The Wish Giver (3 page)

P
olly woke at first light. The frogs had gone back to their swamp, and the only light in the room was the faint glow of dawn showing through the window.

She sat up in bed, clutching the quilt about her neck. For the first time she could remember, Polly was deep-down scared. Twice yesterday, the only sound she had been able to make was a bullfrog’s deep
jug-a-rum
. Even now she was afraid to open her mouth for fear that the frog sound would come out.

What made it happen? It wasn’t any disease she’d ever heard of. And she didn’t think she was going crazy.

“What a terrible thing,” she said softly. Then she breathed a sigh of relief. At least for now, she had the power of speech.

But she couldn’t go on like this for the rest of her life, making
jug-a-rum
sounds every now and then and who-knew-when. There had to be some reason for it. And if she could think of the reason, she might be able to do something about it.

So Polly made it a point to say “hello” to everyone she met on the way to school that morning. That startled folks, because it wasn’t like Polly Kemp to be so pleasant. They didn’t know it was just her way of reassuring herself that she could still talk.

Leland and Lenora were waiting for her on the playground. “Looks like your croaking ain’t the only strange thing going on in Coven Tree,” said Leland.

“We came crosslots, behind Rowena Jervis’s house,” Lenora added. “Rowena was up early.”

“Let me tell it,” interrupted Leland. “Y’see, Polly, Rowena was standing in the middle of that little grove of trees out in back of her house. She seemed to be talking to somebody. But as far as we could see, there wasn’t anybody with her. Just a bunch of trees. Can you imagine anybody standing and talking to a tree?”

It did sound odd to Polly. When they’d sat to
gether in the tent at the Church Social, Rowena had seemed perfectly all right. What could have started her to jabbering away to trees?

Odd…strange…

More pupils arrived. They began crowding around Polly, hoping she’d make frog sounds again. But as soon as they heard her speaking normally, they lost interest and went to play on the swings and slides. The morning lessons went by quickly, with Miss Morasco calling on Polly three times and Polly knowing each of the answers.

Then came noon recess. All the boys and girls went out on the playground after lunch, and Polly wanted to swing. But when she got there, both swings were taken, with Charlie Peabody on one and Alfred Dawes on the other. So Polly sat to one side to wait her turn.

But Charlie and Alfred stayed on those swings. And stayed and stayed. Every once in a while they’d glance over to where Polly was sitting, and they’d kind of laugh behind their hands. They knew they were getting her riled.

Charlie called to her. “Bet you’d like to swing, wouldn’t you, Polly? But you ain’t gonna do it today. Maybe not tomorrow, either. Us boys need
the swings, and you’re nothing but a dumb girl.”

Polly wasn’t about to listen to that kind of talk. “Charlie Peabody!” she shouted, angry as anything. “You are a big hunk of nothing. And you too, Alfred. You two big gobs of mud ain’t got even the leftover brains that was given to boys after the girls got the good ones. And if you two dunderheads don’t—

“
JUG-A-RUM!
”

Polly clapped her hands over her mouth. Too late! Everybody on the playground looked over at her, and suddenly there wasn’t a sound to be heard. Miss Morasco rushed to Polly’s side.

“Are you all right?” the teacher asked.

Polly didn’t know whether to try and speak or just shake her head. Suddenly Lenora Wickstaff was standing there and talking to Miss Morasco in a whisper.

“Polly ain’t feeling quite up to snuff,” Lenora said. “But she’ll be all right if the others’ll leave her alone for a while.”

“Well, I…” Miss Morasco began doubtfully. Then she nodded. “Very well, Lenora.”

Leland walked up and led Polly to a bench in the corner of the yard. “We’ll care for her, ma’am,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

While the rest of the students were herded to the other side of the playground, the twins got Polly calmed down to a point where she’d listen to what they wanted to tell her.

“Lenora thinks she knows what’s making you start in croaking,” said Leland. “It don’t sound likely to me, but…well, you tell it, Lenora.”

“Polly,” she said, “you told me that when it happened the first time—yesterday morning at breakfast—you were complaining to your mother about some burned toast.”

Polly nodded, trying to hold back her tears.

“When you get to complaining, you can say some pretty mean things, Polly Kemp.”

