The Changeling Read online

  They made up a new play that weekend, and it was a great success. In the play Ivy was a dancing maiden in the court of Queen Oleander. She had to dance in a contest with the Queen’s daughter, Princess Mistletoe. The winner, who was to be picked by a Magic Mirror of Truth, was to be the bride of the rightful ruler, handsome Prince Willow. Ivy danced the parts of both the contestants, and the audience got to play the part of the Magic Mirror. The little kids loved the play so much they wanted Martha and Ivy to do it all over again the next day.

  On Sunday evening, no one was at home at the Abbotts’ except Martha, so Ivy came over for a while. She stayed until Cath came home, and then Martha walked with her as far as the hill path. The next morning Martha and Ivy left for school at their usual time and went by their usual route. It was the first time they had done that since the “calling-out” and Martha was a little jumpy, but nothing happened until they reached the school grounds. And then she forgot all about Kelly, caught up in a mysterious general excitement that became apparent the moment they reached the school gates.

  It was immediately obvious that something out of the ordinary was going on. Kids were milling around the teachers’ parking lot excitedly, and there was a police car parked near the office entrance. It didn’t take long to pick up some of the rumors that were flying around.

  It seemed that sometime during the weekend someone had broken into the school office and torn everything up. A window had been broken, and the latch unfastened. Inside, everything was a mess. Desks were tipped over, ink was poured over everything, and everything breakable was smashed. Ivy and Martha were still listening to different versions of what had happened and who had probably done it, when Mr. Gregory came out of his office, looking very grim, and ordered everyone to get out of the office area and report to their first period classes.

  At noon that day, Kelly and some of her gang sat directly behind Martha and Ivy in the cafeteria; but except for some whispering and a few sneaky glances, nothing at all unusual happened. It was that afternoon, during sixth period, that Martha and Ivy were called to the principal’s office.

  On the way to Mr. Gregory’s office, Martha and Ivy wondered a little uneasily what was up—but they never even came close to expecting the truth. When Mr. Gregory took them into his office, closed the door and told them that he had good reason to believe that they had been responsible for the vandalism in the main office, they both just sat and stared at him as if they had been stricken dumb. And, then, before they had a chance to recover, he went on to say that before they said anything, he wanted them to know that several of their classmates had overheard them talking about how they had done it.

  Suddenly Ivy gasped, looked at Martha, and said, “Kelly. Kelly Peters.” Of course, Ivy was thinking of Kelly sitting near them in the cafeteria, whispering and looking in their direction and probably plotting to accuse Martha and Ivy at that very moment. But to Mr. Gregory it must have sounded as if Ivy was just realizing that Kelly had been close enough to overhear their incriminating discussion.

  When Ivy and Martha were finally given a chance to talk, of course they denied everything; but almost from the first they could see it was useless. When Martha tried to suggest that Kelly was very mad at them, and it was even possible that she had done the vandalism herself in order to blame them for it, Mr. Gregory looked positively horrified.

  “Kelly Peters?” he said, shaking his head at Martha sadly, to indicate how low she had sunk to even suggest such a thing. It was fairly plain that Mr. Gregory, like most adults, believed in the angel-faced version of Kelly. “Kelly was away this weekend with her parents. Kelly’s father is a friend of mine, and I happen to know they didn’t get back to Rosewood ’til quite late Sunday night.” He sighed as if he were terribly depressed by so much evil behind such innocent-appearing faces. “You ought to realize, girls,” he said, “how very reluctant Kelly was to tell what she had overheard today. Kelly is not the kind of girl to enjoy getting two of her friends into trouble, I’m sure. However she realized that it was clearly her duty to her school and classmates. I’m sure it was a very difficult decision for her to make.” After that speech Martha knew for sure that it was useless.

  Next Mr. Gregory went on to make a big thing out of the fact that he had caught them climbing “into” the school grounds not long before. He didn’t exactly say so, but it was plain that he felt he had interrupted some kind of dry run—a training exercise for a crime in the planning.

