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  Neither of them spoke until the dishes were all done and put away.

  Sally was thinking, however. Thinking about Elizabeth. Thinking about the attic. Maybe there was a clue up there. Maybe if she looked very carefully, she could find something.

  Summoning up all her bravery, she asked at last, in a rather faltering voice, “I wonder — if I could go back to the attic?”

  Her aunt turned from the cupboard into which she was placing the last of the dishes. She looked at her. “Still dreaming about Elizabeth, are you? Well, perhaps tomorrow. We’ll see. Right now, I think you’d better go outside and get some fresh air and sunshine. You can take Shadow out with you, now that the two of you are such friends.”

  Well, thought Sally, as she turned and walked toward the back door, it was better than nothing. Aunt Sarah had said “perhaps.” But it was going to be awfully hard waiting for tomorrow. Her throat was feeling a little sore, but she wasn’t going to mention it.

  “Oh, and Sally,” called her aunt as she and Shadow were going down the back steps of the porch to the tangled old garden, “I thought perhaps tomorrow we could, if you like, make some gingerbread cookies.” But before Sally could reply, her aunt had closed the door and disappeared.

  Chapter 10 - A Friend

  “Aunt Sarah’s funny, isn’t she?” Sally whispered to Shadow. But Shadow was busily cleaning his left ear with a paw and did not bother to reply.

  “Was this ever a real garden?” Sally wondered as they began to walk together through the tall weeds and grass. The breeze lifted her hair just as she had imagined it would. The soft fur of the foxtails brushed her knees, and Shadow sneezed as if perhaps they tickled his nose. She could see his tail moving through the grass, even when she lost sight of the rest of him.

  The whisper of the moving grass rose all around them. Sally remembered how it had looked to her from her window. Like a green sea. She found that it was indeed a little like walking through water to make her way through the swaying grass. It flowed smoothly past her and resisted the movement of her legs just as she remembered the water doing at the lake where she sometimes stayed in the summer-time.

  She closed her eyes and imagined that she was standing knee-deep in water. In a moment her mother would call to her from the shore. When she opened her eyes, she saw a glitter of white showing through the thrashing grass at her feet. She bent to pick it up. She straightened and looked at the bit of sea shell curling up from the palm of her hand. For a moment it hardly seemed strange at all to find a shell out here. It looked like a broken piece of one of the shells in the parlor cupboard.

  She put the bit of shell in her pocket, wondering how it had come to be out here. She walked on, looking at the ground for other shells and attempting at the same time to avoid the tangled bushes that tore at her hair and her clothes. She began to notice, through the reaching branches, the fallen underbrush, and overgrown weeds, faint ghosts of paths that once must have led about the garden.

  “The other Sally must have walked here just like this, Shadow,” she said, “with Mrs. Niminy Piminy. She was a black cat just like you, only she was a lady, of course, and she lived in this very house. Shadow, where are you?”

  For the cat had entirely disappeared from view. “Now how could he have done that?” she wondered. She hadn’t even seen him go.

  “Here, Shadow,” she called. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” But there was no sign of Shadow that she could see, anywhere in the garden. The branches of the apple trees stirred, spilling sun bangles through their leaves. Sally watched them tremble on the very tips of the swaying grass, and then blow away to touch lightly on others. For a moment the entire garden shimmered. The pine trees, shaded by the building at the back of the garden, looked very solemn, dipping their dark tops to her as if they were bowing.

  The sun felt pleasantly warm on Sally’s head. No one at all seemed to be moving in the apartment houses on either side of the garden. (How strange they would have looked to the other Sally.) She looked up at the windows and remembered how the windows of these very buildings had seemed to stare at her only last night. Now they did not look frightening at all. Only empty, as if no one lived behind them. There was no movement, nor any sound either, from Aunt Sarah’s house. Only up at the open windows of her own bedroom, the yellow curtains fluttered in the breeze.

