Pale Phoenix (18 page)

Abby squeezed her arm. "Oh, of course. I always do. I went to New York, where I took a position as a companion to Deborah Peterson. And when I left them, I went west. That's how I met Luke on the wagon trail to Kansas. Oh—it was all a long time ago. Marrying him, watching him sicken...." Her voice trailed off. Snow crunched under their boots as they made their way back to the house. Fine powdery snow sifted off Abby's hat, nearly the color of her hair. "Anyway, I managed to survive. Somehow I keep on managing."

Miranda stuffed her hands deep into her pockets as they turned into her driveway. Despite the welcome lights from the living room windows, she felt lost. Abby was so old. So incredibly, impossibly old. She might still have a thirteen-year-old's body, and a thirteen-year-old's emotions, but the long years of living must have given her the wisdom and experience of a much older soul. Miranda longed suddenly for the snide, smirky Abby.
She
could be dealt with. But a mystical, long-suffering Abby was something else again. The girl at her side had known one loss after another, more losses than Miranda could imagine. Her husband, her family, her friends, her possessions—everything she treasured—time had stolen them all away.

But maybe not everything, after all.

"So you never got your statue back?" Miranda asked casually as they climbed the porch steps.

"Nope," said Abby sadly. "Never saw that old phoenix again."

And Miranda smiled.

M
IRANDA GRABBED
Abby's hand and pulled her to a stop. "I have to tell you before I burst," she said. "I have a statue of a phoenix, too. I bought it from Dan at the flea market. Mrs. Hooton said it had been donated to the museum in a box with a lot of things from Boston."

Abby stared at her, then opened the door and stepped inside. "A lot of people might have statues of birds." She shrugged off her heavy coat and hung it in the closet. "Mine was unique. It was a whistle."

"Mine is a whistle, too!" Miranda tossed her coat into the closet and tugged Abby toward the stairs. "Come on upstairs where we can be private, and I'll show you."

Miranda crossed straight to her window seat and sank down, digging into the pocket of her jeans. "Here it is," she said, and held the little figure to her lips. As she blew the sweet note into the air, Abby's eyes grew wide. Silently she reached out her hand, and Miranda placed the phoenix in her palm.

Abby turned the phoenix over and over in her hands, her eyes closed. She pressed the cold stone to her face, against one cheek, then put it to her lips and blew.

"Well?" Miranda was eager, deeply expectant.

Abby lifted tear-filled eyes to Miranda's. "Oh, Mandy," she whispered. "It
is
my phoenix." She picked at the green felt that covered the bottom as a protective base. "But this shouldn't be here. It's covering up the little woman."

"What woman?"

Abby handed the statue back to Miranda. "Go on, take it off and we'll see. My hands are shaking too much."

Miranda scraped at the circle of felt with her fingernail.

"Peel it off," urged Abby. "Captain Longridge probably stuck it on so the statue wouldn't scratch his precious display tables. But when Willow gave me the bird, it was pure stone. Can you see it yet? On the base there should be a picture of a woman with a basket or something balanced on her head. It's hard to see, it's so small." Abby waited impatiently until Miranda pulled the last of the old felt from the base of the whistle.

The tiny etching was primitive, scratched deep into the stone. A female figure, arms raised to hold the urn or basket she carried on her head, faced sideways, one foot lifted slightly as if she were in motion. Miranda and Abby bumped heads as they bent over the phoenix. Miranda let out her breath in a ragged gasp.

"Oh, Abby!" She sank back, grinning. "It
is
yours. I knew it had to be."

Abby stared at her with round eyes. "But how?"

"Because there has to be a link between us. Why do you think I'm supposed to help you? Why can I hear your crying when no one else ever has before? Why me? It isn't as if we're close or share any special bond.... I mean we're both about the same age, both girls, we go to the same school and so on, but that's the sort of thing you've had in common with lots of people. I didn't know what else there could be until you told me the story tonight. Abby, listen. You've never lived with someone before who had your phoenix!"

Abby cradled the statue to her. "Old bird," she murmured with a faraway smile. "What a trip it has been for you! All the way from the Indian woman to my pocket, then to Captain Longridge's collection, then to the Garnet High School flea market...."