  And finally Mr. Gregory began to go into what was going to happen, and at that point Martha, who had until then been amazingly firm and tearless, broke down and cried her usual huge wet tears. She knew it looked bad, as if she had more to cry about than just her old familiar terror and a new outrage at being so falsely accused, but she couldn’t help it. If they confessed freely, Mr. Gregory was saying, and if their parents agreed to pay for the damage, perhaps the police would agree to stay out of it. But if not—The rest he only hinted at, but he managed to give an impression of unmentionable horrors—iron bars, chains and rat-infested dungeons.

  The session in Mr. Gregory’s office ended without an ending. Mr. Gregory, who certainly didn’t seem to be great at seeing through people, managed, at least, to see that Ivy and Martha were nowhere near confessing, although it didn’t seem to have ever occurred to him that the reason they were being so stubborn was simply that they weren’t guilty. But, at last, he gave up trying to get a confession and sent them home for the time being.

  They were to go home and tell their parents about what had happened; and when they came to school the next morning, their parents were to come with them. Otherwise, they would not be allowed in school and Mr. Gregory would have to tell their parents and the police, himself.

  On their way home Martha cried and then stopped crying long enough to babble about telling her parents and what they might do and say. It must have been the tears that kept her from noticing how long Ivy had been quiet. They were almost to Castle Court when she blinked them away enough to really see Ivy—and then the tears stopped, shocked away in an instant.

  Ivy was walking stiffly with her hands clenched at her sides. Her face was clenched, too, like an angry fist closed over something dark and hot that seethed just at the edge of explosion.

  “Ivy?” Martha asked uncertainly, and the explosion came. Ivy whirled on Martha with a twisted face. Her voice was not loud, but it sounded like screaming.

  “You know why he’s so sure,” she said. “Why old Gregory’s so sure we did it? You know why don’t you? It’s because of me. He’d never have believed that dirty liar, if I hadn’t been a part of it. Or if I’d been someone besides Ivy Carson—a jailbird Carson. You can’t blame old Gregory, actually. Who else could have done it? After all I’m the only Carson left in his crummy school except Josie, and she’s not quite old enough. Not quite, but it won’t be long for her either.”

  Ivy turned her back on Martha and started off, but Martha ran after her.

  “Stop, Ivy,” she said. “That’s not true. That’s not true, Ivy.”

  Ivy stopped. “What’s not true about it?”

  “Well, it’s just not,” Martha stammered. “It’s not because you’re a Carson.” Then she grabbed Ivy’s arm and smiled a phony smile and said, “Besides, you’re not a Carson, remember. You’re a changeling.”

  Ivy jerked away. “Shut up!” she said in a blazing whisper. “Shut up! I’m no changeling. There’s no such thing as a changeling. I was lying to you. I was lying to you all the time—about everything.” She whirled and ran furiously toward the hill path, and Martha only stood and watched her go.

  Martha went on then, very slowly, and when she got home no one was there as usual. She went into her bedroom and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed for a long time. She just sat there thinking, and by the time the rest of the family got home she’d begun to feel a little better. If her parents believed her and would help her prove that she and Ivy were innocent, then surely everything would be all right. A
fter all, her father was a lawyer, and he should be able to defend his own daughter—even though he was really a business lawyer and didn’t usually defend criminals, even innocent ones. But if they didn’t believe her, she would have to do something else. She didn’t know exactly what she would do, but she’d think about that later if the truth didn’t work.

  By the time Grandmother Abbott and Martha’s father got home, dinner was almost ready, so Martha decided to put off the telling until after dinner. During the meal, Martha found it very hard to swallow, and Grandmother asked her twice why she wasn’t eating. The meal seemed to take forever. Tom was eating at a friend’s house, but Cath was home and she brought up a topic of conversation that was always good for a long family discussion—whether she was old enough to have her own car. The arguments for and against went on and on and on.

