Sadie's Story Read online

Her father set the steaming platter in the center of the table, leaned over it, and sniffed. “Mmmm, ginger. I feel my sinuses clearing already.”

  Sadie stared at the mound of limp vegetables, most of which were the same shade of drab green. Probably right now Jess’s grandfather was flipping juicy hamburgers at the grill. But at least she’d succeeded in keeping her parents out of the backyard. What if they’d heard a suspicious cackle? Smelled leftover soup?

  Facts were facts: She had a witch in her playhouse. A nice witch. An interesting witch. But a witch nonetheless. If her parents discovered Ms. M, they’d never let her stay. Not in a million years. Then there’d be no Jess, no Maya, and no Ms. M. Sadie would be alone. Again.

  For a while they ate in silence, her mother methodically chewing and, Sadie knew, silently counting to thirty-two, the key to perfect digestion.

  “I haven’t seen Wilson all afternoon,” her father said finally. “I hope he’s not locked in Virginia’s garage again.”

  “HE’S ASLEEP!” More staring. Sadie took a calming breath. “Asleep. I saw him sleeping under the bushes. He’s okay. He needs his rest.”

  Her father laughed. “Does he have a job I’m not aware of? Something strenuous like furniture moving?”

  “You are so funny, Dad,” said Sadie. “How did your writing go? Mom, how was class? Wasn’t it gorgeous out today? Except for the mosquitoes. They aren’t gorgeous. They’re, um, itchy.”

  Her mother got up to refill her water glass, feeling Sadie’s forehead as she passed. “My class was fine, thank you. We did the downwardest-facing dog we’d ever done.”

  Sadie’s father leaned back in his chair and stroked his short beard. “And my day was amazing. Early on, as you may recall, I couldn’t do anything right. But later everything changed. I hardly know how to describe it. It’s like I found my voice again. I wrote four new pages and revised another ten.”

  Hmmm, maybe the hokey-pokey spell did work after all. Just not for the right person.

  Her mother stood. “Well, if you guys clean up, I think I’ll go hunt for Wilson. Virginia will make a bath mat out of him if she finds him in there again.”

  Sadie shot to her feet. “I’ll look for him. I know just where he is.”

  “Well, I hope you do,” said her father. “We wouldn’t want him staying out all night and being late for work.”

  The sun hung low in the sky as Sadie made her way across the lawn. Soon the grass and bushes would be engulfed by dark. She thought of the birds settling into their nests. Tucking their heads beneath their wings. Closing their eyes. Did birds dream? And if they did, what about? People dreamed about flying. Did birds dream about going shopping or driving a car or eating beetles with a knife and fork?

  She crept up to the playhouse and peeked in the window. There she was. Ms. M. Her Ms. M. Asleep on the ducky blanket, Wilson lying doughnut-shaped at her feet.

  “Psst! Wilson!” she whispered. The cat raised his head.

  “I’m awake, Sadie.” Ms. M rolled over to face her. “Come in.”

  “I’d better not. My parents . . .”

  “Grown-ups. I understand.”

  “I just came to get Wilson. Mom wants him inside. But maybe he can sleep with you tomorrow night. You’ll still be here, won’t you?”

  “Of course.” Ms. M’s eyes stood out like gems in the gathering dusk.

  “We can start looking for Ethel again first thing in the morning.”

  “I like that plan.” The witch gently lifted the floppy cat and passed him through the playhouse window into Sadie’s arms. “Sweet dreams, my dears.”

  “Sweet dreams, Ms. M.”

  The sound of her parents laughing together and the clink of dishes being loaded into the dishwasher floated through the open kitchen window. As Sadie crossed the patio, cradling Wilson, she wondered how early she could go to bed without her mother feeling her forehead again. Just this morning she had nothing to look forward to. Now tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

  Chapter 9

  Columba livia

  Sadie’s mother left right after breakfast to teach an eight o’clock class. Her father had already shut himself in the study with a Cranberry Creativity smoothie to try to, as he put it, “recreate the magic of yesterday.”

  Sadie set her half-full cereal bowl in the sink and rushed outside.

  “Ms. M? Ms. M?”