"And into my pocket." Miranda laughed. "And only God knows where else before."

They were silent, each thinking about the long journey the phoenix had made to be reunited with Abby here in this room. After a while Abby spoke. "So now we have proof that you're meant to help me. But
how?
That's what we've got to figure out."

Miranda frowned. "I wonder if the phoenix is the key. I mean, you had it in your apron pocket when the fire started, right? It's something you had that no one else did. I bet it is what saved you. Remember what Willow said about second chances? And I felt weird whenever I blew it. In fact, I had it with me each time I heard you crying. So the phoenix must have
let
me hear you. It must have some ancient, powerful magic."

Abby was paler than ever. "I told you, people in the village thought Willow was a witch."

"I don't believe in witches, Abby."

"But you said you think the phoenix is magic. How can you believe in magic and not believe in witches?"

Miranda bit her lip. "I don't know. But I guess I just believe in powers beyond what we can understand. It's like with religion. We don't understand everything, but we see evidence of God all around. Maybe some people understand things better than others—maybe the Indian woman was that kind of person. That doesn't mean she was a witch."

Abby regarded her. silently, clutching the phoenix tightly in her lap.

"But what an amazing gift," Miranda continued. "It saved your life. It's fantastic."
And now it's mine,
she thought with a sudden leap of her heart. Did that mean she, too, would be safe from death now? She reached out her hand for the phoenix and, slowly, Abby gave it to her. As her fingers closed on the cold stone, Miranda felt relief surge through her body. "Safe forever," she murmured.

Abby shook her head. "Safe from death, yes. But that isn't everything, believe me."

"Just think of it, Abby," said Miranda dreamily. "If our house caught on fire right now—or if the school bus got into a crash, or whatever—then maybe
I'd
be the one catapulted into the future. I'd be just like you, Abby. Do you think I'd be drawn back to this time, to the ruin of my house, just like you're drawn back to the ruin of yours?" It was a fantastic notion. Then another idea gripped her. "Hey, maybe that's what happened to Willow herself! Maybe that's how she got the phoenix in the first place."

"You mean someone gave it to her once, and it saved her from death, and she lived nearly forever? You mean, when she gave me the statue, she might have been hundreds of years old already—and no one ever knew?"

"It would be easier to hide the fact that you never changed if you were already grown up when you were saved by the phoenix," Miranda decided. She stroked it, marveling at her good fortune. "I'll have to make sure I always carry you with me, little bird."

"But—but the phoenix isn't yours," said Abby. "It's mine."

Miranda stared at her. "Don't be selfish. You've already had your big rescue."

Abby shook her head. "Willow gave it to me. No one gave it to you."

"Yeah, but I bought it. It was a legal transaction."

"No, it was dealing in stolen goods. Believe me, I've lived long enough to know all about the law. Mandy, I think the phoenix came to you specially so that we would be linked. So that you can help me return to my family."

Miranda, fingers closed tightly around the phoenix, resisted Abby's words. One part of her couldn't bear to give up the phoenix now that she knew what it could do. It would be like throwing away a life raft that drifted her way after a shipwreck.

But I haven't been in a shipwreck,
another part of her argued.
I have everything, and Abby has nothing.

Would the magic still work if the phoenix were not given freely? Had its magic worked for Captain Longridge, who had stolen it from Abby? Did the fact that the phoenix had ended its circuitous journey in Miranda's possession mean she had been specially chosen to help Abby? The answers to these questions drifting through Miranda's mind seemed important, but she felt too confused to figure out why. She looked over at Abby's tight, miserable face.

"I don't see why you need me at all," Miranda said. "Can't you just wish yourself back into the past
before
the fire the same way you wish yourself to the ruin? You could go back and cancel the birthday celebration for William. Make sure you're out of the house on the day the roof catches. Or, better yet, don't light a fire at all that day. Climb up on the roof and pour buckets of water all over to wet it, just to make sure. Then there wouldn't be a fire, and your family wouldn't get killed. You'll be with them, and you'll have done it on your own, and you won't have needed the phoenix after all." Miranda smiled with satisfaction at having solved Abby's troubles so neatly
and
found a way to keep the phoenix for herself.

