Stealing Magic (8 page)

“
Où est le parc?… Il fait beau aujourd’hui.”

“Are you going to be doing that much longer?” Claire asked.

“Okay, okay. I’ll just listen,” Ruthie said as her sister climbed into bed and turned the lights out. Ruthie silently mouthed the words she heard through the earphones. They sounded beautiful. That surprised her; she was so used to French simply being what her mother taught, but she had never really listened to it. Ruthie fell asleep with the waterfall of words tumbling down into her ears.

She awoke to the sounds of general chaos in the Stewart household on Friday morning along with her cell phone ringing on her bedside table.

“Hey, Ruthie,” Jack’s voiced croaked at her.

“You sound awful!” Ruthie responded.

“Yeah, and I feel worse. I can’t go to the museum today.” He paused for a sneeze. “I have a fever, and my mom says no way. I think she wants to talk to your mom.”

“Bummer.” Ruthie’s spirits dropped. What about Louisa? Warning her couldn’t wait.

Her mom hustled into the room. “Come on, Ruthie. Time to get moving.”

“Mom, Jack’s sick. He has a fever and everything.”

“Oh, dear!” her mother said. She conferred with Lydia on the phone. Then she made a quick call to Mrs. McVittie, who was always offering to put either of the girls up in a pinch. So it was decided that Ruthie would spend the week with Mrs. McVittie instead of with a contagious Jack.

Ruthie threw her clothes on and brushed her teeth. She had already packed her duffel with everything she needed for the week. She loved Mrs. McVittie, but as long as Jack was sick, spring break was going to be slow.

An hour later Mrs. McVittie opened the door to her apartment. “Hello, dear.” A warm cinnamon aroma wafted into the hall. “Come in.”

Ruthie’s mom handed Mrs. McVittie their itinerary and a list of contact numbers. “Don’t worry about a thing, Helen,” Mrs. McVittie said. “Have a good trip.”

Her mom pulled Ruthie into a huge hug. “Be good. I love you, and we’ll call every night.”

“Now off you go,” Mrs. McVittie said, shooing her out the door.

Once Ruthie was in Mrs. McVittie’s apartment she felt better. The panicky sense that she would be going stir-crazy all day began to recede. The apartment was fairly large—especially for one person—and filled with interesting
objects. Mrs. McVittie had grown up in Boston but moved to Chicago as an adult. She’d lived in this apartment for over fifty years.

“Let’s get you settled.” Ruthie followed her down the hallway filled with old drawings in ornate frames. The guest bedroom was second on the right and had its own bathroom connected to it.
Heaven
, Ruthie thought.

“You can hang your clothes in the closet and use this chest of drawers,” Mrs. McVittie said. “Then come sit with me in the kitchen.”

Ruthie hadn’t planned on actually hanging up her clothes, but she didn’t want to insult Mrs. McVittie by leaving them in a heap in the duffel bag. She put them away in the drawers and closet. She had even packed the beaded handbag; she’d gotten into the habit of checking on it before bed, just to see if it was exhibiting a special glow. She placed it gently in the top drawer. Then Ruthie let herself fall onto the bed; of course Mrs. McVittie would have nothing but a real down comforter and pillows. She lay there and threw her arms out at her sides, feeling the feathery softness conform to her shape. She could get used to this!

Ruthie got up and walked through the apartment on her way to the kitchen. There were so many oriental rugs on the floor that they overlapped in places. A large carved stone fireplace on one wall of the living room faced another wall of tall windows with a grand piano sitting next to them—you could look out the window as you
played. There were two sofas and multiple stuffed chairs, all with reading lamps next to them. The living room flowed into the dining room, where a long table was covered with piles of books.

“Sit down, Ruthie,” Mrs. McVittie said when Ruthie came into the kitchen, a cozy space filled with old copper pots and well-used cookbooks. “Would you like some milk?” A plate in the middle of the table was piled high with sticky cinnamon buns.

“Yes, thank you,” Ruthie said.

“It’s too bad Jack is sick.” Mrs. McVittie put a cold glass of milk in front of Ruthie and sat down. “Tell me—what is your newest adventure?”