  How still it was. She might have been the only person awake in the whole world. The whispering of the grass sounded to Sally like the voices of the children who had played here long ago — the other Sally, and Patience, and little Bub. How nice it would be to have someone to play with! Shadow wasn’t really very satisfactory, even when he was around. She missed her friends at home.

  Snap! The sudden noise made her jump. She looked up at the high wall of the apartment building beneath which she was standing. Just above her head, the cord of a window shade was swaying back and forth, as if the shade had snapped up suddenly. To Sally’s surprise, she saw beneath the shade, and just showing over the edge of the window sill, a red ribbon tied in a neat bow. The bow was trembling. As Sally watched, the bow slowly rose and was followed by a bright yellow head, which was followed in turn by a pair of round blue eyes, a turned-up nose, and a curly mouth rather like Elizabeth’s, which seemed to be trying hard not to tremble.

  The girl — for it was a girl — leaned out of the window and looked down at her. Two very long yellow braids slipped forward and hung out of the window against the brick wall. The girl raised her hand and took a bite from a cooky. She continued to stare solemnly down at Sally.

  Sally stared back, too surprised to say anything.

  “Do you want a cooky?” whispered the girl.

  “Yes,” said Sally, and found that she was whispering too.

  The girl vanished again beneath the window sill, and shortly reappeared with another cooky in her hand. Leaning farther out of the window, she stretched an arm down to Sally. Sally stood up on her toes, braced herself against the building with one hand and with the other reached up and took the cooky from the girl. The end of one of the dangling braids tickled Sally’s cheek. Her hand brushed against the vines which were growing up the side of the building from Aunt Sarah’s garden.

  “Thank you,” she said. She looked at the cooky. It was a round one with crinkled edges and pink frosting. She took a bite. “It’s good,” she said, swallowing and smiling up at the girl.

  “My mother made them,” the girl said.

  “It’s very good. Your mother must be a good cook.” She ate some more of the cooky.

  “Yes, she is.”

  They stared at each other while they ate their cookies.

  “Would you like another?” offered the girl.

  Sally shook her head. “No, thank you,” she said. “I just finished lunch.”

  A silence fell between them.

  They both looked up while a bird sang briefly from the top of an apple tree.

  “What’s your name?” Sally asked at last, shading her eyes against the sun and peering at the girl.

  “Emily.”

  “Mine’s Sally. Can you come out and play?”

  At this, the girl shook her head. Her braids thumped against the brick wall. The end of her pink tongue crept out and nervously touched her upper lip.

  “Do you live here?” asked Sally, feeling disappointed. Still, perhaps they could talk for a while.

  The girl nodded. “Do you live there?” she asked, pointing at the house with her half-eaten cooky.

  “No,” said Sally, “I’m just visiting my Aunt Sarah.”

  “Oh,” said Emily. Her tongue darted out again. She leaned forward a little and lowered her voice so that Sally had to move even closer to hear her. “There was no one living in that house for a long, long time.” Her eyes grew very round, and her mouth trembled as she stared at the house. “It was all closed up. It was dark!” To Sally’s surprise, Emily shivered.

  “I know,” said Sally, wondering what was wrong with Emily. “I’m almost ten y
ears old. How old are you?”

  “Eight,” said Emily. “Eight years and two months.” She was not looking at Sally.

  Sally followed the direction of her gaze. Emily was looking up at the yellow curtains billowing at her windows.

  “That’s my room up there,” said Sally, pointing. “I have a little green fireplace. It’s very old.”

  Emily drew back from the window. Her braids slipped back inside over the sill. “Good-bye,” she whispered. Her hand reached up for the cord of the shade.

  “Oh, don’t go!” cried Sally. “Please don’t go. I was just wishing for someone to talk to.”

  Emily slowly lowered her hand. Her lips moved as if she were about to speak, but she did not say anything. Her eyes flicked toward Aunt Sarah’s house, and then turned away.

  Sally looked up at her, feeling puzzled. “Why, she’s afraid!” she thought. “Just like I was!” Maybe the house had looked haunted to her all this time, with all those scraggly old bushes, and that loose shutter creaking, and nobody living in it. And then Aunt Sarah had come — maybe she was afraid of Aunt Sarah!