Polly remembered how annoyed she’d been by the burned toast. She’d told her mother…Again she nodded, completely ashamed of herself.

“And the second time,” Lenora went on, “you’d just said to Agatha Benthorn that she was…”

Dumb
…Polly clearly recalled saying the spiteful word.

“Don’t you see, Polly? Just now you were in the middle of telling Charlie and Alfred what you thought of ’em, and it happened again. It appears like every time you start giving some
body what for, some kind of power pulls you up short and makes you begin croaking instead of talking.”

“It seems that after a while, though,” Leland said, “the thing wears off, and you can speak human words again.”

Polly stared from Lenora to Leland and back again. It was impossible! Yet what other explanation could there be?

“Trouble is,” said Lenora, “there’s no telling what brought this thing on you now. You’ve been speaking your mind to people and snapping and snarling for years, but this is the first time…”

But Polly knew why it was different now. She thought back to Sunday evening when she’d made the wish on the red spot. What had she said?

I’m wishing that people will pay attention to me. And smile when they see me
.

That part had come true, right enough. When Polly started
jug-a-rum
ing in school, she’d gotten plenty of attention. More than she’d really cared for. As for the smiling, most of the pupils had been laughing right out loud.

But there was another part to her wish, too:

…That someday soon, Agatha will ask me to come to her house
.

At least that part wouldn’t come true, thought Polly. Maybe it was for the best. If she got to croaking at Agatha’s house, and if Agatha and Eunice laughed at her again the way they had in school, she didn’t know what she’d do.

The thought of what had happened set Polly’s head to spinning dizzily. She couldn’t help wondering how things would be from now on. There was no possibility of unwishing what she’d asked for. Thaddeus Blinn had left Coven Tree, never to return. She’d be like this forever, forced to say only whipped-cream compliments and sweet things to people, no matter how horrid they were. Either that or begin the ridiculous croaking.

By the end of the lunch hour Polly was again able to speak. Miss Morasco looked her over carefully and even made her recite “Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled Peppers” before she was allowed to go to her seat. All afternoon Polly sat mute, considering the mess she’d made of things with her wish.

Perhaps if she were to tell Agatha Benthorn
how sorry she was for the wretched things she’d done and said, maybe Thaddeus Blinn would take pity on her and remove the magic spell. It was just a forlorn hope, but at least it was better than nothing.

How to go about it was the problem. Agatha certainly wouldn’t talk to Polly at school, and it would be impossible to see Agatha at home. No children ever went inside the big house on the hill except Eunice Ingersoll. The two girls would sip tea and eat little cookies and act like real ladies.

But before they could have their tea, they’d have to get the little cookies. They bought fresh ones every day. Before going home, Agatha would stop at the only place in Coven Tree where the cookies were sold—Stew Meat’s store!

At dismissal Polly dashed out of school and ran across the playground as fast as she could. She tried to get straight all the things she was going to say. But no matter how she arranged them, they never seemed to sound right.

Polly got to the store first. She was hiding behind a display of canned goods when Agatha and Eunice walked in the front door, gossiping to one another. While the two purchased their
cookies, Polly started summoning up the nerve to step out and show herself.

She’d just about got her courage up, when suddenly she began listening to what Agatha and Eunice were saying to one another.

“I don’t know what’s come over her,” said Agatha. “Croaking like that, and right in school. Imagine! Do you suppose she’s doing it on purpose?”

“I don’t think she can help it,” replied Eunice with a little giggle. “Polly wouldn’t want folks laughing at her the way they do when she makes that sound.”

“Serves the little wretch right! After what she did to my dress and all.”

Then a big grin spread across Agatha’s face. “I can hardly wait until Thursday.”

“Do you suppose she’ll accept your invitation?” asked Eunice.

“Of course she will. She’s been simply dying to come to my house for ages.” Then Agatha began whispering in Eunice’s ear.

“Fix her once and for all…be really funny…my mother will…”

“What a marvelous idea,” said Eunice finally. Both girls started giggling like little imps.

Polly slipped out the back of the store. She knew that she—and
JUG-A-RUM!
—were the cause of the girls’ laughter. Well, she’d be hanged if she’d give Agatha and Eunice the satisfaction of humiliating her even more.