Ruthie wasn’t sure how Mrs. McVittie knew, but it felt natural to talk to her about everything that had happened since last Sunday. After all, Mrs. McVittie and her sister had experienced the magic in the rooms themselves when they were young. And she had helped Ruthie and Jack figure everything out by reading Sophie’s French journal for them and, most important, by going along with the story about finding Mr. Bell’s lost album in her storeroom. Even though Jack had already told Mrs. McVittie about the note in the bento box, Ruthie explained about her dream and how it had set everything in motion.

“You two did quite a daring thing by leaving the note in the bento box. If my sister and I had done something like that, who knows what might have happened!”

“Maybe Caroline Bell might have found it when she
was a little girl,” Ruthie said. “Or maybe Jack and I might have.”

“Anything is possible, isn’t it?”

Then Ruthie told her about meeting Louisa Meyer outside room E27.

“You must warn her to leave Europe,” Mrs. McVittie agreed. “It was a terrible time.”

“I’m so worried that we won’t be able to find her when we go back. Or what if we can’t convince her? We’re just kids.”

“You will find a way, I don’t doubt. Wait—I have an idea.” Mrs. McVittie rose from her chair. “Follow me.”

Ruthie followed her back through the apartment and down the hall past the guest room and a study, into her bedroom. Mrs. McVittie opened a door to the most enormous closet Ruthie had ever seen. Inside were hundreds of articles of clothing, neatly arranged on racks that filled the entire space.

“It used to be a third bedroom, but I had it converted to a closet. You can see why,” she explained.

“Mrs. McVittie, where did you get all these clothes?”

“Some are mine, and some I’ve collected because they were beautiful.” She walked along one wall and pulled out a dress. “I wore this when I was about your age.” She held up a blue dress with a white collar and sash and puffy sleeves. “I think this would fit you. Here, try it on.”

Ruthie took it off the hanger and slipped it on over her T-shirt and jeans. It fit, but when she glanced in the mirror
she wasn’t so sure about the style—she thought it made her look like a six-year-old!

“Isn’t this fun?” Mrs. McVittie said. “I remember wearing that dress. Here, how about this one?” She handed Ruthie a yellow one, without puffy sleeves and with a differently shaped collar and patch pockets. A black Scottie dog silhouette was stitched near the bottom. Ruthie admired herself in the mirror. This dress looked kind of cool in a vintage way.

“I think that is just the one,” Mrs. McVittie said. “You should wear it when you go to find Louisa. You’ll fit right in.”

“That’s a great idea, Mrs. McVittie. Thanks!”

“I might have something to fit Jack too, with a little luck.” She rummaged through the closet and pulled out a pair of light-colored pants that had a different cut than Jack’s usual cargo pants, a white polo shirt, and a green V-neck sweater. She even had shoes to match. “These belonged to a cousin of mine. I think they’re charming!”

“I don’t know if Jack will wear these,” Ruthie said doubtfully. “But they look like they’ll fit.”

Mrs. McVittie was tireless, and they spent a long while looking through all the clothes, which were organized by decade. Drawers filled to overflowing contained all kinds of accessories; jewelry, scarves and handbags spanning more than seventy years. It made the time pass on what could have been a very slow day.
Ruthie took a cab to the museum Saturday morning and loved the freedom of riding in one by herself. Soon she was climbing the grand steps with her cell phone to her ear, Mrs. McVittie’s voice reminding her to call again when her lesson was over. She went directly to the meeting place by the information desk just inside the front doors.

Dora Pommeroy was already waiting. Ruthie observed her stylish clothing—skinny dark jeans, a silky turquoise T-shirt and a light-colored jacket with lots of gold buttons. Several strands of pearls and beads were looped loosely around her neck, along with an Art Institute ID tag. Her shiny, white-blond hair was pulled back, like before, and she wore a different pair of cool glasses. Ruthie was wearing regular jeans, another Oakton T-shirt, and her sweatshirt. She felt so boring.

“Good morning, Ruthie!” Dora smiled and looked at her watch. “You’re right on time. Excellent! Shall we get started?” Ruthie made a mental note to always be on time for Dora since it seemed to please her.

Dora flashed her ID at the guards as she walked past the entrance, Ruthie following.

“Before we begin,” Dora said, stopping at a bench near the grand staircase, “let’s go over the supplies I’ve brought for you.”

