vanished in the wee hours before dawn, at about the same time that the yarns had vanished—presumably recovering from her spells. In the yarn room, every last strand of yarn, every skein and hank and cake in the Stitchery, was gone.

“Maybe I should go into town and look around,” Meggie said. “To see what’s happening.”

Bitty poured herself a second bowl of cereal. “We decided that we would let it go, remember?”

“Don’t you want to know what people are saying?”

“Of course I do,” Bitty said. “But at this point, it’ll be what it’ll be, whether we’re out there listening or not.”

“Fine.” Meggie sighed. “You’re right.”

“You know, I think it’s going to work,” Bitty said.

“You do?”

“Absolutely.”

“You don’t believe in magic.”

“That’s true,” Bitty said. “But I believe in the power of symbolism. Wholeheartedly. And I think what we did last night, all over town, was a powerful symbol of protest and a strong showing of how Tappan Square is fundamental to the fabric of Tarrytown.”

“Fundamental to the fabric? Was that a deliberate pun?”

Bitty smiled. “I always thought I’d make a good lawyer.”

“Seriously,” Meggie said.

Bitty laughed.

“No, I mean it. Seriously.”

Bitty took a swig of her coffee. She could see the river outside the Stitchery window, slogging on. For all her years of living with Craig, she felt like she’d been alone—that she’d been raising her children alone. She hadn’t had a moment to give a thought to herself. But now, ensconced within the walls of the Stitchery again, and with her sisters ready to support her and her kids with everything they had to offer, she thought—maybe. Maybe she could go to law school. Maybe she could start again.

“So do you think we should wake her up?” Meggie asked, pointing with her spoon to the ceiling.

“Aubrey? No. Not yet.”

“She looked like hell last night.”

“Like the tenth circle of it,” Bitty said.

“What did she sacrifice? Do you know?”

Bitty put down her spoon. She hadn’t thought of what Aubrey might have forfeited to cast her spell last night. In the rush and panic and slapdash coordination, there hadn’t been time. And now that Bitty was thinking about Aubrey’s sacrifice, she worried. To Bitty’s mind, even if Aubrey had given up nothing last night, she still would have sacrificed enough. “Well, whatever it was, I hope it was worth it.”

“You don’t think …”

“What?”

“Nothing. I guess we’ll wait and see what happens.”

“At this point, that’s all we can do,” Bitty said.

When Aubrey opened her eyes again, bright daylight was filtering into her bedroom. Her head ached—pain like she’d never known. The sunlight was an ice pick in her eye. Her bladder was stretched taut as a basketball. Last night, she’d cast the biggest spell of her life—perhaps the biggest she would ever cast. It had depleted her so fully and completely that
exhaustion
was not the word for what she felt. Her sleep had been so deep and opaque, it was more like death than slumber. But all in all, things could have been worse. She had not thrown up in front of the women of Tappan Square, as she had on the night of Craig’s appearance—that was a blessing. And the fact that she was already awake was a good sign, too.

Slowly, she righted herself in her bed. She’d fallen asleep in her jeans and sweater. She sat with her bare toes on the cold wood floor a moment, waiting to get her bearings. She crossed the hall to use the bathroom and wash her face.

The sense of panic that had plagued her these last few days—the sense that her life was crashing down—was gone. Vic, and whatever happiness she might have found with him, was lost; she would never be with him again. She knew that her heart would not recover and that there would never, for the rest of her life, be another man she could love as she loved him. But Tappan Square, the Stitchery, the things that were bigger than she was—she was so certain that her neighborhood was saved, forever and truly, that she would have staked her life on it. She felt the truth of her optimism carried on the chill of the morning air. For the first time in her life, she felt glad of who she was. Unembarrassed and proud. She was a
daughter of the Stitchery, and she was powerful, and confident, and generous in the most generous way she could be. She was not on the outskirts; she was essential. The possibility that her spell might not take, and that she had given Vic up for nothing, flitted through her mind. But it bore no more significance than a bird passing in front of the sun.

