Authors: Marianne Malone
J
ACK’S VOICE SOUNDED LIKE SANDPAPER
on wood. Ruthie had called him right after she had talked to her parents on the phone and helped Mrs. McVittie clean up the dinner dishes.
“Actually, I’m feeling a little better. I slept till dinner,” he told her. “And my temperature’s almost normal. Probably one more day.”
“That’s great. I was worried you’d be sick for all of spring break,” Ruthie said. “I’ll come over after my lesson tomorrow.”
“Oh, I almost forgot—she’s coming over tomorrow,” Jack said as an afterthought.
“Who? Dora?”
“Yeah,” Jack answered.
“Why?” Ruthie felt a prickle of jealousy.
“She wants to talk to my mom about painting some
mural. For some rich lady’s apartment that she’s decorating or something.”
The explanation made Ruthie feel better and, in fact, amplified her excitement; she might get to learn more about how Dora worked if Lydia was going to be involved. But still, it was just like Jack to have such good luck and hardly notice it at all.
Ruthie went to sleep that night with French words streaming through the headphones. The lesson was all about food and dining, and she heard phrases such as
“Je voudrais manger une pomme, s’il vous plaît”
and
“La viande est délicieuse.”
She wasn’t sure if “I would like to eat an apple, please” or “The meat is delicious” would come in handy in 1937 Paris, but she had to start somewhere. As she drifted off, the sounds of the words turned into pictures in her head and she saw the letters
v-i-a-n-d-e
floating by, and then
p-o-m-m-e
morphed into shiny apples bobbing like a dancing chorus line over the bed. Soon she was dreaming of rooms and tables and pencils. More juicy-looking apples appeared; Ruthie tried to grab one, but they were just out of reach.
Ruthie remembered to arrive on time—actually a few minutes early—for her drawing lesson on Sunday. Dora’s height and long stride made her stand out among the crowd of people, and Ruthie waved to her. Dora checked her watch as she had yesterday and smiled in approval.
“You’re early!” she said in greeting.
“I hate being late,” Ruthie responded.
“Me too! We seem to have a lot in common.” Dora looked over Ruthie’s practice sketches and gave her comments and a few pointers. Again, they chatted while they worked; she appeared genuinely interested in everything Ruthie had to say. After they had sketched for some time—Ruthie worked on a New England bedroom with a canopy bed—Dora made an offer.
“How would you like to see the installation? I mean in the corridor behind the rooms. I need to make a few notes for my own research about how the rooms were constructed, and I don’t think it would be a problem for me to show you.”
Ruthie tried to look excited, though she had already been in the corridor many times. “Sure, that would be great.”
“I have use of the key. The archivist gave me authorization.” Dora dangled the key like a fishing lure.
Stepping into the corridor, Ruthie heard the familiar sound of the door locking automatically as it shut.
It was odd to be in the corridor with someone other than Jack. Ruthie pretended she had never seen any of this before. They walked along to the first turn, just steps away from the duct-tape climbing strip. Ruthie had devised this a few months ago so she and Jack—after shrinking—could climb up and crawl through the heating duct to reach the corridor that ran behind the American rooms. She hoped Dora wouldn’t notice it.
“Just like you, I’ve learned loads of fascinating things in the archive. Mrs. Thorne was meticulous about explaining the details,” Dora said. “But what surprises me most are some of the unexplained aspects.”
“I know,” Ruthie agreed.
“Did you come across her notes about the secret shop in Paris?”
“Yeah. Jack and I were really interested in that!”
“Yes! So intriguing!” Dora responded. “And did you find any documents about a key?”
Ruthie’s stomach tensed, but she was able to answer truthfully. “No. We didn’t find any documents about a key.”
“That’s too bad. I found a couple of obscure references to a very old key that one of her craftsmen acquired. They seemed to think it was extremely important. I was hoping maybe …,” she began, but just then they arrived at the climbing strip. Ruthie’s stomach clenched even more.
“Look at this.” Dora stopped to examine the vertical oddity. “What on earth could it be?”
Ruthie kept quiet.
“Hmmm,” Dora murmured, observing how three lengths of tape ran from the ground to the air vent. She touched the three strips. “This center one has the sticky side out.” She turned and aimed her very blue eyes at Ruthie. “Any theories?”
