Pale Phoenix (19 page)

She listened to the silence, clutching the receiver. Finally he answered. "You're on."

They arranged to meet back at his house in fifteen minutes. Miranda told him to find an old-time costume. Then she hung up and ran to her room to hunt for something that would pass as a long Puritan skirt. Abby was no longer at the desk.

With a flash of inspiration, Miranda hauled down a big dress box from the top shelf of her closet. Opening it, she pulled out a black, floor-length skirt she had worn as part of a witch costume at the high school's Halloween party. That, a white blouse, and a heavy shawl—borrowed from her mother's closet—would have to suffice. She glanced down at her shoes, deciding that sneakers would not pass muster. So she donned her black snow boots and felt glad that the long skirt hid all but the toes. She looked nothing like a Puritan, but at least no one could say she wasn't decently covered.

Abby met her in the hallway, still dressed in jeans, and handed Miranda a neatly folded piece of paper. "Here's the letter. Better keep it in your desk till you need to give it to your parents." She tried to suppress a smirk at Miranda's costume but failed. Still, her voice was serious. "If people ask what's wrong with your hair, tell them you had scarlet fever and it all fell out. That's why it's so short. And don't you think you should save your costume until we get to Dan's?"

Miranda pulled the costume off rapidly, revealing her own jeans and a sweater. Then she tucked the letter into her top desk drawer and hurried downstairs behind Abby.

Helen and Philip were reading in the living room. The girls stopped in the doorway. "We have to go back to Dan's," Miranda told them. "Just for—for a little while." She hoped that would be true.

"We left something over there," added Abby. She looked at their faces carefully, then sighed. "You know," she said softly, "I have really enjoyed my time with you. Thank you."

They looked back at her curiously. "We're glad," said Philip.

"Hurry back," added Helen. She looked back down at her book.

"We will." Miranda headed for the front door.
If all goes well.

Outside, Miranda looked up at the icicle daggers hanging from the gutter on the porch roof. Snow had blown onto the porch, dusting the green glider swing with white. Moonlight gleamed on the fresh snow and caught the sparkle of ice in the trees. The girls walked with giant steps across the snow-packed road. Miranda's costume was packed tightly into her bulging bookbag. Abby carried her beaded satchel. Dan was waiting for them just inside the door and held a finger to his lips.

"Ssh, come with me," he whispered, and motioned them down a corridor toward the museum wing of the old house. "I don't want Buddy to hear us. He's just gone to bed, but he'll be out in a second if he hears you. My parents are watching the news. The museum wing is the best place to try this experiment." He winked at Miranda. "If nothing happens, we can sit around in our costumes and feel at home among all the antiques."

How could he joke when Miranda felt so nervous? She followed him and Abby down the hall to the museum wing and entered a small, low-ceilinged room lined with glass-topped display cases. Abby dropped her beaded satchel and began pulling garments out hastily. She turned her back on Dan and Miranda and took off her sweater.

"Let's hurry," she said, her voice muffled as she pulled a long dress over her head. "Mandy? Can you help with these buttons?"

Dan stared. "Hey, that dress looks like it could be in one of our exhibits."

Abby held her long hair out of the way so Miranda had access to the row of tiny buttons down the back. "It's from when I worked as a parlor maid for a family named Kauffman in Philadelphia for about three years."

"When?"

"Oh, hmmm." Abby draped a white shawl across her shoulders, her forehead screwed up in thought. "Around 1830 or so. 1836? I forget."

"Give me a break," Dan muttered. As he stood there staring at Abby, Miranda saw something like fear settle into his eyes. Silent, he dressed quickly in knee breeches and a ruffled white shirt.

Miranda whistled. "Pretty fancy."

"Thank my mom for these," he said, his voice shaky. "I got them out of a box she's donating to the Garnet Little Theater."

"The wrong century," said Abby. "Men didn't wear ruffles in Garnet when I lived here. Don't you have a long cloak or something so that you can cover yourself?"

Dan shook his head, his expression dour. "It seems to me that one old outfit looks pretty much like any other," he muttered.

"And you want to be a museum curator?" sniffed Abby. "Don't be ridiculous. Fashions change every year. Does what we wear now look like what your parents or grandparents wore when they were your age? And there you're only talking about fifty or sixty years."