Then Polly’s stubborn pride took over. No, she’d accept the invitation. Even if they were plotting against her, she’d show them she could be a real lady even if…if she croaked like a frog until she was old and gray.

She ran around the outside of the store and came in through the front door, looking for all the world as if she’d just arrived from school. “Hello, Agatha…Eunice,” she said as politely as she could.

Both girls greeted her like a long-lost friend. “How wonderful to see you, Polly,” Agatha purred.

“And how well you’re looking,” cooed Eunice.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Polly,” Agatha said. “And I guess this is a good time to do it.”

So in spite of everything, the last part of the wish is to be granted, thought Polly. But she managed to keep the butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth expression on her face.

“Ask me? Ask me what, Agatha?”

“Polly dear, how would you like to join Eunice and me for tea on Thursday? After school? At my house?”

T
he next day—Wednesday—Polly made up her mind that she was going to be friendly if it killed her. There was no way anybody was going to make her say anything mean and start croaking again.

The first person she met as she walked onto the playground was Olivia Heidecker. As Polly came toward her, Olivia started to walk away.

“I like that dress you’re wearing, Olivia,” said Polly. “Them ruffles at the shoulders are real pretty. Did you sew it up all by yourself?”

“Listen, Polly Kemp, just because I can sew better than…” Then a strange expression appeared on Olivia’s face. “What…what did you say?”

“I said I liked your dress. You matched the
pattern at the seams just right. There’s not a lot of people who can do that.”

“Why…why this old thing?” Olivia spread the skirt for Polly’s inspection. “Shucks, it didn’t take long to stitch it together. It was real nice of you to admire it, though.”

Polly walked on, leaving Olivia shaking her head in puzzlement. Those were the first kind words Olivia had ever heard Polly say. What could have gotten into her, anyway?

Even Charlie Peabody and Alfred Dawes couldn’t get Polly’s goat. They’d taken over the swings again and weren’t about to let somebody else have a chance.

“I’ll bet you’d like to swing right now, Polly,” sneered Alfred as he swooped down toward her. “But Charlie and me ain’t moving for you nor nobody else.”

“Fair’s fair, Alfred,” Polly told him. “You were here first, so I reckon you can swing as long as you like.” And she continued on toward the seesaw, leaving two very surprised boys behind her.

Polly made it a point to say something nice to each of the students in Miss Morasco’s class that morning, and by noon the whole room was abuzz, all the boys and girls wondering what
had come over Polly Kemp. On the playground at noon, Addy Cardiff and Karen Shay asked Polly to join their game of jacks. And Janice Proctor wondered if Polly’d help her learn long division.

Only Agatha Benthorn and Eunice Ingersoll kept their distance. All that day they waited for the croaking to start.

But it never did.

As Polly walked home with the Wickstaff twins after school, it came to her mind that never in her life had she had such a wonderful day. But she couldn’t help wondering whether she’d be able to keep her tongue in check at Agatha’s house tomorrow.

The next morning Polly got up early and spent a long time getting herself ready before coming downstairs. “Why, Polly,” her mother said as she sat down at the table, “you’re all dressed up in your Sunday best. Are you sure you want to wear that to school?”

“It’s not just for school, Mother,” Polly replied. “Miss Agatha Benthorn invited me to her house today for a party.” She made a little curtsy.

“Oh? Is the whole class going?”

“No. Just me and Eunice Ingersoll.”

“Hmmph!” snorted Mrs. Kemp. She had her own opinions about Agatha and Eunice.

That morning at school, Eunice and Agatha sought Polly out, first thing. “We hope you haven’t forgotten our invitation,” said Agatha.

“No, I’ll be there.” But Polly was thinking about how Agatha had said “our invitation.” Like she and Eunice were Siamese twins or something, and one of ’em couldn’t do anything without the other.

Twice that morning and once more in the afternoon, Polly caught the two with their heads together, pointing at her when they thought she wasn’t looking and hee-heeing like a pair of hyenas.

After school the three of ’em bought the little cookies at Stew Meat’s store. Then off they went to the Benthorn house.

Mrs. Benthorn, who had a face that put Polly in mind of a Holstein cow, met them at the door. The woman looked down at Polly the way she might examine a fly that had lit in her dish of ice cream.