She opened the bathroom door when she was finished and made her way back toward her bedroom. Meggie and Bitty were there, in the hall, waiting. Meggie wore black denim jeans and an orange tie-dyed shirt. Bitty was in her workout gear. Aubrey supposed they must have heard her wake up.

“Good morning,” she said. And then she laughed at how rough her voice sounded, as if she had been asleep for twenty years.

“Actually, it’s afternoon,” Meggie said.

“I slept late, huh? I haven’t slept so late since—since ever.”

Her sisters did not so much as smile.

“Are you okay?” Meggie asked.

“I feel …” She stretched her back. “Stiff. Tired. Hungry. But … good. Really really good.”

“Oh God, Aubrey—” Bitty gasped.

Aubrey felt suddenly self-conscious. Her sisters were looking at her. They were looking, and their mouths were open, and their eyebrows were high. Aubrey rubbed her cheek. “What? Did I sleep on my face? Do I have headlines?”

“No, it’s …” Bitty peered at her. Aubrey resisted the urge to flinch away. “Do you see it, too?” Bitty asked Meggie.

Meggie squinted. “I see it. At least, I think I do.”

“Jeez, guys,” Aubrey said. She lowered her gaze to the floor. “Sorry. I forgot. This happened last time, remember? They got really bright. I’ll go get my glasses.”

“No—you don’t understand,” Bitty said. “They’re … 
normal
.”

Aubrey said nothing. She felt a tightness in her throat like a choked laugh. Maybe there was just some shift in the light. Some freak optical illusion. Maybe she was standing in a shadow. She returned to the bathroom. She looked into the mirror above the little sink. There was her face, her same old face, and there were her same old eyes.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Meggie asked.

Aubrey stood straighter. “I think so. I’m just drained. It was a long night.”

Her sisters exchanged a glance.

“Don’t be worried, you guys,” she said cheerfully. “We did the best we could with the spells. And all we can do now is just wait and see what happens when they vote tomorrow.”

“Aubrey,” Bitty said. “It
is
tomorrow.”

She rubbed her eyes. “I’m not following.”

“It’s Monday,” Meggie said.

Aubrey dropped her hands. A strange vertigo seized her. The Stitchery seemed to tip on its side. “Wait—it’s … Monday?”

“Yes,” Meggie said.

“I slept for …”

“Over twenty-four hours,” Bitty said.

“Oh my God, Monday—what time on Monday?”

“Noon,” Bitty said.

Cell by cell, Aubrey’s body was waking up, flickering to life and full awareness. She’d been sleeping for ages. And there was something that her sisters didn’t want to tell her, something they didn’t know how to say.

“So does that mean  …?”

“They had the vote this morning,” Meggie said.

Aubrey gripped the porcelain edge of the sink. She felt breathless. “And  …?”

Meggie was looking up at her with sorrowful, pitying eyes.

“It’s no good,” Bitty said.

“No!” Aubrey heard her own voice as if it were coming from outside of her. “That’s not possible. There must be something wrong. A miscount. An absent voter. Something.”

“I’m sorry, Aubrey,” Meggie said.

She was too shocked to cry. The disbelief was a void the size of the universe, an awareness of something gone missing. She thought of Mariah, of all the names in the Great Book in the Hall, of the many battles the Stitchery had faced over the years, the many battles the guardians had faced before they overcame the odds. Aubrey could not envision what the end of the Stitchery would be like any more than she might imagine with clarity the end of the world.
The spell failed
, she repeated to herself.
The spell failed
. She could not fathom what it meant.
The spell failed
.

“Maybe it’s not over,” Aubrey said. “Maybe there’s going to be an appeal. Or a recount.”

“It’s done,” Bitty said. “It’s all done.”

It’s done?
Aubrey thought.

She listened, but the Stitchery had nothing to say.