Miranda noticed Abby didn't say "our age." In fact, Abby seemed more different than ever as they readied themselves for possible adventure. The air of superiority that annoyed Miranda so much now seemed to come from true authority. "Let's get on with this," Miranda said. "If Dan and I look out of place, well, even you will look out of place, Abby, in that dress from 1830 or whenever. Let's just try the experiment. If we need other clothes while we're there, well, we can buy some, I guess. I'm bringing my wallet."

"Buy some with what?" asked Dan. "We couldn't use modern money."

"There aren't any stores anyway," said Abby in exasperation. "Do you think we'll just waltz into a mall and choose new clothes from the racks?" She rolled her eyes. This was the prickly Abby that Miranda knew so well. Miranda looked at Dan, and both of them shrugged.

Abby shook her head at them. "You two. I'd like to see how you'd adapt. I bet the first time you had to do anything—even something simple, like lighting a fire—you'd be crying all over the place."

"What do you mean?" Dan sounded indignant. "I was a boy scout, once."

"No matches, probably," Miranda reminded him.

"Oh. Well—"

"No matches, no light bulbs, no indoor plumbing," said Abby in a singsong. "No TV or radio or film. No airplanes, no computers, no hospitals, no Christmas trees."

"No partridge in a pear tree?" asked Dan.

"Well, maybe wild partridges. But no imported pears!"

"And no bathrooms," added Miranda. "Right?"

"No toilet paper, either." Abby smiled wickedly. "Nothing that you two take for granted. But no bombs, either. No missiles. No air pollution. No crack dealers." She shook her head at them. "It's the same world, but a totally different one, too. And I think you'd have a hard time."

"Come on, Abby, give us a little credit," Dan said lightly. "I almost expect to hear you say, 'Kids nowadays, I declare! What is the world coming to?'" He raised his voice to a falsetto. "Just like my grandmother."

"Just remember, Dan Hooton, that I'm old enough to be your great-great-grandmother's great-great-grandmother."

"So show some respect, you whippersnapper," added Miranda.

Their banter had driven the fearful look from Dan's eyes. He spoke with new confidence. "Look, are we going to try this, or what?"

Abby clasped her hands in front of her. "Yes," she whispered, and Miranda realized that Abby's edginess came from nerves. "Come here. Stand here with me." Abby indicated a place in the center of the room. "Mandy, you hold the phoenix. We'll touch it and touch you at the same time. Just for good measure." She handed Miranda the stone bird.

Dan and Abby each placed a finger on the stone figure Miranda held, then put an arm around her. Miranda edged closer to Dan so that their bodies touched.

"Okay, close your eyes," said Abby. "Now it's up to you, Mandy, to wish us back—back before the fire. If I'm right about you, the phoenix ought to give you the power. Just remember, you have to wish hard. Think of it as a matter of life or death—
my
life or death. You need to wish for this more than you've ever wanted anything. And then it will work. It
must
"

If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride!
Unbidden the words to the old nursery rhyme rose to Miranda's lips, but she bit them back.

"Hang on to your hats," said Dan, and Miranda laughed weakly. She closed her eyes, but she was worried. She wanted to help Abby, she really did. But would the strength of her wanting it be enough to make the phoenix carry them back to a time before the fire at Abby's house? Was that how the magic worked?

They waited a long time, it seemed, but nothing happened. Miranda opened one eye. She found Dan looking at her. They both looked at Abby, whose face was screwed up in concentration. But nothing happened.

Miranda leaned against Dan and relaxed. It was a relief, in a way, that time travel wasn't so easy.

Dan smiled down at her.

Abby's eyes flew open. "You're not trying! Neither of you."

"Oh, Abby, I was," Miranda assured her. "But you see for yourself nothing has changed."

"I really should have packed my contact solution," added Dan, grinning with relief that nothing had happened. "In fact, there are a lot of things I wouldn't want to be caught without. Like what about medicine? What if we got sick?"

"Well, at least we've had our vaccinations," said Miranda. "But I'd miss the daily luxuries. You know, like hot showers and conditioner and toothpaste!"
And deodorant
, she thought.
And tampons.

"Come on, shut up," snapped Abby.

