Chapter Two

ALTHOUGH MIRANDA RESOLVED to forget about Abby, she found herself thinking about the girl all afternoon. She quizzed Susannah about her, but learned only that Abby's last name was Chandler, and that she was new in Susannah's science class. A boy who was browsing at their table and actually bought one of the jigsaw puzzles overheard and said Abby Chandler had moved to Garnet only a couple of weeks ago. Even though she looked too young for tenth grade, she was in his homeroom. He told them she kept to herself. Miranda asked other kids who came to their table, but no one knew anything more about Abby.

In the car on the way home, Miranda told her mother she had tried her best to talk to the girl. Dan sat in the backseat but leaned forward to add that Abby didn't seem injured.

Helen sighed, driving carefully through the snow-covered lanes. "I thought about the poor thing all day. Even if she says she wasn't hurt, it still was a nasty fall. And so sudden—it almost seemed a faint. She was awfully pale, didn't you think? And so thin. I'm worried about her."

"I get the feeling she doesn't want us bothering her, Mither."

"Well, I feel responsible. I'm going to call her parents."

"I hope they aren't as rude as she is."

"Oh, Mandy, she's probably just lonely. It's hard being the new kid at school."

"I know all about being the new girl, don't forget. But in order to make friends, you have to be friendly. It isn't as if I didn't even try, Mither. She was totally weird when I talked to her. No wonder she doesn't have any friends."

"It's not like you to be so uncharitable." Helen glanced over at Miranda sharply. "Don't be so quick to judge."

"I don't know what it is. I just don't like her." She felt the pressure of Dan's hand on her shoulder and pressed her lips together, scowling out the window. Dusk came early now, and already the windows of the houses they passed were filled with warm yellow light. From the backseat, Dan reached forward and gently tugged a strand of her hair.

Helen slid the car to a stop in front of the Hootons' house. Miranda got out of the front seat so Dan could climb out. Virginia Hooton, Dan's mother, threw aside a snow shovel and struggled through the drifts in the driveway to their car. Helen rolled down the window.

"Hi." Mrs. Hooton smiled, bending down to peer in the window at Helen. "Slippery enough for you?"

Helen grimaced. "Cold enough, too. I wonder if I'll even be able to get in our driveway."

"How did the flea market go?" asked Mrs. Hooton. "I stopped by, but I couldn't stay. I had to get back to the Prindle House. We're setting up an exhibit about the history of the house to help with fund-raising. It's hard work."

"Poor Mom," said Dan, clapping her on the shoulder with a handful of snow.

"Keep away from me with that white stuff," she warned him. "Or you'll get a whole drift of it packed into your shirt."

"See how she treats me?" Dan appealed to Miranda. "Can I come live with you instead?"

Miranda grinned at him but spoke to his mother. "The place was a mob scene." She reached into her coat pocket and drew out the stone whistle. "I bought this."

"Oh, the phoenix. How much did he charge you for it?"

"Ten dollars."

"Hmm." Virginia Hooton glanced at her son. "I doubt it's worth that much—though maybe I'm wrong. It does look quite old. It was in a box of junk I got at an estate sale when old Mrs. Penny died. The box had been up in her attic for ages, unopened. It was labeled 'From Uncle Henry Longridge, Boston.' Whoever that was, I don't know. But since it wasn't Garnet history, it doesn't belong in our museum."

Miranda lifted the bird to her lips and blew its single note into the air. Then she shivered as the wind picked up and rattled the brown leaves left in the elm trees in Dan's front yard.

"It's an interesting legend." Mrs. Hooton clapped her gloved hands together to warm them. "When the phoenix had lived five hundred years, its time came to die. So it would build a fire and throw itself into the flames. I wouldn't mind some nice warm flames myself just now!"

"You mean it committed suicide?" asked Miranda.

"Oh, no—it was a way of living forever. When the fire burned out, there would be a small new phoenix born out of the ashes—and the whole cycle would begin again. It's a comforting thought, really."

"Too bad we can't do that," said Dan.

"Oh, I don't know," mused Helen from inside the car. "I think you might get tired of it after awhile. I know I wouldn't really want to be a kid over and over."

Mrs. Hooton laughed. "True enough. I'd especially hate to be a teenager again. All those raging hormones."

"Oh, great," muttered Dan. "Thanks a lot, Mom."

Virginia Hooton looped an arm around his waist and stepped away from the car. "You must be cold sitting there with the window open, Helen. And we have shoveling to do. See you later."