  No matter how loudly she knocked, Ms. M didn’t answer. Either the witch was a heavy sleeper or— Sadie opened the playhouse door and peered in.

  She could almost hear Maya: vanished, evaporated, dematerialized. But they all meant the same thing.

  Gone.

  Poof.

  “Up here!”

  On a medium-high branch of the maple tree, a crow with an intelligent expression shook its feathers and nodded in her direction.

  “Ms. M! Not you, too!”

  “No, dear. Up here. On top of the garage.”

  Now Sadie saw her. Scooting down the side of the roof that faced Sadie’s mother’s meditation garden, the witch waved merrily with one hand and clutched a red-handled broom with the other.

  A broom! Today promised to be even more exciting than Sadie had thought.

  “Can you give me a turn?” she called, picturing herself doing loop-de-loops over her house, over the neighborhood, over the whole city. Maybe even all the way to Moose Butt Lake.

  “That’s lovely of you to volunteer, but I’m more or less finished.”

  Sometimes Ms. M made no sense. “Finished flying?”

  “Flying?” The witch sounded genuinely puzzled.

  “On your broom. I’d like a turn on your broom, please. I promise I’ll be careful.”

  Ms. M reached the bottom of the roof slope. She sat on the edge, her skinny legs dangling. “Sorry to disappoint you, dear, but I just brought this old broom up with me in case the gutters needed cleaning. And I’m glad I did. I’m surprised your parents don’t know that keeping gutters and downspouts in good condition requires regular maintenance. Now, would you mind holding the ladder steady while I climb down?”

  The witch indicated with the broom the spot where, indeed, a ladder leaned against the garage wall, partly concealed by the rhododendron bush.

  “How about if I come up?” It wasn’t exactly magical, but a rooftop adventure sounded okay, too. Though perhaps she should run back inside first to trade her flip-flops for shoes with better grip.

  “Don’t you dare. My spells for mending broken hearts and broken promises are almost always reliable, but my spell for mending broken arms takes six weeks to six months to work.”

  A sweet, dusty scent tickled Sadie’s nose. A comforting smell, growing stronger as Ms. M wobbled down the rungs toward her.

  When the soles of Ms. M’s pointy shoes clanked onto the last rung, Sadie stepped back. “Thank you,” the witch said, hopping to the ground. She detached a clump of brown leafy muck from the broom’s bristles and flung it onto the grass. “Your parents really should consider hiring someone.”

  “Were you looking for Ethel?”

  “Always. Though when I climbed up, I did observe a pair of Columba livia.” Ms. M smiled and gazed upward. “Remarkable specimens. But then, all of them are.” She returned her focus to Sadie. “‘Columba livia’ means ‘dove the color of lead’ in Latin. Such regal birds.”

  Fancy doves! Just Sadie’s luck to have missed them. “Are they still there?” she asked. “Can I borrow your binoculars?”

  “No need. I’ll call them down. So you can meet in person.”

  Ms. M fluttered her lips. “ppbbbBBBRRR!” She puffed out her stomach and quickly sucked it back in. She did it again. “Some warm-up exercises,” she explained. “To engage my diaphragm.”

  Dove calls must be difficult. Sadie didn’t know if she’d ever heard a dove before. When she tried to remember, all she could think of were pictures in books. Pictures of snow-white doves carrying olive branches in their beaks or popping out of magicians’ hats.
r />   After a few jaw and neck stretches, during which Ms. M’s hat tipped precariously but somehow did not fall off, she said, “Okay. Now I’m ready.”

  Sadie waited. Any moment now. . . .

  “Bob! Lois!”

  Hwhapwhapwhapwhap.

  With a flurry of wings, two gray birds landed on the driveway.

  Chapter 10

  Rare Birds

  “Pigeons.”

  Ms. M beamed. “Sadie, for a beginner your identification skills are really coming along.”

  The pigeons strutted back and forth in a tight zigzag pattern, one behind the other as if playing a game of follow-the-leader.

  “Not to be rude,” Sadie said tentatively. “But everyone can identify pigeons. Pigeons are EVERYWHERE.” She spread her arms wide, startling the bird in front—Bob? Lois?—into strutting faster and leading his—her?—companion closer to Ms. M.

