The Power of Poppy Pendle (21 page)

“The police are looking for you,” she exclaimed, gasping for breath, but before she could utter another word, Marie Claire smoothly broke in.

“Everything’s under control now, so if you would be kind enough to open the door for us.”

“You’re in a great deal of trouble, Poppy Pendle. A great deal.”

“All sorted out actually,” Marie Claire said. “I suggest you go and call the police station. They’ll be able to give you the details. Ask to speak to PC Plunket. He’s in charge of this case.”

“I know who PC Plunket is,” Maxine said suspiciously, getting out her key and opening the Pendles’ front door. She was about to step inside, but Marie Claire slipped by her fast and stood in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest.

“Thank you. That will be all.” With an aggrieved sniff, Maxine spun around and marched off down the path.

“I’ll be calling PC Plunket right away,” she threatened. “So let’s hope what you’ve told me is true.”

“Come on,” Marie Claire whispered, reaching for Poppy’s hand. “That woman is an old busybody. Let’s get this over with before she comes back.”

The house was too quiet, and Poppy sensed, even before she entered the kitchen, what they would find.
“Mon Dieu!”
Marie Claire cried out softly, staring at the two stone figures. “They have not changed back.” She turned to look at Poppy, as if searching for an answer. “How can this be?”

“I don’t know.” Poppy gave a nervous shrug.

“But everyone else is just fine,” Marie Claire murmured, stepping up to Mrs. Pendle and touching her stone hand. “Perhaps you are still angry with them?” she suggested. “Perhaps you had more fury behind this particular spell than the others?”

“I’m not angry anymore,” Poppy whispered, putting her arms around her father’s waist. It was so much easier being with her parents when they couldn’t talk back. She looked over at her mother’s anguished face, full of pain and heartache, and Poppy wished that she hadn’t disappointed them so. Life would have been completely different if only she’d wanted to be a witch. “Maybe they’re still mad at me,” Poppy said. “What about that, Marie Claire? Perhaps
they
have to stop being angry as well?”

“I don’t know,” Marie Claire sighed. “I just don’t know, but the question is, what shall we do with them both? We really can’t leave them here. It doesn’t seem right.”

“No, and they are still my parents,” Poppy acknowledged, trying not to look at the space where the oven used to be. She could feel herself starting to get mad again. Taking a deep, calming breath, Poppy said, “Let’s bring them with us. That solves the problem, doesn’t it? They can come live in the cottage, or outside might be better,” she added quickly. “The cottage is rather small.”

“Yes.” Marie Claire nodded her approval. “We’ll find just the right spot for Edith and Roger, and I’m sure Charlie’s father would be happy to give them a ride over in his truck.”

“Oh, he doesn’t need to do that.” Poppy grinned. “I can carry my mum and dad.”

“They’re solid stone,” Marie Claire pointed out. “You couldn’t possibly lift one of these, let alone two.”

“Watch me,” Poppy said, picking up Roger under one arm and Edith under the other. She could see through the window that nosy old Maxine was hovering about in her front garden, raking up some nonexistent leaves and glancing over at their house every few seconds. Poppy hesitated a moment and then headed toward the back door. “It might be better if we go out this way,” she suggested, hitching Edith up a bit and trying not to let her slip. It was hard to keep a good grip around her mother’s waist.

Thank goodness it was a Sunday afternoon and most of Potts Bottom’s residents were either slumped in front of their televisions watching football or finishing up Sunday lunch. The streets were deserted, and a powerful smell of roast meat hung in the air.

“Careful,” Marie Claire said, steadying Poppy as she tripped and stumbled forward, almost dropping her parents on the ground. “You don’t want them to break, now.”

“No, that wouldn’t be a good idea,” Poppy agreed, slowing down her pace. Her shirt had come untucked and she could feel her socks slipping, but it was hard not to skip when she felt so happy.

“Have you always been this strong?” Marie Claire said.

“Ever since I was a baby.” Poppy grinned. “Must have been the almond cakes you gave me when I was born.”

“Well, those are good, but they’re certainly not full of any special powers.” Marie Claire laughed. “My guess is that sort of strength comes from being magic.”

“Yes,” Poppy sighed wistfully. “They can take away my wand and broomstick, but they can’t take away my magic.”

“You shouldn’t want them to,” Marie Claire said with force. “It’s a part of who you are. A big part. That’s what makes you, you,” she said, stabbing at the air with her finger. Poppy opened her mouth to say something, but Marie Claire hurried on. “We can’t change who we are, Poppy, but we can choose what we do.”

Poppy thought about this for a moment, and then shaking back a clump of hair, she burst out, “Well, I choose to be a baker.” It sounded so good that she said it again and then again, shouting the words louder and louder each time. “I CHOOSE TO BE A BAKER.”