Ruthie shrugged.
“I should probably say something to the staff about this.” Dora kept staring at Ruthie.
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Ruthie finally blurted out.
“Why not? Whatever it is doesn’t belong here,” Dora said logically.
“I don’t know.” Ruthie wished she’d stayed quiet.
“Ruthie?” Dora asked in a voice that Ruthie’s mother might use when Ruthie was being less than truthful. “Is something wrong?”
Ruthie stood there in the dim light of the corridor not sure what to say. She was a terrible liar!
If only Jack were here
, she thought,
he’d have some convincing story ready
.
“No, nothing’s wrong.”
Dora continued to look at the climbing strip. “Yes, it should be removed. It’s collecting dust.” She used a fingernail to pull it off the wall some, but the duct tape held fast. “Anyway,” she said, working away at the adhesive, “the references to the key in the archive really got me to thinking. You know, I just have the feeling it’s a key to something important and no one seems to know anything about it. Maybe it’s been lost.”
Ruthie could feel the blood rushing to her face; she might as well have had the word
guilty
written across her forehead. Dora noticed. “Ruthie, are you sure you didn’t come across something when you were doing your research?”
Ruthie stayed mute and frozen while Dora looked at her.
“Ruthie?”
The hum from the diorama lights seemed to blare in
the silence. “I don’t think you’ll believe me if I tell you,” Ruthie said.
“Try me,” Dora said.
And so Ruthie began. “I do know something about that key.…”
She only meant to tell her a little. But Dora looked so interested and listened so patiently that the whole story of the key, the magic and the shrinking just spilled right out.
When she was finished, Dora was thoughtful for a moment. “It’s quite a story! It’s hard to believe.… I shouldn’t believe it.… But I want to because of what I’ve learned in my own research. Mrs. Thorne left some big hints about magic.”
Ruthie was more than relieved. It would have felt horrible if Dora had thought Ruthie was just some nutty kid who made things up.
“Your secret is safe with me,” Dora vowed.
“We’re going to return the key. We just don’t know where to put it yet,” Ruthie clarified.
“I hope you’re keeping the key in a safe place.”
“We are. Jack has it.” Ruthie remembered how she’d felt when they had confided in Mrs. McVittie, reassured and grateful that she had someone else to talk to about it all.
Dora smiled at her. “I’m glad you decided to tell me.”
Ruthie noted a different feeling when they returned to the gallery. She had revealed something important to Dora—something huge—and now she wondered if they
would still be teacher and student. Ruthie very awkwardly asked if they could continue this lesson.
Dora checked her watch. “Yes, we can work for about another half hour, and then I have an appointment.”
“With Lydia?” Ruthie asked.
“That’s right. Did Jack tell you?”
“Yes. And I’m supposed to go to his house this afternoon too.”
“Then why don’t we go together?” Dora suggested. “How perfect!”
“Okay.” Ruthie looked down at her drawing, which was less than perfect so far. Maybe if she hung around Dora enough, some perfection would rub off on her.
“It’s so nice to see you again.” Lydia welcomed Dora—and Ruthie—into the loft.
“Your work came to mind immediately when my client suggested a trompe l’oeil painting,” Dora enthused. Then she saw Jack in the doorway of his room. “Hello again. What a wonderful loft. And, Jack, you have your own house!”
Ruthie always loved to witness people seeing Jack and Lydia’s loft for the first time. It had originally been a factory space, and Lydia redesigned everything for them to live there. They had a great view of the city through really tall windows. The loft was a big L-shaped space; one leg was Lydia’s studio, and the other leg was their living area, in which Jack had his own two-story “house,” with a
door and windows looking out to the rest of the loft. He’d painted and decorated it as he pleased. It was fantastic.
“Show her what it’s like inside,” she prompted Jack. Dora followed Jack as he led a tour of his house, with its downstairs living room and upstairs sleeping loft. When they came back out, Lydia offered Dora some iced tea, and the two of them walked around the corner into Lydia’s studio.
Jack plopped down at the kitchen table. “I can’t go back in my room. I’ve been in there too long.” A layer cake sat on a cake stand on the table. “Want some?”
“Sure. I wish my mom baked as much as yours!” Ruthie said.
Jack sliced two large wedges and placed them on plates.