  At last the dinner came to an end, and Cath went to her room to study. Grandmother Abbott went into the kitchen, and Martha was left alone with her parents. Three times she started to say, “I have to tell you something,” and three times it wouldn’t come out. And when it finally did, the pain of saying it must have showed in her face, because her mother and father immediately gave her their full attention. But just then Grandmother Abbott came back into the room, and of course, she stayed to listen.

  Martha began at the beginning and told the whole story without too many interruptions. Once Mrs. Abbott asked if anyone had talked to Miss Walters about picking Ivy for the dancing part, instead of Kelly.

  “No,” Martha said. “No one that I know about, anyway. Why?”

  “Well it just does seem a little strange, since Kelly has studied dancing for so long, that she wasn’t given the lead role. Doesn’t it, dear? That is, if the roles were given out on the basis of talent and ability.”

  Mr. Abbott smiled knowingly. “I’m beginning to think that that wasn’t the basis,” he said. “It seems to me that this Miss Walters must see herself as something of a therapist, instead of strictly a drama coach. I suppose it’s a valid approach to theater at this level. A bit hard on audiences, however. And a bit hard on the kids who lose out. And if that is the case, your Miss Walters should, at least, have made it clear to the ones who missed out, through no fault of their own. If you’re going to take something away from a kid who’s earned it to give it to someone who needs it more, you should at least tell the loser the real reason.”

  Martha found that she was breathing very hard, and it wasn’t just from fear, anymore. “For your information, Dad,” she said. “For your information, the reason Ivy got the part was because she was the best. And I know you won’t believe it, but that was the reason I got the part I tried out for, too.”

  Mr. Abbott stared at Martha for a moment, and then he grinned. “Good for you, Marty. It’s good to see you stand up and fight for once. But I really wasn’t referring to you—not for a minute. I wouldn’t want you to think that.”

  When Martha got to the part of her story about the vandalism and Kelly’s accusation, everybody stopped grinning. Martha just barely got to the end of what Mr. Gregory had said without tears, but when Grandmother Abbott said, “Now tell us the absolute truth, dear. You know we’ll stand by you no matter what?” she began to cry.

  “I told you,” she sobbed. “We didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “When did it happen? The vandalism?” Mr. Abbott asked.

  “I don’t know for sure. Mr. Gregory asked us about Saturday and Sunday night both, so I guess he’s not sure either. I guess no one is at the school at all on Sunday, so no one would have seen it until Monday morning either way.”

  “Well, your grandmother was here at home with you Saturday evening, so we’re all right there,” Mr. Abbott said. “And Cath was home with you last night, wasn’t she?”

  “No,” Martha said slowly. “Cath didn’t get home until later. Ivy was here at the house with me until Cath came home. That was about nine or maybe ten. I didn’t notice. Before that Ivy and I did some homework, and then we played some records and Ivy danced. We didn’t go anywhere. Except I walked a little way with Ivy when she left. But Cath was back by then, and I was only gone a few minutes. Cath can tell you that, I think. That is, if she noticed.”

  For a long time no one said anything, and then Grandmother Abbott said, “Of course, you don’t know for sure if Ivy went directly home when she left you, Martha.”

  Martha looked at her parents. Her father said, “That’s right, Mouse, you really have no way of knowing what happened after that. You say it was a little before ten o’clock.”

  Martha stood up and walked out of the room, only shaking her head in answer to their calls for her to come back. She couldn’t have answered if she’d wanted to. In her room she lay down on the bed with her face in the pillow.

  In a few minutes Martha’s mother came into the room with a cold wet washcloth for her face.

  “You stay right there for now, dear,” she said. “Your father had to run out for just a minute. He promised Mr. Simmons he’d drop over for a few minutes this evening to discuss some tax problem, but he said to tell you he’d be right back. In the meantime you should try to relax. And don’t worry, dear. We know that whatever happened, our little Marty just couldn’t have been to blame.”

  “Oh Mother,” Martha said and started crying all over again.

  Her mother left then, and it was sometime later that there was another knock on the door and Tom stuck his head in.