"All right." Dan sighed. He winked at Miranda as they moved close together again and touched the phoenix with their fingers. "Nice knowing you."

"Ssshh!" hissed Abby. And Dan fell abruptly silent.

The three made a tight knot in that small room, the phoenix at their center. The room was very still. "Close your eyes again," whispered Abby. "This time
I'm
going to wish us back. I'll wish to go back before the fire by one day. And I'm wishing we can be seen, that we will be real to other people." She moved even closer to them. "Wish it harder. Wish it with all your souls."

From somewhere a wind began to blow.

Dan gripped Miranda's hand hard. She kept her eyes closed and squeezed back, trying to concentrate on Pilgrims. When nothing more seemed to happen, she let her mind drift on the currents of wind. Don't think, not of the Puritans, not of Indians, not of witches.
Don't think, don't think, don't think.
The refrain ran through her mind, and she realized it was right; imagining what she had learned from textbooks and television, from modern imagination, could only be false, and would only hold them back from wherever the phoenix might take them.

The wind swirled faster. For a moment fear surged in Miranda's mind, but still she did not open her eyes. She fought her fear back, buried it deep, and imagined herself riding on the currents. Only air, cold, empty air, a biting wind such as she and Abby had felt last night on their walk, then cool air, air that warmed slightly until it seemed to be a fresh breeze with a hint of sea and a taste of salt. Miranda tilted her head back, eyes tightly closed, body pressed against Abby's and Dan's, finger fast on the stone phoenix. The fresh breeze in her head changed suddenly, became heavy, hot, and acrid. Dan coughed. Miranda's eyes stung. And very far away the sound of Abby's voice came to them: "Open your eyes now. We're here."

M
IRANDA KNEW
she was standing on soft grass instead of floorboards, but at first she could not bring herself to open her eyes. She gasped as the acrid air penetrated her lungs. Her eyes opened on a desolate scene. It was daylight now, and she, Dan, and Abby were standing in a glade about twenty feet from a pile of still-smoking rubble. The hot summer air was heavy with charred bits of wood, cloth, and paper. There was dead silence; even the birds seemed to have deserted the scene. Thick forest surrounded the clearing, except to their right, where a wide path sloped down through dense undergrowth to a large house. Miranda recognized it with a catch of breath: the Prindle House. She was terribly afraid.

Abby's sobs filled the charred air, but for the moment Miranda was helpless to comfort her. Her mind reeled with the sights and sounds and smells of this new place. For a second she felt she couldn't breathe. Then she felt Dan beside her and pressed against him. He gripped her arms so tightly it hurt.

"It
worked,
" he whispered raggedly. "Oh, Mandy."

Abby's sobs, painful and wracking, rose to a wail. Miranda stepped closer to her. "Abby?" she whispered.

"It didn't work," she gasped. "We're back at the ruin, and it's just like always. The fire's already happened and there's nothing left to do. Nothing!"

"Oh, Abby," said Dan, and he put his arm around her, drawing her close.

The three of them stood in a huddle, Miranda and Dan staring at each other over Abby's bowed head. Miranda saw in Dan's face the shock she knew must be mirrored in her own. The impossibility of what had just happened to them, the strangeness of this desolate place, left Miranda weak and frightened. She wanted nothing in the world more than to be home with her parents in her own house in her own time. Dan's stricken face was white as he gazed around them. Miranda groped for his free hand and squeezed it hard.

"I want to go home," he whispered.

"Oh, Dan. Me, too."

Abby heard them and, gulping back tears, raised her head. "Oh, Mandy. I was counting on you."

"I'm sorry. I wished as hard as I could."

Abby looked around at the burned ruin, then down at the phoenix in her hand. She threw the statue onto the ground. "But it didn't work."

"Well,
something
worked," said Dan. He stared in wonder at the expanse of wild forest and the wreckage of the house still smoking in front of them. "We're here, all of us."

"Look at the Prindle House," breathed Miranda. "It's amazing. I can't believe it."

"Watch out," hissed Dan. "Here comes someone!"

"Let's hide!" rasped Miranda, fear stabbing sharply as she saw the heavyset man walking toward them from around the side of the Prindle House. He wore a rumpled white shirt and dark pants that buckled just below his knees, and his pale hair was the color of Abby's.