"Did I hear you say we have shoveling to do?" Miranda heard Dan moan as they drove slowly up the hill of their own driveway. Miranda turned to wave at him out the rear window.

She followed her mother into the house. Philip strode down the stairs to greet his wife and daughter as they entered the front hall, his long legs taking the steps three at a time. "My ladies! At last! I've been home more than an hour, worrying you were stuck in a drift somewhere."

"We were this morning," Helen told him, shrugging out of her coat and sniffing appreciatively. "What's for dinner?"

"Vegetable soup," he said. "With lots of noodles for the two of you, and lots of plain broth for me. Hot soup seemed right for a day like this."

"I'll let you sniff my noodles," teased Helen. She was proud of her husband's firm resolve where his diet was concerned.

"Look, it's snowing again," said Miranda, following the smell of fragrant soup into the kitchen. She left her parents exchanging a long kiss in the hallway. It always made her feel warm and happy to see them so affectionate and loving. She took three mugs out of the cupboard next to the sink and three packets of instant hot chocolate from the box in the pantry. "No Fat, No Sugar" the label promised. Even her father could drink this stuff. She poured water into the mugs and popped them into the microwave.

"How did the flea market go?" Philip asked when he and Helen joined Miranda in the kitchen.

"Well, we sold a lot," Miranda told him, leaning against the counter. "I don't know what the final total is yet—but I bet there'll be buckets of money for the Prindle House. There were even more people there today than at our haunted house." She looked out at the thick snowflakes falling past the window and remembered their most successful fund-raiser to date, the Halloween haunted house in the gym. She and Susannah had dressed as witches and sold candy apples.

"So what's this about landing in a snowbank?" Philip asked Helen.

"I almost hit a girl," she told him, and launched into the whole story of their morning ride to school. "I'm dying to call her parents now to check up on her," she finished. "I've been worrying all day."

He handed her the phone directory. "Good idea."

"What was her last name, Mandy?" asked Helen, opening the book.

"Chandler." Miranda frowned at her mother. She wished Helen would stop carrying on about the weird girl. The microwave timer buzzed, and Miranda opened the door. She handed her parents their mugs of cocoa.

Helen set her mug on the table as she flipped through the phone book. "Chan—, Chandler, here we go. There's only one in the book, so that makes it easy." She reached for the phone and pressed the numbers. Miranda sipped her cocoa and listened.

"Hello?" Helen's voice was suddenly the one Miranda called her "doctor voice," smoothly professional, utterly competent. "This is Dr. Helen Browne. I'm calling about your daughter, Abby.... Oh? Really?" Helen's voice faltered. "Then, excuse me. I thought—no. I guess I have the wrong number. Sorry to bother you." She replaced the receiver.

"Abby doesn't live there?" asked Philip.

"The man said he lives alone and doesn't have any children. But that's the only Chandler in the book."

"Oh, Mither, so what?" Miranda took her empty mug to the sink and turned the water on hard. "Maybe they have an unlisted number. Or maybe since they only moved here a couple of weeks ago they're not in the book—try information. Or maybe Abby's mother has remarried and the phone is listed under a different name. Or maybe—maybe anything!" She didn't understand why she felt so annoyed.

"You're right, of course," said Helen. "But I feel bad about it. The poor girl looked so lost, so weak...."

Miranda turned off the water and moved to the stove. She stirred the big pot of vegetable soup, unaccountably restless and irritable. "Look, I have homework," she said abruptly. "Will you call me when the soup's ready?"

Miranda hurried out of the kitchen, then up the stairs to her bedroom. She threw herself onto the bed. Why was she so unhappy? Feeling something hard under her hip, she reached into her pocket and tugged the stone phoenix out.

She raised it to her lips and blew the single sweet note. As it died away, she heard her parents' laughter from downstairs, and the same tremor of homesickness and loss that assailed her at school stabbed at her again. What was wrong with her? Dragging herself off the bed, she crossed the room to the dresser, opened her sock drawer, and dropped the phoenix in.

At lunchtime the next day, Miranda walked with Susannah to the cafeteria. Her friend was flushed with excitement. "Can you believe it? Over five thousand dollars in one day!"

"It's a good start," Miranda agreed. But she knew it would cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to turn the derelict Witch House into a community center. Still, their school's contribution brought the house a small step closer to its new life.

"And next—the dance." Susannah twirled as they entered the cafeteria, her blond curls dancing. "Shall we go together, or ask guys?"