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” the witch mused, bending down. From the front pocket of her dress she retrieved a small handful of sunflower seeds and scattered them on the pavement. “But Bob and Lois have to fly all the way over to the awning of the Thai restaurant on Hawthorn Street to visit their nearest daughter.” She looked at the birds. “Did you say her name was Karen?” It was hard to tell whether Bob and Lois nodded or simply dipped their heads to reach their snack.

  “Okay,” Sadie said. “Do they really have names? Or are you making that up?”

  “Pigeons have lived among us for more than ten thousand years. They’ve picked up many of our habits and customs. And, unfortunately, our germs.” She nodded toward the bird on her right. “Lois accepted Cheerios from a boy with a runny nose.” Then, to Lois, “Did the echinacea help?”

  Lois made a noise deep in her chest—a cough? A coo? Again, it was hard to tell. At least Sadie now knew which bird was which. The more she looked, the more differences she noticed. Dark spots dappled Lois’s light gray wings, whereas Bob’s wings had no pattern other than the two wide dark stripes at the bottom. Lois’s wings had stripes, too, but, unlike Bob’s, they were scalloped at the edges, like lace around a valentine heart. Standing sideways facing each other, the birds resembled giant, slightly mismatched salt and pepper shakers.

  “I need to get something from inside the playhouse,” Ms. M said, straightening. “I’ll be right back.”

  Once Ms. M left, Sadie looked at Bob and Lois. Bob and Lois looked at Sadie.

  “I had a cold, too,” Sadie said to break the silence. “Last week. But I’m pretty much over it.”

  Bob lifted a foot to scratch his neck. Lois wandered toward the petunias.

  What were Jess and Maya doing right now?

  Cartwheeling across the beach? Diving off the dock? Eating sundaes bigger than their heads?

  What was Sadie doing right now?

  Making small talk with pigeons. And boring them to death.

  “Found it!” the witch said as she reemerged with a tattered notebook.

  Sadie stared. Anything could be in there. Spells. Hexes. Enchantments. Or, knowing Ms. M, recipes and bowling scores.

  “It’s my life list.” Ms. M turned to a middle page dense with scribbled text. “Almost all the birds I’ve seen since I started recording, and that goes back a long time.”

  “You keep a list? Of birds?”

  “It’s what birders do.” She produced a pen. Out of, it seemed, thin air.

  “You didn’t have it with you at the park yesterday.”

  “Already you have the keen eye of a veteran birder.” The witch gave her a look of such obvious appreciation that Sadie blushed and ducked her head. “You’re right,” Ms. M acknowledged. “Sometimes I like to watch and enjoy without the bother of writing everything down. Also, yesterday we were looking for one specific bird. If we’d found Ethel I wouldn’t have taken notes, I would have given her a big hug. But I certainly want to record our meeting with Bob and Lois.”

  At the sound of their names the birds stood up taller, it seemed.

  “Different birders organize their lists differently.” Ms. M tapped the page with the pen. “As you can see, I have an entire section devoted to Columba livia. They’re quite extraordinary.”

  More like ordinary-ordinary, Sadie couldn’t help thinking.

  Ms. M studied Sadie’s face. “You seem skeptical.”

  “It’s just that . . .” She leaned in close to the witch’s ear, hoping Bob and Lois wouldn’t overhear. She whispered, “It’s just, like I said before, pigeons are everywhere.”

  “Common, yes,” said Ms. M at normal volume. “But nonetheless rare. Let me put it to you this way. How many nine-year-old girls are there in the world? Millions? Billions?”

  “A lot,” Sadie agreed.

  “And how many witches?”

  Sadie shrugged.

  “I believe there were five hundred and seventy-three of us who attended the international conference in Brussels last September,” said Ms. M. “Which was an impressive turnout, given the registration fee.” She continued, “Now, out of the million-billion-quadrillions of nine-year-old girls in the world, how many of them are you?”

  Was this a trick question? “One?” Sadie ventured.

  “And out of the smaller but still sizeable number of witches, how many of them are me?”

  Sadie considered Ms. M’s droopy hat.

  Her dusty dress.

  Her crooked, snaggletoothed smile.

  “One,” she said.

  “All right then.” Ms. M tapped the page with greater insistence. “Time to get down to business.”

