The Mirror in the Attic Read online

  Chapter Two

  The Mirror in the Attic

  The children were sitting in the library once more, drawing pictures with Maude when their parents returned home. Mrs. Shenstone stood for a moment in the hall hanging her coat on a hook. Her red hair--mostly natural--was as perfectly combed and styled as always. Mary Jane wished, as she always did, that her hair could be like her mother's, but it seemed to have a mind of its own and would not be tamed. Mrs. Shenstone removed her gloves, placing them neatly on the shelf beside the door, then ran her long fingers through her hair absentmindedly. It was at that moment that she saw the puddle of water that had been accruing under Mary Jane’s dripping jacket since she had hung it up an hour before. A shrill screech emerged from her pink lips that echoed all the way up to the attic. Mary Jane winced and put down her colored pencil.

  “Mary Jane!” Her mother roared. Mary Jane slinked into the hallway, her eyes on the floor and her body collapsing into itself. Her mother was standing with her hands on her hips, glaring angrily.

  “Mary Jane, you know to shake your jacket out outside before hanging it up! Now there’s water all over the floor. Just look at this mess. Go and grab a rag and wipe the water up,” Mrs. Shenstone commanded.

  Mary Jane obediently set off to the kitchen to find a rag with which to wipe the water while her mother changed out of her party dress and her father sat down wearily in his leather chair. Jack and Maude, now evicted from the library by their father’s return, retreated to Jack’s room with their papers and pencils. Mary Jane dried the puddle as best she could, sweeping the rag over the water in large arcs, then joined her siblings upstairs and she and Jack set about finishing their homework while Maude continued drawing pictures of white ponies.

  At seven on the dot, their mother called them down for dinner. Dinner was a casserole, made of green vegetables, cheese and ground beef. Mr. Shenstone sat uncomfortably at one end of the table, staring at his food as though he was afraid it might sprout legs and walk away. Mrs. Shenstone sat at the other end, scrutinizing her children with her hawk-like eyes. She heaped a spoonful of casserole on Mary Jane’s plate while asking, “Well Jack, how was school today?”

  “Fine,” Jack said, his mouth full of casserole. “We’re going on a field trip next week to the museum. We’re going to look at dinosaur bones and mummies and old rocks and whatnot.”

  “Well don’t get lost, dear, it’s a big museum. Stay with your class and don’t wander off,” his mother admonished, sipping her tea.

  The steam rose from the hot water and curled around her nostrils. Jack bowed his head obediently and kept eating. No one at the table noticed that Maude was secretly slipping bits of broccoli from the casserole into her napkin. Maude hated broccoli, but her mother never noticed and so she hid it in her napkin and later threw it in the bushes when her mother wasn't watching. When no one else spoke, Maude said, “Where did the mirror in the attic come from?”

  Her mother put her fork down and looked at her in surprise. Maude almost never spoke at dinner. Jack elbowed her under the table and then gave her a significant look, silently urging her not to ask.

  “What do you mean, Maude? There is no mirror in the attic,” she said.

  “Yes there is,” Mary Jane said, piping up. “We saw it today.”

  “Why did you go up there?” Mrs. Shenstone asked. She looked around at her three children, puzzled.

  “We couldn’t go out because of the rain, so we decided to explore the attic instead,” Mary Jane answered. Mrs. Shenstone looked thoughtful for a moment.

  “No, no, I’m quite sure there are no mirrors in the attic, children,” she answered firmly.

  Having given her opinion, she began eating again. Mary Jane frowned and looked across the table at Jack, who frowned back at her and then pushed a large piece of broccoli into his mouth.

  “How can you be sure? There are so many things in the attic. You could have easily missed seeing it, especially if it doesn't belong to you and Father. It could have been here before you bought the house. It's so unusual; not like any mirror I've ever seen. It looks like the sort of mirror Snow White's evil stepmother might have used,” Mary Jane insisted, inexplicably desperate to prove that the mirror existed.

  Her mother sighed and put her fork down once more.

  “Perhaps you’re right, dear. The man who lived here before us, Mr. Lewis, left some things in the attic. He didn’t want to take it all with him when he moved. He had quite a lot of trunks, as I recall. And an armoire, I think.”

  “So he could have left a mirror and you might not know,” Mary Jane persisted.

  “I don't see why it matters," Mrs. Shenstone said. "But no, in any case I’m quite certain he didn’t leave a mirror; only boxes and trunks. Now really, children…”

  “But we saw the mirror, Mother. We saw it; it’s there,” Mary Jane protested.

  “Well then, there must be a mirror, mustn’t there be, hmm? I suppose it must have slipped my mind. I haven’t been in the attic in ages. Now, who wants desert? Mr. Shenstone?”

  Mr. Shenstone blinked dreamily. He said as though continuing a conversation that had already begun, “Children, your mother and I will be going away for a few days. I will be presenting at an academic conference and I have asked your mother to accompany me. We will be leaving tomorrow at eight in the morning.”

  “Tomorrow?” Jack repeated. Both Maude and Mary Jane looked astonished.

  Mrs. Shenstone added calmly, “I’ve asked our dear neighbor Mrs. Peters to take care of you while we’re away.”

  The children looked at each other in horror. Their parents might have believed that Mrs. Peters was a warm, jovial woman, but they knew that once the Shenstones were gone Mrs. Peters ruled the house mercilessly, forcing the children to spend hours dusting the curtains, scrubbing the sinks, and polishing the silver. Mrs. Peters would sit on their father’s favorite leather chair and dribble crumbs into the crease between the seat and the back. She would make Mary Jane cook her pies and make her finger sandwiches. She would order Jack to mop the floor. She would make Maude rub her fat white hands, moaning that they had been worked to the bone.

  “But Mother, we can take care of ourselves,” Jack said, thinking quickly.

  “No you cannot,” his mother replied. “I simply cannot understand why you children dislike Mrs. Peters so. She has been nothing but kind to you and you look like death every time I say her name. She will be watching you for the next three days and that’s the end of it.”