“Good choice.” Marie Claire smiled. “Really good choice!”

Chapter Twenty-Six

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Happily Ever After

P
OPPY’S OPENED FOR
BUSINESS ON MAY 3,
the day Poppy turned eleven. It had taken almost a year to
renovate the bakery, but it was the best birthday present Poppy had ever had. Marie
Claire moved out of the patisserie and for an embarrassingly small sum of money had
purchased the little cottage down by the canal. With a great deal of help from PC
Plunket (who couldn’t wait for the bakery to open), Charlie’s dad had put on
a new roof and replaced all the windows. In fact, PC Plunket proved to be excellent with
a hammer. He hung drywall, built a new set of stairs, and in return Poppy promised to
save him a dozen chocolate melt-aways every Thursday. Best of all, PC Plunket tactfully
didn’t mention the fact that two life-size stone statues looking remarkably like
Edith and Roger Pendle had been positioned on either side of the bakery’s front
door. It was clear that Poppy Pendle had come back from the dark side, so why make a
fuss? That was most people’s opinion. Even Auntie Viv didn’t seem to mind.
She and nosy old Maxine drank coffee and gossiped together now most mornings, ever since
Viv had moved into the house on Pudding Lane. It did seem a shame to waste all that
lovely space with no one living there anymore, and her little flat was the size of a
postage stamp.

So life unfolded into a comforting routine, and one that Poppy looked
forward to from the moment she woke up. While Marie Claire was still sleeping, Poppy
would start the bread doughs and croissants. She loved the quiet of early morning and
the peace and tranquillity of the canal drifting by. Soon the little kitchen would be
filled with the sweet, yeasty scent of baking, and when the wind was blowing from the
south, people claimed to be able to smell Poppy’s fresh breads right across town.
There was always a line waiting outside the bakery before it even opened, and visitors
to Potts Bottom often asked for directions to the place that smelled so good.

Every morning before leaving the bakery, Poppy would hang an
OPEN
sign around her father’s neck
and bid him a cheery hello. He always looked back at her with the same startled
expression, as if he had just seen something unbelievable. She liked to tell her parents
what the day’s specials were, just to keep them involved, and she was sure that on
coconut cupcake Mondays the corners of her father’s mouth sometimes twitched.
Then, with a bright smile and a wave to Marie Claire, Poppy would skip off to meet the
school bus.

At six o’clock, when the bakery shut for the evening, Poppy hung the
closed sign around her mother’s neck, trying to avoid looking too closely at the
tragic stone face. There was something rather disturbing about her angry, bug-eyed
stare, and the enormous mouthful of food Edith Pendle still appeared to be chewing.

Charlie spent as much time visiting Poppy’s as she could, but she
liked to get home before dark to feed her goose. He had made a permanent home under the
old apple tree in Charlie’s garden and continued to be an excellent eater, gulping
down muffins and gingerbread and even the odd grilled cheese sandwich. Sometimes when
Charlie walked down to the bakery, her goose would waddle along behind. While she helped
serve customers or watched Poppy invent a new cookie recipe, her goose would go for a
quick swim in the canal. As soon as he saw Charlie wave good-bye, though, he flapped out
of the water, gave his feathers a brisk shake, and scuttled after her with a series of
excited honks.

One Wednesday, a few months after the bakery had opened, Ms. Roach
appeared in the shop. Ducking down behind the counter, Poppy held her breath and hoped
that she hadn’t been seen. “Hello, Poppy,” Ms. Roach greeted loudly,
and Poppy scrambled to her feet with a sheepish smile. “I see you have some nice
stone artwork out front,” she said, and before Poppy could answer, she pointed to
the last ten caramel cookies. “I’ll take all of those, please.”

“Yes, Ms. Roach,” Poppy mumbled, putting the cookies into a
box. She waited for Ms. Roach to say something more, but the headmistress didn’t.
She took her cookies and left. The next week though, an order came in from Ruthersfield
Academy for ten dozen caramel cookies to be delivered to the school every Wednesday. At
the bottom of the order was a note from Ms. Roach. It said, “Those were the best
cookies I have ever eaten. Your great-grandmother Mabel was a wonderful witch, and you
are a wonderful baker.”

And Poppy’s parents? Well, they stood outside the shop for two
whole years, watching the people of Potts Bottom come and go. There was always a steady
stream of customers to look at, and sometimes people would greet them by name.
“Hello, Edith,” or “How’s it going, Roger,” they’d
call out, giving the stone statues a friendly pat on their tummies. In the winter months
Poppy dressed her parents in woolly hats and scarves, and they became a popular target
for snowball-throwing practice.