"Oh—let's just go as a group. It's easier." Miranda's mind wasn't on the Valentine's Dance, scheduled for the next weekend. She saw Abby up ahead. The thin, flaxen-haired girl was wrapped in her dirty beige coat as if she were cold, and she moved slowly, eyeing the selections. "Wait a sec," Miranda said to Susannah. "I need to ask Abby something."

She pushed through the throng of students waiting for their lunches. "Hi." She stood in line behind Abby.

Abby's colorless eyes looked at her blankly.

"My mother tried to call your parents last night, but we couldn't find your number. It wasn't listed."

"I know." Abby moved forward in line and placed her beaded satchel on the counter. She opened it, glancing furtively over her shoulder at Miranda. The satchel was empty.

"Well, where do you live?"

Abby blinked. "Listen. You tell your mother to stop pestering me. I can get along all right—I mean, I am all right."

What did that mean, Miranda wondered.

"What'll you have, girls?" The woman behind the counter held up a large spoon. "Mashed potatoes or fries?"

Abby stood motionless for a moment, opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it. She snapped her beaded bag shut and turned away without ordering anything.

"Next?" inquired the woman.

"Nothing for me, thanks," said Miranda. "I bring my lunch." Perplexed, she looked around for Abby, but didn't see her. She walked back over to Susannah at their usual table in the corner and sat down, greeting the other girls who were there. She scanned the room for Abby and caught sight of Dan at a table on the other side. Then she saw Abby back in line at the lunch counter. So she decided to eat something after all.

Abby wasn't pushing a tray along the metal counter. As before, she slid her large beaded satchel along. Then, as if she knew Miranda were watching, Abby turned her back. Miranda forced herself to look away.

The hubbub of all the students grated on Miranda's nerves. Her ears were suddenly extrasensitive to the usual din; she could no longer make out the separate conversations going on at their table, but heard all the voices as a single, throbbing pulse. She pushed away her sandwich and closed her eyes, letting the jarring background tumult wash over her.

After a moment, she opened her eyes, unwrapped her sandwich, and took a bite, savoring the taste of her mother's special chicken salad and apple filling. Susannah was talking excitedly about the upcoming dance, but Miranda couldn't concentrate. She didn't understand why things seemed wrong. Across the room, Dan was deep in conversation with one of the boys on the debate team. Miranda took another bite, the ringing in her ears subsiding, and noticed Abby making her way swiftly among the tables, heading toward the door to the courtyard. Her beaded satchel, now heavy and bulging, swung against her leg. Miranda put down her sandwich, watching with narrowed eyes.

Abruptly, she left her lunch and books and pressed through the crowded room after Abby. She heard Susannah call to wait, but kept on, determined to confront Abby. About what? She wasn't even sure, but she had a sense that she must follow.

"Hey, Mandy!" Susannah's voice was louder this time. Miranda wheeled around, finger to her lips, and waited for her friend to catch up. Together they paused by the door leading outside into the courtyard.

"Now where'd she go?" asked Miranda, and she hurried outside into the freezing air. She saw Abby's footprints in the new dusting of snow on the path and followed them.

"Will you tell me what in the world you're doing out here?" cried Susannah. "We're not allowed out here at lunchtime, as you know perfectly well. And it's freezing cold and we don't have our coats, and—"

"Shut up!" Miranda hissed, grabbing her friend's arm and pulling her along. "I've got to see where Abby's going. She's got her bag stuffed with something all of a sudden, and you know what? I think it might be food. I saw her in line and the bag was empty, but now look!" She pointed to where, up ahead, Abby darted out the school gate and crossed Main Street. Her large beaded bag thumped against her side.

"Now it's full," said Susannah. "But so what? Maybe she bought a lot of bags of potato chips or cartons of yogurt or something."

"But she's not allowed to leave school, and yet look at her. She's running away!"

"I don't get you, Mandy," said Susannah, still hurrying along behind her friend as Miranda strode on along the snowy street. "Why risk getting in trouble because Abby's cutting school? What's the big deal?"

Half a block ahead, Abby stopped and turned back as if checking to be sure she was not being followed. "Quick!" Miranda grabbed Susannah's arm and pulled her down behind a snow-topped hedge bordering the schoolyard. "Don't let her see us." Miranda peered around the hedge and watched as Abby slowly turned and trudged down the street. Her head was bent against the wind, the beaded bag slung over one thin shoulder. Miranda pulled Susannah out onto the sidewalk again, and they fell into step a block behind Abby. "Go on back to school if you want," Miranda whispered to Susannah. "But I'm going to see where she's going. I don't know why—but something's really weird about her, and I want to know what it is."

