The Well-Wishers (4 page)

When we saw Gordy go off down the hill with that old witch, I could have died. I was sure the magic had gone wrong, and something awful was going to happen to him, and just when I had been so mean to him, too.

But we had promised to be in the adventure; so the only thing to do was follow. We could see Gordy's flashlight ahead and we kept it in sight, lurking and hanging back so the old witch wouldn't see us.

When we got to the bottom of the hill, it was spooky going along the road in the dark, though we've walked that same road at night hundreds of times and never turned a hair. Once I thought I heard Gordy calling for help, but when we stopped and held our breaths and listened, it didn't seem as if that were it.

"I think he's making birdcalls," James said.

"He couldn't be," I said. But that was exactly what it sounded like.

"She's bewitched him. He thinks he's a twitch-nosed wheedler," said Kip. But I think it was nerves that made him and Lydia giggle.

After that we didn't hear anything more; so we went on.

But when we saw where they were turning in, it didn't seem as if the magic could ever be going to come right again. Because we have always been a little scared of Hopeful Hill. If Deborah weren't so fond of Gordy, I don't think we'd ever have got her up the driveway to where the fateful asylum ominously loomed. We got there just in time to see the dread doors close behind Gordy and the witchlike old lady, with a sound that was awfully final, somehow. We turned to look at each other.

"I swear I'll never pick on Gordy again," I said.

"That's if we ever see him again," Lydia said.

Kip was reconnoitering. "Look!" he said, and we all looked where he pointed.

Behind an uncurtained window on the ground floor a light had gone on, and now we saw Gordy and the old witch come into a room. Another black, witchlike figure came in after them. They talked together for a minute and then the door of the room opened, and we saw the prettiest golden-haired little girl I had ever seen in my life. There was something strange about the way she came into the room, almost as if she were walking in her sleep.

"It's Sleeping Beauty!" Kip said. "The two old witches have brought Gordy to kiss her and wake her up!"

"Some Prince Charming!" said Lydia.

I knew they were only laughing to keep their courage up, but Deborah sputtered indignantly. "I don't know what you mean! I think Gordy'd make a
wonderful
prince!"

"I think he's been acting like one," said James. And we all agreed in our hearts. After that we just watched. And the rest of the story is Gordy's.

This is Gordy again.

When I followed the old lady into the hall of Hopeful Hill, I didn't know what I'd see. But it wasn't scary a bit, just a big hall with potted plants around and tables, like some dumb old lobby of a hotel.

The old lady led the way into a room at one side,

and another lady followed us in. This second lady had on a black velvet dress, and pearls and a permanent wave, but her face was all frowns and worry lines, and I didn't like her much. I could tell right away she must be the aunt. She didn't look as if she had time for anything. Her eyes moved over all the trailing pieces of vines and plants, and over me, and she sniffed.

"What is all
this,
Doctor Lovely?" she said. That is my old lady's name, Doctor Emma Lovely. At first it seems like a funny name for her, when you think of the way she looks, but the more you know her, it doesn't seem funny at all.

"Just an experiment," was all she said now.

The aunt sniffed again, and I could tell what she thought of the trailing plants, and of me, too. But before she could say anything the door opened, and a nurse in uniform let in a blond-haired little girl and then went away again.

I don't know how to tell you about Sylvia, except that she is pale and thin, and looks a little as if she might break. She is small but bigger than Deborah. In school I guess she would be about in three-one-A. And she is so pretty that all I could do was stand and stare. I did remember to close my mouth, though.

"Gordon, this is Sylvia," Doctor Lovely said. "Sylvia, this is Gordon'T. Witherspoon III." And then she took the aunt off to the other end of the room and left me and Sylvia alone.

"Hello," I said.

Sylvia didn't say anything. But she looked at me for a long time and then she smiled.

After that I would have done anything for her, but what could I do? I stood there and wondered, and then I remembered a joke I know. It is a dumb corny joke, I realize, because James and Kip and the others have told me. But I like it, and Deborah always does.

I took my scalp with both hands and pushed it way back so my eyebrows were pulled straight up. And I said, "Mother, haven't you tied my ponytail a little tight?"

Sylvia looked at me for a long time again, as if she didn't know what I meant. And then she laughed.

The aunt jumped as if she'd been shot. "Really, Doctor Lovely," she said. "It is dangerous for Sylvia to be overexcited!"

"Hush," said Doctor Lovely, rather rudely I thought. She was staring at Sylvia as if she expected something to happen.

And then something did. Sylvia said, "What's the third for?"

I didn't understand at first. "What?" I said.

"She said your name was Gordon something the third. What's the third for?"

I found out afterward that those were the first words she had spoken in seven weeks.

So then I told her how I was named for my father and grandfather. And I told her my father was dead, just like hers. Maybe I shouldn't have, but I thought it might be good for her to know that things like that had happened to other people, too. I told her how I lived just across the road and down a way, and about James and Laura and Kip and Lydia and what fun I had with them, now that we were friends. And about Deborah and how she tamed a wicked ogre once.

Sylvia didn't say much, but the questions she asked were smart, and you could tell that she might be troubled in her mind, but she wasn't stupid.

All the while we were talking, the aunt kept sniffing and looking at her watch, and whispering to Doctor Lovely. And finally Doctor Lovely came over to us and said, "I think that is enough conversation for one day. Say good-bye to Gordon, Sylvia. "

But Sylvia didn't say good-bye. She reached out and took my hand and said, "Don't go."

I got that feeling where you want to swallow but there's nothing to swallow and you can't. "I guess I have to," I told her. "Maybe I can come back, though. Could I?" And I looked at Doctor Lovely to see if that was all right.