  She wrote the date on a blank line. “We’ll add Bob and Lois here. Beneath Dorothy. Dorothy was lovely. I met her and her brother Toto at an outdoor film festival in Poughkeepsie. Their mother was a great fan of the classics.”

  Sadie could see that the life list didn’t go straight up and down, like a grocery list, but was spread across the page in columns. Next to the date in the first column, Ms. M wrote Bob and Lois’s names. “What about the sighting conditions?” she asked. “Stormy? Dense fog? Bitterly cold? Cyclonic?”

  “Um, nice?” Sadie suggested.

  “We’ll say ‘very nice.’ To reflect the mood of the day. Now, location. You wouldn’t happen to know the latitude and longitude of your backyard, would you?”

  “Not really.”

  “We’ll just put ‘North America, Sadie’s backyard.’ Last is vocalization, though that can be hard to summarize for Columba livia. They are such lively conversationalists.”

  Ms. M appeared to be concentrating hard. At her feet Bob burbled and cooed. He sounded like a cross between a purring cat and a tiny, whistling freight train.

  “Of course, Bob, thank you for reminding me.” In the last rectangle of space on the line Ms. M carefully printed “Home.”

  “What does that mean?” Sadie asked. Was Ms. M thinking of going home after all?

  “When we were up on the roof, Bob and Lois told me how much they love where they live. I told them that I wished Ethel had turned into a pigeon instead of a yellow warbler, because then I never would have lost her. Pigeons are home-oriented. They leave, but they always come back.”

  Hwhapwhapwhap!

  Sadie jumped backward in surprise as Lois launched herself into the air, landed on the curve of Ms. M’s shoulder, and nuzzled her with her beak.

  “Yes, you are absolutely right,” said the witch, smiling faintly and patting Lois on the head. “Ethel is who she is. I can’t change that.”

  “What if we went to the park?” said Sadie. “We could try the picnic table by the fountain. I bet we’d have better luck.”

  “Of course, dear. Would you mind fetching the binoculars? They’re in my bag. Put this away for me while you’re at it.” Ms. M held out the life list. “That’s enough note-taking for one day.”

  Hwhapwhapwhapwhapwhap!

  Bob and Lois flung themselves upward, rose over the garage, and kept going. In no time at all they turned from big dots to small dots to smaller
dots, finally disappearing altogether.

  Poof.

  “Wow, pigeons are fast,” Sadie said, staring at the spot in the sky where they had just been.

  “Champion flyers,” Ms. M agreed.

  “I hope I see them again.”

  “Oh, you will,” Ms. M said gaily. “They’re on their way to the park. They’re meeting Karen there for lunch.”

  Chapter 11

  For Sale

  Once again they saw a lot of birds.

  Once again they heard a lot of birds.

  Once again not one of those birds was Ethel.

  “I never knew watching and listening could be so tiring,” Sadie said. She and Ms. M both wobbled a bit as they left the park, taking the winding path by the tennis courts. “It’s a good kind of tired,” she added.

  “Exhausting and exhilarating at the same time,” Ms. M agreed. “Like traveling.”

  As they ambled along, Sadie thought about how the park really was like another country to her now, full of many languages and exotic inhabitants. In a way, she didn’t even mind that they hadn’t found Ethel. She and Ms. M could go “traveling” again tomorrow, and maybe the next day and the day after that.

  When they reached the backyard, Sadie said, “I wish I could invite you to come inside—”

  The witch interrupted. “I know, dear. It’s all right. I enjoy my own company.”

  “I’ll be out later to say good night.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Sadie watched Ms. M until she was safely at the playhouse. The witch paused and tipped her pointy hat. Sadie giggled and slipped into the kitchen.

  “Is that you, Sadie?” her mother called from upstairs. “Dad ran to the store. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Sadie sat at the table, munching a granola bar and thinking more about Ethel. What would they do if they did find her? Would Ms. M know the right spell to change her back? She tried to imagine two witches living in the playhouse. Wait until Jess and Maya saw that!

  Then she tried to picture herself with Jess, Maya, Ms. M, and Ethel. They’d all be together, doing . . . what? Bird-watching? Sweeping out the gutters? Making soup?