"If you ask me, something's weird about you, Mandy!" Susannah, hands on hips, stared at her friend. "I've never seen you acting like this. I am going back. Gosh, I never thought I'd be looking forward to geometry, but the classroom is so overheated I might thaw out by the end of the period."

Miranda hardly listened. As Susannah ran back the way they had come, Miranda moved on, following Abby at a distance, passing the little cluster of shops, a dry cleaner, the post office. When Abby stopped again, Miranda darted behind a tree.

Abby peered over her shoulder, then ran across the street and into the corner grocery store. Miranda waited, stamping her feet and rubbing her hands, then blowing on her fingers to warm them. Her teeth were chattering.

Only a few minutes had passed when Abby stepped outside again, her arms full of several loaves of bread and a big jar. She huddled against the wall of the building for only the second it took to stuff the food inside her beige coat and hitch the heavy, beaded satchel onto her shoulder again. Then she sprinted down the first side street.

As Miranda stepped out from her shelter of branches, the store clerk appeared in the doorway across the street. He looked to the left and the right, then saw her. "Hey!" he called. "You see a little girl in a dirty white coat come out? She ripped me off! I can't believe it!"

Miranda crossed the street. "She stole the food?" She wasn't surprised.

"Sure did!" He frowned, hands on hips. "Now, which way did she go?"

The man looked down at the snow and grinned. "Ha! That little sneak won't get far in this snow. I can follow her tracks as easily as if she'd left me a map." He opened the door to the shop and called inside, "Hey, Ralph! Watch the register, will you? I'll be back in a few minutes. Soon as I catch a thief!"

Miranda moved after him down the side street. Abby's footprints were the only ones in the fresh snow. They were small and narrow compared to Miranda's prints. The man was grumbling as he strode along. "Damn hoodlums. What do they come around here for, anyway? Why can't they stay in the cities?" They rounded the corner, but there was still no sign of Abby.

They pressed on another half a block, but when an icy wind whirled the snow up off the sidewalk, the man stopped and shook his head in disgust. "Damn kids! Damn snow!" he growled. "It's not worth freezing my tail out here." He started stamping back to the corner grocery. Miranda watched him go.

She stood there uncertainly. For a second she wondered what in the world she was doing out in the snow, a mile from school, with no coat or gloves, trailing a girl she didn't even like. But then the moment passed, and she resolutely marched on, following Abby's tracks. At first they were widely spaced, as if Abby had been running. After a block and around a corner they came closer together as if she had slowed to a walk. Miranda scuffed the prints as she walked, obliterating them. And then, around the next corner, she came to an abrupt halt. She sucked in her breath. What—?

The footprints were gone. Just like that.

The new-fallen snow on the sidewalk, snow that had been broken only by Abby's small prints and by her own as Miranda tracked her, stretched ahead fresh and unmarred. It was almost, Miranda thought, as if Abby had somehow disappeared into thin air.

What had happened to Abby? Miranda looked all around but could see no sign that Abby had gone into one of the small houses. Could she have climbed up into a tree? Miranda lifted her head to search the bare branches of a towering elm. Nothing. By now she was shivering hard and her hands and feet were numb.

She had come farther than she realized, and it took her nearly twenty minutes to get back to school. As she walked, Miranda was surprised at the blaze of anger she felt toward Abby. The anger warmed her. At last she slipped through the side door of the school and headed for the girls' bathroom. The period was nearly over, and she'd already missed so much of her English class there was little sense in going. She'd have to think of some excuse to give Ms. Taylor.

When the bell rang, Miranda joined the crush of students in the hallway and was borne along to her world history class. She was nearly inside the door, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Miranda Browne? Where were you last period?" It was Ms, Taylor, the usually smiling young English teacher.

"I—I was in the bathroom. I felt sick." Miranda, unused to lying, felt her face flush.

"Now, Mandy, I know that isn't true. I sent a student to check the bathrooms. We were searching for you because people had seen you at lunch. If you were sick, you would have gone to the nurse to lie down."

Miranda bowed her head. "I'm sorry. I won't cut again."

"I hope not! This goes on your record, you know. I've already reported it to Mr. Raphael. Cutting once means you have an extra essay to write. Please see me after school to get your assignment."

