Free Magic Elizabeth by Norma Kassirer

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 years 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 sayanything. 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