  “Hey Marty,” he said, “have you seen my—Hey, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Martha sobbed. “Go away.”

  But Tom didn’t go away. He came over and stood by the bed. He stood there shuffling around for a while, and then he patted Martha’s shoulder, which made her cry harder than ever.

  “Tell me, Marty,” he said. “What is it?”

  “I can’t. Go ask them. They’ll tell you.”

  “Okay. Okay,” Tom said. “But take it easy. It can’t be that bad.” And he went away.

  Sometime, not too long after that, Martha cried herself into a very sound sleep. Much later she was vaguely aware of someone coming in and taking her shoes off and covering her up. The next thing that happened was a new day.

  Martha woke up slowly and reluctantly, knowing that she’d rather not wake up before she was able to remember why. Then she realized that she was still wearing her clothes from the day before, and it all came back in a great suffocating wave.

  When Martha hurried into the dining room a few minutes later, everyone else was already there. All of them, all the Abbotts, were sitting around the table—her father and mother, Grandmother Abbott, Cath and Tom. For a moment they all looked at her without saying anything, but even before they spoke Martha knew that something had made a very great difference.

  20

  THAT DAY, THE NEXT day after Martha and Ivy were accused by Kelly, was a time that no one in the Abbott family would ever forget. When Martha walked into the dining room that morning, all the rest of them already knew something that made a very great difference. Martha heard about it later in bits and pieces.

  She heard that after Tom had found her crying, he had gone to the kitchen, where his mother and grandmother were, and asked what was the matter with the Mouse. So Mrs. Abbott explained, trying to make it sound not too serious so as not to worry Tom, who was always too quick to get caught up in everyone else’s problems. When she finished the story, she said, “We don’t really think that Martha was involved, but if it turns out that she was, it should be easy to prove that she was very little to blame. She has never been in any trouble in her life except when she was under the influence of that Carson child. It’s very much our fault for not being more firm about ending the relationship.”

  Tom hadn’t said a word while Mrs. Abbott was talking, but his face had looked more and more strange; and when she had finished, he suddenly reached out and snatched a dishtowel and bowl out of his mother’s hands and threw them across the room with all his might.
The bowl smashed into the refrigerator with a great shattering crash, and Tom turned and stalked into the living room and sat there, silent and glowering, refusing to speak to anybody until his father came home from the Simmons’.

  Then Tom told all of them about what had really been happening. He started by explaining that one of his friends, Brent Hardison, whose parents had been bridge friends of the Abbotts for years, was a pusher.

  “A pusher,” Tom said impatiently, when his father asked him what on earth he thought he was talking about. “A pusher. A dope peddler. He buys grass and speed and acid in the city, and he sells them at school. He’s been doing it for months.”

  Then Tom went on to say that on Saturday night he and two other guys had some pills that one of the guys got from Brent. Tom wasn’t sure what they were. Maybe speed, maybe not. Tom hadn’t taken much stuff like that before, and he didn’t know too much about it. Anyway when the effects began to wear off, they decided that they wanted to buy some more, but they were all broke by then—all three of them. They were in one of the guys’ cars, parked down on Warwick near the Junior High, and all of a sudden Tom remembered that when he was in school there, he was the one who took the cafeteria money to the office, because he was such a good reliable boy. And he had seen where the secretary always put it, along with the money from all the other rooms, in the drawer of her desk.

  Because they were still feeling strange from the pills, Tom couldn’t remember all the details too clearly, but he did remember that when it turned out there wasn’t any money in the drawer, they had all gotten angry and smashed things up a little. Then they had climbed back out the window and gone home.

  The earthquake that shook the Abbotts’ house that night had aftershocks that went on shaking for a long time. Tom and the two other boys who had broken into the school were not sent away to jail or reform school as Martha had feared that she would be. Instead, after their fathers had paid for the damage, they were only put on probation, for a long time; and Tom and the one other boy who also played football were kicked off the team. Brent Hardison, though, spent a long time in Juvenile Hall and then was sent away to a boarding school by his family.