  “Guess what?” said Sally. “I came here last night in all that rain, and it was very dark, and I was so afraid! I never saw this house before, or my Aunt Sarah either, and the house looked so spooky to me that I wanted to run away.” She smiled.

  “You did?” Emily said. “Really?” The tip of one braid appeared over the sill. “Aren’t you afraid any more?”

  “No,” said Sally. “Didn’t you ever think it looked scary here?”

  Emily nodded her head vigorously up and down.

  “Why, I was even afraid of my aunt! I even thought maybe she was a witch.”

  Emily stared down at her own hands, which looked quite frozen on the window sill. She took a deep breath. “That lady,” she said. “I saw her when she moved in, with a black cat. She looked all bent over!”

  “But she isn’t a witch at all,” Sally went on. “She’s just very old. I guess she’s not used to children. Imagine thinking she was a witch! Wasn’t that funny?” She laughed. “Why, tomorrow we’re even going to make some gingerbread cookies.”

  A smile began very slowly upon Emily’s face. The curly corners of her mouth curled even more, and then she gave what sounded like a very relieved giggle. The other braid appeared over the edge of the window. “I like gingerbread cookies,” she said.

  “You know,” said Sally, “the house isn’t really scary at all, once you get used to it. It’s just very old, like Aunt Sarah. It’s awfully pretty inside. There’s a melodeon — that’s a little thing like a piano — and it plays a tune all by itself when you just walk through the room, even if you go on tiptoe. And besides that” — she paused dramatically and looked up at Emily, who was giving her all her attention — “there’s a very old doll lost somewhere in the house. There’s a picture of her on the wall of my room. She belonged to a girl who lived here a long time ago. No one’s ever found her.”

  Emily’s eyes seemed to grow larger and became an even deeper blue.

  “I’m trying to find her,” said Sally.

  Emily grinned. She seemed a quite different sort of girl now, one it would be a great deal of fun to know.

  “I’ll ask my mother if I can come out and play,” she said. And then she was gone. The last Sally saw of her for a time was the glittering tip of one flying braid. Then the window was empty, except for the half-drawn shade and its dangling cord, moving slowly back and forth like a pendulum, ticking away the minutes while Sally waited. She picked up a twig from the ground and stroked the fur of a foxtail with it. A small green apple fell with a soft plopping sound and rolled away in the deep grass.

  Then Emily was back again. Her face beamed her eagerness. “My mother says I can come over for a little while,” she said. “I’ll come around the front and through the alley.” She pointed.

  Sally was making her way through the tangle of bushes at the side of the house next to Emily’s apartment house when Emily herself burst through from the other side. She was wearing a pinafore covered with small yellow quarter moons that repeated the smile of her own curly mouth. “Hi!” she said.

  “Hi!” said Sally. They pushed through the bushes into the garden.

  “What should we do?” Emily asked breathlessly.

  Sally looked around the garden. Her eye lit upon the old barn, with the interesting glimmer of red that she had seen from her window showing in the crack between the doors.

  “Would you like to go into the barn?” she asked.

  Emily looked at the barn and then at Sally. She nodded.

  “What’s that red in there?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been in there either.”

  They walked through the blowing foxtails to the barn. “They tickle my legs,” said Emily. “I know,” said Sally. They giggled, just because it was so wonderful to feel like old friends already.

  Reaching the barn, Sally pushed at the doors. The old doors squeaked and groaned as if they had not been subjected to such treatment in many years. The space between them widened enough to permit the two of them to slip through into the barn. At the first squeak Emily’s hand had slipped into Sally’s, and so hand in hand, Emily a little behind, they entered.

  Sally blinked at the darkness inside. She could feel Emily’s breath on the back of her neck, and she squeezed her hand, feeling a little frightened herself. The dirt floor was spongy beneath her feet. She could feel its coldness through the soles of her shoes. The barn smelled, as barns ought to, of dampness and long-ago hay, and perhaps even of the horses who had once stood in the stalls. Sally imagined them turning their heads as the other Sally entered. Maybe she had carried sugar in her pocket for them, or an apple from the garden.