Miranda said she would and stumbled into the world history classroom. The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. She heard hardly anything her teachers said. She was humiliated at having been caught and furious at Abby for leading her on such a wild goose chase in the first place. What a creep! Miranda tried not to think about the way those footprints had vanished.

After school she went straight to her locker to get her coat, books, and flute without waiting for Susannah or Dan. Next she stopped at Ms. Taylor's classroom to write down the extra homework. Then she raced outside into the snow, heading for the little white house on Elm Street where she had a music lesson with Mrs. Wainwright.

Normally Miranda loved her weekly lesson. Eleanor Wainwright, Dan's great-aunt, had become a close and trusted friend of Miranda's the summer the Brownes moved to Garnet. She was getting old, but still had more energy than many younger women. She was spritely and cheerful, always waiting with an after-school snack for her music students and full of questions about their families and friends. She joked that, as President of the Garnet Historical Society, she was just as interested in her students' ancestors as she was in the children themselves. She wore brightly colored silk scarves at her neck and long, dangly earrings. Her music room, too, was ornamented with colors. There were cut flowers in vases, baskets of magazines, miniature collectibles on every bare surface; dolls in international costumes atop the bookcases in the living room, china animals on the piano in the music room.

Miranda declined Mrs. Wainwright's offer of cookies and milk, preferring to get the lesson over with so she could go straight home. She felt too grim to chat with Mrs. Wainwright as they usually did before each lesson and busied herself instead with fitting her flute together and adjusting the sheets of music on her stand. But she had to smile when she saw Dan's ugly pink pig displayed smack in the middle of the collection on the piano.

She played poorly, her notes faltering, her runs stumbling. After the lesson, Mrs. Wainwright looked at her appraisingly. "There's no sense in my telling you how bad that was. You know exactly how bad it was. Vivaldi would be rolling in his grave. I'm hoping you'll be my star pupil in the spring concert, you know. And April will be here before we're ready if you don't buckle down."

Miranda nodded. "I'm sorry. I guess I just wasn't concentrating."

Surprisingly, Mrs. Wainwright grinned. "I know you've been busy with the Prindle House fund-raisers. And you know I appreciate that—the whole Historical Society appreciates it. But there already are enough people concerning themselves with the old Witch House." She frowned. "In fact, we've just had to change the locks on the doors. Seems some prowlers are around. Of course, the house is mostly empty now, but once we finish setting up the new exhibit, there will be antiques and old documents to protect." She sighed. "Now, Mandy, you've got to keep your mind on your music. And I don't suppose Dan helps one bit, does he?"

"Excuse me?" Miranda looked at Mrs. Wainwright blankly.

She laughed. "Yes, you and Dan do make a lovely couple, dear. But you mustn't let my handsome great-nephew interfere with your music."

For a moment Miranda could only stare at her in confusion, but then she realized Mrs. Wainwright was offering her not one, but two excuses for her poor performance. She had to grin back, grasping at the excuses with relief. "We have been working hard. And I like Dan an awful lot."

"Ah, young love." Mrs. Wainwright sighed.

Miranda started to pack her flute back into its case. "I should go now," she said. "I'm meeting my mother at her office for a ride home."

"Very well. I'll count on seeing a vast improvement by next week. Agreed? I want you to promise me you'll keep your mind off that handsome boy."

"I promise I'll try," Miranda hurried out into the dark street and began walking back to the town center. She had played terribly and she felt badly about that. But she had been thinking, as she had been all day, not of Dan but of Abby. She's beginning to haunt me, thought Miranda in annoyance. And she felt like kicking herself for cutting class in order to follow Abby. So what if the girl were a thief? That was a problem for the police, for the school, and for Abby's parents. It was none of Miranda's business.

But how could anyone just disappear like that?

Miranda crossed the common, chilled from the wind and from the uneasy feeling that Abby had been playing cat-and-mouse with her.

When she tramped into her mother's waiting room, Helen was just putting on her coat. "There you are! How was your lesson?"

"Okay." Miranda sank into a chair while Helen said good night to her receptionist.

They walked together to the parking lot. As she unlocked the car door for her daughter, Helen put her hand on Miranda's arm. "Mandy? I'm afraid I've still been worrying about Abby Chandler. Did you get a chance to ask her where she lives?"

Miranda climbed into the front seat and fastened her seatbelt. She stared out the window for a long minute, watching sleet fall through the streetlight. "I asked," she said finally, "but she wouldn't tell me."