"I'm not a witch, Mandy! I can't just wish myself to whatever time I want. Believe me, I've tried and tried. You don't understand. Whenever I go back, I find myself trapped at the ruin." She shook her head. "The phoenix has linked us up, and I think that's important. It must mean you can use its power." She brightened. "Maybe that's why it found you. Maybe it will let
you
wish yourself back in time and save us all before the fire starts."

"Me?" Miranda laughed uncomfortably.

"Won't you please try?" begged Abby. "Go back and stop the fire from starting? Think of how you feel about Dan. What if something happened so you never saw him again—until you met me and learned I might have the power to help you. Wouldn't you want me to try everything possible?"

Miranda lay back on the window seat and closed her eyes. She thought about Dan. What if she were snatched away from him now—and lived on for hundreds of years without him? "Oh, all right. All right, already," she relented. "I'll wish myself back there right now." Resolved, Miranda stood up and took the phoenix from Abby. "What do I do? Just close my eyes and wish—wish what?"

"Wait!" Abby jumped up, too. "You mustn't—I mean, you have to be careful."

Exasperated, Miranda looked at Abby.

"Maybe we both should go, Mandy," mused Abby. "I mean, I know I don't have the power to go back further than the fire myself, but if you do, and if you hold hands with me, maybe we'll
both
be transported."

Miranda tugged her fingers nervously through her curls. "I never thought about what I'll do if it really works," she admitted. "What if people can see me, and they all think I'm a witch?" Talking about time travel was fine when
Abby
was the time traveler. But Miranda felt she was looking into a void when she attempted to picture herself in a time long before she was born. Her head began to ache dully. She laughed uncertainly.

"Oh, please," urged Abby. "We just need to take some precautions."

"Precautions?"

Abby frowned. "We'll need clothes. And—I know! We'll take Dan along, too. That way, the two of you will be together if anything—happens."

"Abby! What do you mean?"

"I just wouldn't want you to be without him the way I've been without William."

Miranda rubbed her eyes. She felt as if she might wake up any moment and find this whole conversation with Abby had been a dream. Maybe the past several weeks were all just part of a weird dream. It was a comforting thought.

Then Abby touched her on the arm. "The phoenix."

With a groan, Miranda handed it to her. Maybe the phoenix was all just part of the dream, too.

"Good." Abby stowed the phoenix in her pocket. "Now you go call Dan and tell him what's happening. Tell him to come over here—or we'll go there, if he wants. I'll write the letter."

"What letter?" Things were going too fast for Miranda. She felt dazed.

"If we just disappear without saying anything, your parents might worry about you. It's going to be hard enough for you to explain where I am when I don't come back with you."

Miranda hadn't considered that angle at all. "Wait a minute. They'll be really upset. They'll have the police looking for you, and the child welfare people. They'll think you were kidnapped or something. And they'll stick me in an asylum when I try to explain."

"That's why I'm going to write the letter. Oh, Mandy, don't chicken out on me now."

"I'm not..."

"Good." Abby sighed with relief. "So I'll write it now while you arrange things with Dan. I'll tell them I've gone to a distant fourth cousin I just remembered I had. In—in Canada, someplace. And, wait a sec—you'd better find something to wear. At least wear a long skirt. Otherwise, if the phoenix really does give you the power to take us back before the fire, and if people can see us, you'll be locked in the stocks for indecency."

Miranda's eyes widened. "I don't know what I have. What will you take?"

"Oh, just an old thing I've saved." She went to Miranda's desk, sat down, and reached for pen and paper.

Miranda walked slowly to her parents' bedroom to phone Dan. He was silent when she outlined their plan.

After a long moment he finally spoke. "You don't really think this will work, do you?"

"Dan—I just don't know. But you said yourself we had to try to help Abby. She's certain I'm meant to go back and fix things so that her house doesn't burn." She kept her voice low. "She thinks the phoenix will give me the power to travel back. If it doesn't work, what have we got to lose? And if it does work—oh, Dan. I need you to be with me."