  Emily gave a little shuddering gasp behind her.

  “It’s Shadow!” cried Sally. For there he was, sitting quite placidly on the high seat at the front of an enormous red sleigh. The runners of the sleigh rose in magnificent curves from the barn floor. “The sleigh in the diary!” Sally said.

  The sleigh was standing between the two lines of stalls, illuminated from above, as if on a stage, by wavering ribbons of light that descended from holes in the roof of the barn. The sleigh itself was delicately frosted over with dust and silvery cobwebs. It looked enchanted to Sally, for it seemed to shine with a light of its own. A little silver step at the side of the sleigh winked invitingly.

  Sally looked down at Emily, who was now standing at her side, staring up in wonder at the beautiful sleigh. Her tongue darted out and touched her upper lip.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Sally. Emily certainly seemed to be a very timid little girl, she thought. “It’s only Shadow up there. He’s a very nice cat.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Emily said. “I’m not afraid with you, Sally. It’s pretty. It’s a very pretty sleigh,” she added gravely.

  “Let’s get up into it,” said Sally, feeling very brave.

  “All right,” agreed Emily.

  “I’ll go first,” Sally offered.

  She placed one foot on the silver step, and holding on to a projecting edge of the sleigh, lifted the rest of herself up to the step and then to the floor of the sleigh. The sleigh gave a profound sigh as she stepped into it, as if it, like the barn doors, had not been disturbed in years. Sally reached down and took Emily’s hand and helped her up. Tiny cobwebs snapped soundlessly as they moved. The black leather seat was covered with a network of tiny cracks, so that it looked like a map of some heretofore undiscovered land. A fat white spider, who had perhaps been sleeping up there, scuttled away along one of the cracks and disappeared over the side of the seat. They sat down on the splitting seat and looked up at Shadow, who blinked down at them from the driver’s seat, his green eyes glowing.

  “Come on down, Shadow,” Sally said. “I want you to meet Emily.” Just as if he had understood, Shadow jumped down and sat between the two girls, rubbing against their sides in a friendly manner and purrin
g. Sally stroked his fur. Emily hesitated only a moment before doing the same. Sally introduced Emily to him, and Emily took his paw and said gravely, “How do you do, Mr. Shadow.” Shadow purred his reply. Emily brushed her cheek against his head. “He’s nice,” she said.

  Sally nodded. “I used to be afraid of him,” she said, as if that had been a very long time ago. And indeed, it did seem to be. She told Emily about the diary, and about the other Sally and her cats. “This must be the very sleigh she rode in,” she said, “on Christmas Eve. And I’ll bet that she had Elizabeth with her.”

  “Who’s Elizabeth?” asked Emily.

  “The doll. The doll I’m going to find.”

  “I hope you do,” said Emily. “But how will you find her?”

  “I guess I’ll just have to think very hard. And I’m going to look all through the attic for a clue, if Aunt Sarah lets me go back up there. You see, Elizabeth was on the top of a Christmas tree, and they were all singing, and when they looked again, Elizabeth was gone. And there was no one else in the room at all. It’s very mysterious.”

  “It’s a real mystery,” agreed Emily. “Maybe the cats saw what happened to her.”

  They laughed. “Do you think they did, Shadow?” Sally asked. “Did Mrs. Niminy Piminy see what happened?”

  As if in reply, Shadow pricked up his ears and then leaped gracefully down from the sleigh to the barn floor. He sat looking up at them, one ear cocked as if he were listening to something.

  “Sally!” a voice called. Shadow looked once at the two girls and then hurried to the barn doors.

  “Here I am,” Sally called. Just as Shadow reached the doors, the crooked fingers of Aunt Sarah’s hand appeared at the edge of one of them. Emily gave a small frightened cry. Aunt Sarah’s face showed in the space between the doors. She blinked, shaded her eyes with her hand, and peered up at them. “Oh, there you are,” she said, frowning into the darkness.