“Why…why Polly Kemp,” she said, and her lips pursed distastefully, as if she’d bit into a
green persimmon. “I didn’t expect you to want to come here after…after…”

Polly wanted to say something about it being bad manners to treat a guest like something the cat dragged in. But she swallowed her pride, and her face was all innocence as she answered Mrs. Benthorn.

“Ma’am, I know I tore Agatha’s dress, and it was a mean and spiteful thing to do, and I apologize for it. I hope I haven’t put you to too much trouble on account of it. If there’s anything I can do to make good, I’m in your debt.”

It was a pretty little speech, and Mrs. Benthorn listened to it dumbfounded. She’d expected something far different from the sharp-tongued Polly Kemp. “No…no, Polly,” she said with some confusion. “It’s quite all right. A few minutes with a needle and thread, and it was all mended. Come in. Come in, please.”

Polly stepped into the house. Behind her she could hear Agatha and Eunice whispering.

“I never saw Polly act so nice and polite.” Agatha sounded a bit worried.

“What could have come over her?” added Eunice.

They went into the kitchen, and the three girls
took seats at the big table. Mrs. Benthorn put the kettle on to boil and then set the cookies on a plate.

Soon the tea was ready. Polly took a sip. It was boiling hot. She rubbed at her mouth.

“Don’t you like the tea, Polly?” Agatha simpered. “It’s called oolong, and it comes all the way from China. It’s fearfully expensive.”

“It’s just fine,” Polly replied. “It’s a lot like the kind my mother makes. Only hers is stronger.”

“Oh, my dear girl!” said Agatha. “Surely you can’t compare your mother’s tea with this costly type. But then, perhaps only a real lady knows how to savor not only the delicate aroma but the exquisite taste. Wouldn’t you agree, Eunice, dear?”

Polly managed a thin smile. “I’m sure you’re right, Agatha,” she said. “I haven’t had much practice at being a real lady. But I’m hoping you two can teach me how to do it.”

Agatha and Eunice looked at one another in consternation. The whole purpose of inviting Polly was to get her riled, so she’d look like a fool and they could laugh at her. With luck she’d even start
jug-a-rum
ing, the way she did in school. But Polly was being all cool and calm
and polite. Agatha decided to try again.

“I love your new dress, Eunice dear,” she said grandly. “All that lace—it’s quite the style this year. Of course some people have no sense of style at all.” And here she stared straight at Polly.

It was like water rolling off a duck’s back. “I would so like to be stylish,” Polly said. “But my mother makes my clothes, and she’s too busy to keep up with the latest fashions. But you do look just beautiful, Eunice.”

Neither girl knew what to say. Agatha couldn’t criticize Polly’s remark without insulting Eunice. And Eunice rather enjoyed the compliment.

“What do you usually do after school, Polly?” Agatha asked. Then she winked her eye at Eunice.

“I usually play down by Spider Crick,” Polly replied. “With the Wickstaffs. There’s a little pool that’s filled with tadpoles every spring. As the days go by, you can see legs start growing out of ’em. And then they turn into frogs. I like watching ’em change.”

Agatha made a face. “Ugh! Tadpoles and frogs are horrid things!”

“And so are Leland and Lenora Wickstaff,” Eunice added.

“Well, there are flowers along the crick, too. There’s jack-in-the-pulpit and Queen Anne’s lace and—”

“We have our flowers sent in from a florist,” said Eunice with a toss of her head.

“Uh-huh.” Polly fought back the urge to say what was on her mind. “And what do you two do? After you’ve had your tea and cookies, I mean?”

“We do needlepoint,” said Agatha.

“And we practice our languages,” said Eunice. “I can speak French rather well.”

“And we look at the magazines to see what the latest fashions will be.”

“And we take our piano lessons.”

“And we do all the things that really well-bred girls should do,” Agatha concluded.

“That’s just fine…real fine,” replied Polly. “But don’t you ever like to get out and do other things, too?”

Agatha and Eunice looked at one another in surprise. “Other things? Like what?”

“Well…” Polly had to think about this. “Why, just last month, Lenora Wickstaff learned…
taught…me how to tickle up a trout. Have either of you tried to do that?”

Eunice looked shocked. “Tickle a trout?”

“Sure. It’s real easy. You lie down at the edge of the water, right where some big trout is hiding. You get right down on your belly.”