Ruthie watched as Dora pulled art supplies from an enormous leather tote bag: a sketchbook (on which she had already written Ruthie’s name), a small metal pencil case containing six artist’s pencils, a squishy gray gum eraser,
and something that looked like a pencil but was really a stick of rolled-up paper, called a smudger, for shading. Dora explained how to use each item.

Probably because it was the first Saturday of spring break, the museum wasn’t very crowded. They went downstairs into Gallery 11, which was emptier than Ruthie had ever seen it during the day.

“This is great,” Dora said. “We’ll be able to linger over one room for a long time without annoying anyone. Do you have a favorite?”

“Every time I pick a favorite, it changes as soon as I look at another room!” Ruthie answered.

“I know; me too!” Dora agreed. “Let’s start with the basics: one object.” She moved down the wall, needing to bend to look through the glass, and stopped at room E1. “Why don’t you pick something from this room?”

Christina’s room!

“Would you like to start with a different one?”

“No. This one is fine,” Ruthie tried to say casually. It was, after all, the first room, but the choice made her uneasy.

“How about that stand there, with the beautiful book on it near the window?”

Christina’s book! Ruthie caught herself before she made an audible gulp. She and Jack had learned all about the magic of the key from this book—a book filled with so much magic that it had carried the voice of the young duchess across the centuries for Ruthie to hear. It would
be hard for her to stand there and keep calm while trying to pretend it was just a run-of-the-mill miniature.

“On second thought,” Dora began, moving down the wall a few windows, “let’s start with something simpler. Here, room E5.”

Ruthie went along, relieved. The room was a cottage kitchen from England in the early 1700s. “I think I could draw this.” She pointed to an unadorned table on the right-hand side of the room. A small blue pitcher and a common white bowl sat on it. Next to the table a bay window looked out onto a beautiful garden bursting with flowers, and she could see neighboring houses. Across the room, an open door piqued Ruthie’s imagination. Where did it lead? Was this world alive? It appeared perfectly still, but if she had the key and were inside …

Ruthie got to work while Dora opened her own sketchbook to draw along with her. Dora instructed her to do the best job she could so she could see her skill level. When she was finished, Ruthie handed her sketch to Dora.

“Very good! I think you have a feel for this!”

Ruthie beamed. They spent about a half hour on this room, drawing a plain wooden chair and a candlestick, Dora giving drawing tips as Ruthie sketched. She looked at Dora’s pages. “Yours are
sooo
good.”

“Practice. But you know, when you love something, it comes easily. And I love these rooms!”

“So do I!” Ruthie felt a bond with Dora, which kind of
surprised her. How could Ruthie have anything in common with an elegant person like Dora Pommeroy?

Dora let Ruthie pick a few more rooms to work on, and the two of them talked as they sketched. She was so easy to talk to, and Ruthie found herself getting very comfortable with her—more comfortable than she’d been with any teacher before. Since Dora was doing her own research about the rooms, she was excited to hear about the paper Ruthie and Jack had written for Ms. Biddle. Ruthie told her everything she remembered learning from the archives.

“I should make you my research assistant.” Dora laughed. “You remind me of myself at your age!”

“Have you ever decorated a room to look exactly like any of the Thorne Rooms?” Ruthie asked, sketching a vase from room E26.

“I’d love to try, but it is difficult these days to find antiques as wonderful as the objects Mrs. Thorne created. If you can find them, they’re very expensive,” Dora explained.

“This is one of my favorites,” Ruthie said as they approached E27.

“I love this one too,” Dora agreed. “I love the view of Paris over the balcony.”

“My dad was telling me about this period in history. It was pretty scary.”

“But the design style was fabulous: high modernist.” Dora changed the subject. “Now, I’ll have time to see you
tomorrow for another lesson if you’d like. I’ll show you how to use one-point perspective, and you can practice till the next lesson. Okay?”

“Okay.” Ruthie was disappointed that the lesson was over.

Dora walked her upstairs and out of the museum to help her hail a cab for the short ride back to Mrs. McVittie’s. Waiting for the traffic light in front of the museum to turn green, Ruthie watched through the window as Dora strode effortlessly up the stone steps and disappeared back inside.