“I’ve had such a great time with Dora the past two days. You’ll really like her,” Ruthie said.
“Really? Why?”
Ruthie thought it should be obvious to Jack, but then of course he hardly knew Dora at all. As she let the chocolate frosting melt in her mouth she also realized she would have to tell him that she had revealed almost everything to Dora. Her throat tightened a bit.
“Well, she’s really trustworthy.”
“I thought she was just teaching you to draw,” he said, taking another bite.
“Yeah, but we talk. And we have so much in common.”
Jack looked skeptical. “What could you have in
common with her? I mean, she’s nice and all, but look at her!”
Ruthie was a little insulted, but she had to admit that on the surface, she and Dora did seem very different. “Well, we both love the Thorne Rooms.”
“Lots of people love them. And how do you know she’s trustworthy?”
“I don’t know. It’s just … I can tell her stuff.”
Jack shrugged. “Hey, come look at this.” He hopped out of his chair, and Ruthie followed him into the living room of his house. He opened the lid on his always running laptop and punched a few keys on it; a live overhead shot of the two of them looking at his computer appeared on the monitor.
“How’d you do that?”
Jack pointed to a camera smaller than a spool of thread that sat on top of the door frame. It didn’t look like a camera; in fact, it was only the lens and a small transmitter, he explained. “I rigged up my own personal security system. I was so bored this morning, and then I started thinking about that art thief. I already had all the junk I needed to do it.”
“Cool!” Ruthie mugged for the camera.
“It’s wireless. I could put it anywhere in the apartment—within a certain range, though.” He pushed a few more keys. “Now it’s recording to a disk.”
“I’m impressed. Was it hard to do?”
“Naw. My uncle sent me the camera and software for
my last birthday, and I hadn’t gotten around to trying it. I just went online for some technical advice.”
Jack was the only person she knew who could possibly figure out how to do this all by himself while home sick.
“Let’s finish the cake. Being sick makes you hungry.” He closed the lid on his laptop.
Back in the kitchen, Jack shoved another large bite of cake in his mouth. “Milk?” he asked, getting up again.
Ruthie nodded.
“Shoot!” he said, scanning the fridge. “We’re all out. I’m gonna tell my mom—she should let me out of the house to go get milk, since it’s just three blocks away.”
Lydia granted permission, and as they walked to the grocery store, Ruthie felt the weight of guilt bearing down on her. She had to tell Jack what she had done this morning, but she wasn’t sure how to say it. She stared at the sidewalk.
“I hate being sick; it’s great to be out of the house!” Jack rejoiced. When Ruthie didn’t respond, he commented, “You’re kinda quiet all of a sudden.”
“I know,” she said tentatively. “Guess where Dora took me today?”
“I give up. Where?”
“The corridor.”
“Anything happen?”
“Sort of.” A skateboarder careened by, nearly running into Jack, and they both had to dodge.
“Hey, watch out!” Jack called. Then he turned his attention back to Ruthie. “What do you mean, sort of?”
“She saw the climbing strip.”
“So?”
“I told her.”
Jack stopped in his tracks. “You told her
what
?”
“About the magic.”
“Are you serious?”
“Don’t be mad. She kinda already knew about the key. She read something about it in the archives. And she’s going to keep it a secret.”
“So that’s why you said she’s trustworthy?”
“She is.”
“I hope so. I can’t believe you did that. And without even talking to me first!”
“I wish I hadn’t, but it just happened. She could tell I was hiding something, and you know I can’t lie!”
“Keeping quiet isn’t the same thing as lying!” He walked off in front of her a few paces. He was steaming. She could barely keep up with him as he stomped into the store and down the cereal aisle to the dairy case in the back. He grabbed a gallon of milk.
“Jack!” she started. He scowled at her and went back to the cereal aisle.
After a few seconds that seemed like minutes, he took a deep breath, exhaling loudly but not saying anything. Ruthie continued, “Look, I’m sorry. But maybe it’s not a bad thing.”
“Well, whether it is or isn’t, it’s done.” He walked slowly, looking over the cereal choices.
“I really am sorry I told her without you. And I promise never to do something like that again.”
“Okay, okay.” He reached for a box of cereal. “Here, you hold the milk.” He handed it off to her. The lines were long at the checkout, and it gave Jack more time to mellow before they had to return to his house.