Both girls wrinkled their noses at the word
belly
.

“Then you reach your hand in the water real slow. You move it just a little at a time until you can feel the fish finning itself right there in the palm of your hand. Then,
WHOOSH!
You grab that trout fast and toss him on the bank, and it’s fish for dinner.”

“How awful!” moaned Agatha.

“How gross!” groaned Eunice.

“I think it’s fun,” said Polly. “And Leland has promised to show me how he throws a baseball so it curves right in midair. Now that’s something to know.”

“A real lady doesn’t catch fish,” said Agatha positively.

“And a real lady doesn’t play…baseball.” Eunice said the word as if the game were some kind of a disease.

Polly just stared at those two girls as if she
was seeing ’em for the first time. She recalled the months and years when she’d have given anything to get an invitation to Agatha’s house. Now here she was, and it wasn’t at all the pleasant thing she’d expected. It was—it was boring, that’s what it was.

All that time wasted. Time when she could have been making lots of real friends and not trying to cozy up to these two frilly, doll-like creatures who wanted no part of her. Olivia Heidecker now—she’d be a friend if Polly didn’t scare her off half the time with her sharp tongue. And Janice Proctor, who’d enjoy seeing the fairy ring of toadstools in the woods, and Karen Shay, who could shoot a slingshot straighter’n any boy, and even Charlie Peabody and Alfred Dawes, if she’d give ’em half a chance.

Suddenly Polly wanted to go home or be down by the crick or walking through town or almost anywhere except sitting at a table in the Benthorn kitchen with two priggish girls who thought they were being real ladies when they were really the world’s worst snobs.

Polly got to her feet. “I think I’ll be leaving now,” she said.

“But you can’t go!” cried Agatha. “Not until we…”

“I can go whenever I want to. The time was, Agatha, when I’d have crawled to this house on hands and knees if I thought you’d invite me inside. But that time is over. I’m my own person now. So I bid you…you ‘ladies’…good-bye.”

With that, Polly marched to the front door, where Mrs. Benthorn was standing.

“Good-bye, Polly,” she said. “Please come again.”

“I do thank you for your hospitality, ma’am. But I don’t think I’ll be coming back.”

“But why not? Didn’t you have a good time today?”

“It was…interesting. I guess both Agatha and Eunice consider themselves to be real proper ladies. But I must say, Miz Benthorn, I hope I never get to be that kind of a lady.”

Before the woman could reply, Polly was out the door.

She ran and ran until she was deep in the woods beyond Spider Crick. Then she looked around until she spotted a big hollow tree. She put her mouth to the opening in its side and began yelling as loud as she could.

“Agatha Benthorn! Eunice Ingersoll! You two ain’t got the brains you was born with. There is a whole world out here just waiting to be looked at and used, and all the two of you want to do is look at pictures in magazines and drink tea and eat little cookies. Ladies? You two ain’t ladies. You are poor wretched things, and the lowliest animal in the woods has got more life in it than you’ll ever have. You are the…

“
JUG-A-RUM!
”

So now she was stuck for a spell, only able to croak like a frog. In spite of that, Polly felt happier than she had in a long time. She threw a stone into Spider Crick just for the pleasure of hearing it
plonk
into the water. Then she climbed high up in a willow tree and looked off toward the Benthorn house in the distance. Agatha and Eunice were in the front yard. To Polly, they looked about the size of a pair of ants.

I don’t need those two anymore, Polly thought. I’m free! From her high perch she shouted with joy.

“
JUG-A-RUM! JUG-A-RUM! JUG-A-RUM!
”

After supper, though, Polly didn’t feel quite so happy. Her ma had gone into town for some
thread, for the store was open late. Polly sat on the front steps with her hands propping up her chin. “Looks like I’ll be saying nothing but nice things from now on,” she told herself mournfully. “But knowing me, I’ll bust out with something blunt and mean at just the wrong time. Oh, what’s it going to be like from now on, having people laughing at me when I start sounding like a swamp critter?

“Consarn that ol’ Thaddeus Blinn anyway! That fat little warthog should have known better’n to let me have that wish. He’s so…

“
JUG-A-RUM!
”

There were answering croaks from several frogs along the crick. Polly was thankful there was nobody else around to hear. She was stuck, good and proper.