The Dreadful Future of Blossom Culp (19 page)

T
HE WITCHING HOUR HAD PASSED
, and November was upon us. There was already gray dawn light in the east, and the old Leverette farmhouse was abandoned once more.

The last of our customers had departed, and the Shambaughs’ Packard had long since called for Letty and her club. I had no doubt they were all snug in warm beds by now.

Still, I lingered in the upstairs room. I’d folded up all the sheets of my tent and pulled down my Madame Blossom Tells All sign. Now I was sweeping up the crystal ball that had shattered all over the room. Somehow, I wanted to leave the room neat for Jeremy-to-be.

Though I figured I was alone with my thoughts, I heard a footstep at the door, crunching on broken glass. I turned to see a shadow on the threshold. It moved and was Alexander.

He hesitated, still suspicious of this particular room.

“Blossom, you still here?”

“If I’m not, Alexander, you’re looking at my ghost.”

He peered from side to side. “Don’t talk that way,” he muttered. “I heard sweeping, so I figured you hadn’t gone.” He stepped cautiously into the room, carrying a couple of punch cups. “I was cleaning up the monster’s kitchen and thought maybe you’d like a cup of grape juice. After all, you put in a pretty good night’s work, I have to admit.”

“Many thanks, Alexander.” I propped the broom against the wall, and we settled at my table. It seemed empty without the crystal ball. Alexander placed a punch cup before me and withdrew his hand, fast.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve told enough fortunes for one night.”

Alexander nodded. “That’s what everybody says. You outdid yourself with Mr. Lacy. He took off like a bat out of you-know-where. Miss Fuller was right at his heels. She was screaming to beat the band and wouldn’t stop.”

“He was nothing but a philandering married man,” I remarked wearily, “and he was sparking both Miss Fuller and Miss Spaulding. If he wants to save his worthless hide, he’ll be on the milk train out of Bluff City this very morning.”

Alexander considered this. “I hope they’ll be in no hurry to find a new history teacher,” he said, which is the way a boy thinks.

We sipped a little grape juice, and then he said, “Blossom, how did you get the goods on Mr. Lacy?
Did you use the crystal ball on him, or did you go off into one of your spells?”

I twitched my elbows slightly. “Well, now, Alexander, that’s an interesting point. As you know, I have a number of Powers to draw on. And as I’ve often said, a Gift is a curse unless you put it to work. Now you take, for example, a deck of cards. I’ve done some of my best work this very evening with this very deck.”

Reaching into a pocket, I withdrew the cards and fanned them on the table before us.

The room had gone from black to gray. In the cold light of dawn they were only ordinary playing cards, greasy from Mama’s hand.

Alexander waited, almost politely, for whatever tall tale I cared to think up.

But Halloween was over, and it was just me and Alexander Armsworth there together. So I told him the truth.

I told him it was Mama who’d known about Mr. Lacy’s shameful past. Naturally that brought in Daisy-Rae and Roderick, whom Alexander had already more or less met. I had to work them into this conversation, for Daisy-Rae played the role of Blanche, Mr. Lacy’s poor, deceived wife. And Roderick played the role of his abandoned little son, Leonard.

It was lucky indeed that Mr. Lacy hadn’t knocked one or both of them senseless when he let fly with that crystal ball. Even that polecat’s aim was bad.

Of course, in the confusion that followed, Daisy-Rae and Roderick had slipped off to their chicken coop home and were doubtless fast asleep by now.

Alexander rubbed his chin for all the world like Jeremy. “Blossom, do you mean to tell me that Daisy-Rae sleeps in a chicken coop all night and lives all day in the girls’ rest room at Bluff City High School? Is that what you’re telling me?”

The trouble with the truth is that it’s hard to believe.

But by and by I got Alexander convinced. It was time we headed for home. The sun was all but up. Though I hadn’t liked to leave this room, somehow I didn’t mind with Alexander by my side.

We were climbing down the creaky stairs to the cobwebby hall. “Now that Daisy-Rae has helped out at our Haunted House fund raiser,” I said, “I think I can convince her to be a regular freshman. A little nudge or two, and I’ll have her attending classes.”

Alexander nodded his approval of this plan.

“If Daisy-Rae’s going to be a real freshman,” I observed, “she’ll naturally need a beanie. But I’ll find one for her somewheres.”

Alexander reached up to his bare head. “I’ve lost my beanie,” he said, “somewheres.”

“Is that a fact,” I remarked, and he gave me one of his most suspicious looks.

His suspicions deepened when I led him to the
dining room. It was bare in there except for some burned-out jack-o’-lanterns and the old gasolier fixture hanging down. The china closet door stood open.

He saw that Roderick was not lurking inside, ready to scare him out of a year’s growth again. Still, he was puzzled when I said, “I’d be obliged if you’d check around in that china closet for a loose floorboard.”

He went down on all fours and peered inside. “All the floorboards are loose,” he said in a hollow voice.

I reached into one of my many pockets and fished up the spelling medal. “Just hide this medal of mine under one of them boards.”

When he’d wedged it tight under the floor, he sat back on his heels. “How come we’re burying your medal, Blossom?”

“I’ve left it as a token of friendship,” I told him, “for a kid of my acquaintance.”

“A boy?” Alexander wondered.

I nodded.

“Is it anybody I know? It’s not Champ, is it? Or Bub?”

“Mercy, no, Alexander.” I shook my head till the hoops swung in my ears. “It’s a boy yet to be. He won’t be born for many years.”

Alexander rubbed his chin in thought. “And yet you know him, Blossom.”

I nodded.

“Hamlet?”
he inquired.

“Act One,” I answered.

Then me and Alexander Armsworth walked out into the bright November morning, almost hand in hand.

Richard Peck
was born in Decatur, Illinois. He attended Exeter University in England and holds degrees from DePauw University and Southern Illinois University.

In 1990, he received the American Library Association’s Margaret A. Edwards Award, which honors “an author whose book or books, over a period of time, have been accepted by young adults as an authentic voice that continues to illuminate their experiences and emotions, giving insight into their lives.”

His other books include
The Ghost Belonged to Me, Ghosts I Have Been
(both about Blossom Culp),
Are You in the House Alone?, A Long Way from Chicago,
which was both a 1999 National Book Award Finalist and the 1999 Newbery Honor Book, and its sequel,
A Year Down Yonder.

Richard Peck lives in New York City.

Looking for more?
Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.
Discover your next great read!