She nodded. "Certainly, Aesculapius." I don't know what she meant by that. I have looked Aesculapius up and he was a famous doctor, which is something I could never be. Though I would like to.

I turned back to Sylvia. "Don't take any wooden nickels," I said. It was dumb, but the best I could do.

The aunt sniffed. But Sylvia laughed again. "Come back tomorrow," she said, and I promised I would.

Doctor Lovely walked with me to the door. "Gordon'T. Witherspoon III," she said, "I thank you. I think our experiment was quite a success."

"Couldn't Sylvia be with other kids all the time?" I wondered. "It's wonderful what that can do for you." I knew from experience. "Couldn't she be adopted, and maybe go to school?" I didn't want to say anything against the aunt, or against Hopeful Hill either, but I knew neither one of them could help
me
much, if I were Sylvia.

"Not till she is happier," said Doctor Lovely. "I know this is not the most cheerful place for her," she went on, as if she had read my mind, "but it seems to be the only place, till she is better. I would take her myself, but I am too old and my house is too lonely. And no one will adopt a disturbed child."

She opened the front door and came out on the steps with me. "And now," she said, grinning her crocodile grin, "good night, sweet prince. I must go pacify the aunt, and I believe"—she sort of sniffed the air—"that your friends are waiting."

There isn't much she misses. All the kids were perfectly hidden behind different bushes, and nobody was whispering at all, hardly. But as soon as she was gone, they jumped out and crowded around' me, all talking at once.

"Did you hear?
She
called him a prince!" Deborah was saying, jumping up and down the way she does when she's excited.

And "It
is
like Sleeping Beauty. Gordy broke the spell," she said five minutes later, when they'd heard the whole story.

By that time we were going along Silvermine Road, heading for my house because it was nearer. They don't come to my house as often as I go to theirs, on account of Mom. But I remembered that Mom was at a committee meeting that would last through dinner. And we had a lot to talk about, now that the magic had begun again. So I asked them all to supper. I knew it would be all right with Mrs. Sillence our housekeeper, and it was.

"Sure," she said, "it'll be good to have a little life around this morgue." Mrs. Sillence is outspoken. Our house is not a morgue really, only quiet.

We didn't eat at the big table in our dining room that Lydia says is a blow to felicity. Mrs. Sillence served us a buffet supper in the room in front that is called the playroom, only nobody plays anything there. Mom uses it for garden club meetings so the ladies won't track mud on her good rugs.

Mrs. Sillence made her spoon bread, and there was plenty of butter and syrup. Laura was in charge of the meeting, because it is her well, in a way.

"The thing is," she began, "this time the magic took us by surprise. From now on we've got to organize it, and tame it, and decide what we want to do."

But we didn't get organized very far, because everybody had a different idea of what Laura should decide, and told her so. In the middle of all the arguing I heard a noise, a sort of tap-tap-tapping.

I looked. There was a face at the window. At first I couldn't believe it.

"Sylvia!" I said.

Everybody else looked then, and there she was, her nose flattened against the pane and her golden hair falling down on either side of her thin face. And then we all ran for the door and I guess we must have scared her, because when we came out on the lawn, she started to run away. I found myself giving orders. I'd never done a thing like that before. I wouldn't have dared. But I was doing it now.

"Everybody stand back," I said. "I'll handle this." And they let me.

I ran over to where she was, and when she saw it was only me, she stood still and waited. "How did you get here?" I said. "Aren't you cold in that thin dress, without any coat? Don't you want to come inside?"

She looked at me for a minute and then she said, "Yes."

We went in and the others followed. But they hung back and were gentle and I called them over and introduced them one by one. The only piece of spoon bread left was too cold to melt the butter, but I put extra syrup on and Sylvia seemed to like it.

We never did find out exactly how she had got away from Hopeful Hill, but it showed she was smart, all right. She had remembered that I said I lived on the other side of the road a little way along; so she walked till she saw our name on the mailbox.

"I wanted to play with you," she said. And she turned to Deborah sort of shyly. "Tell about the wicked ogre."

Soon they were prattling away in blissful ignorance, as Lydia put it. But when I tried to get up from the table, Sylvia held on to my hand and wouldn't let go. So the others clustered around me and we talked in low voices about what we were going to do with her.

"Couldn't we keep her?" Lydia asked.

"She's not a toy for us to play with," James told her. "We'd have to make arrangements."

I told about Doctor Lovely's thinking Sylvia needed other children.

"That's right," said Laura. "We can't send her back to that gloomy place with those witches, even if one of them
is
a good witch.
We
might adopt her, but we don't have a spare room."

"We do, but we need it for when Dad brings out men from the office," said Kip.

Everybody looked at me. Because everybody knows Lydia's house is sort of run-down and her grandmother is too busy painting pictures to pay attention to anything or anybody, even Lydia.

But
our
house isn't run-down at all and we have lots of spare rooms. And I have always wanted a little brother or sister, though I know if I had one, it couldn't be as pretty as Sylvia. It would be wonderful having Sylvia there with us, and yet the more I thought about Mom I wasn't sure it would be. For Sylvia, I mean.

It is hard to explain about Mom without seeming to be disloyal. She is a wonderful person, but she takes getting used to. And she is busy all the time with committees and the responsibilities of being a social leader, which is what she likes being. I do not know why.

I was afraid that as far as Sylvia was concerned, living with Mom would be just another case of the aunt. Much as I hated to give her up, I thought the only thing to do was telephone Doctor Emma Lovely.

Sylvia still wouldn't let go my hand; so James did the telephoning. Three minutes later Doctor Lovely came whizzing around our driveway on two wheels, in her little old rattlebang car.