Isadora's Secret

by Jackie Hosking

"Yeah, come on, it'll be fine, we won't be long."

"But your mum said we weren't to go anywhere."

"She won't even know. She's too busy having coffee. Trust me she won't even know we're gone."

"I don't know, Steph…"

"Come on, Brittany, don't be such a baby. I told Kate and Laura that we'd meet them at four. If we run we'll just make it."

"And what if your mum…"

But Stephanie wasn't listening; she was already running towards the park.

"Wait for me, Steph. I'm coming, wait for me."

The park wasn't very far from Stephanie's house. It took the girls about five minutes to run there. Laura and Kate were waiting by the swings.

"You're late," said Kate.

"Sorry," said Stephanie. "Mum wouldn't let us go. She doesn't like me coming down here by myself. She's really annoying. She doesn't let me do anything."

"Well don't let it happen again. If you want to belong to this club you have to come to the meetings on time."

Kate was the leader. She was a bit bossy but she was very good at organising things. She'd started the club with her friend Laura. It was called 'The Secret Girls Club' and there were definitely no boys allowed. This was the first meeting and they were there to decide who should be Kate's assistant.

"Okay," said Kate. "I've bought some paper and pencils and I want you all to write down who you think would make the best assistant. The person with the most votes wins."

Everyone voted for Laura, including Laura.

"Congratulations," they said and did their secret handshake.

Brittany looked at her watch. It was twenty to five. Her mum would be picking her up in twenty minutes. She nudged Stephanie and said, "We'd better get going."

"We've gotta go," said Stephanie. "We'll see you at school tomorrow."

"Yeah, don't forget the password," said Kate.

"I won't. See ya."

Stephanie and Brittany ran off. "What's the password?" Brittany asked.

"I don't know," laughed Stephanie. "I thought you knew."

"No, I don't know. Looks like we'll be in trouble again. Speaking of which we'd better get a move on. Come on I'll race you."

The girls took off up the hill. Brittany was leading. She was a very good runner. She won all her races at the school sports last term. She was nearly at the top of the hill when she heard Stephanie cry out. She quickly turned around just in time to see her friend come crashing down.

"Ouch! My ankle," Stephanie wailed. "I've really hurt my ankle, I can't move." She was really crying now.

Brittany ran back to her as fast as she could. She'd never seen her cry like that she must be really hurt. She didn't know what to do. She didn't want to leave her but it was too far to walk home and besides Stephanie couldn't walk. She also didn't fancy having to tell Stephanie's mum that they had gone out when they were told not to. Stephanie's ankle was starting to swell. It looked really awful. Brittany was close to tears herself when they heard a voice. It was coming from the driveway of the house across the road.

A strange old lady holding a walking stick in one hand and a cat in the other was standing by her letterbox. "What's happened?" she asked.

Brittany stood up and explained, trying not to cry, that her friend had tripped and really hurt her ankle.

"Well perhaps you'd better come inside," said the strange old woman. "Here, you can use my walking stick."

Brittany took the walking stick from the lady and gave it to her friend. Stephanie hauled herself up using Brittany and the stick for support. It was made of wood and felt very smooth. She could feel where the old lady's fingers had worn their shape into the handle. It felt weird.

"Come on," said the lady. "Let me put some ice on it and then we can call your mum."

Neither girl spoke. They were thinking about how much trouble they'd be in when they got home. Stephanie and Brittany hobbled up the driveway. They followed the old lady into her house. It was a very large house. It was set back on the block behind several trees so the girls had never really noticed it before. The house was quite dark inside and smelled funny. It reminded Brittany of her grandmother's wardrobe, musty and old.

"Down here, girls," the old lady said and she showed them into the kitchen. It was like nothing the girls had ever seen. The oven was so old that a wood fire had to be burned in it to heat it up. There was no fridge or freezer so they were very surprised when the lady appeared with some ice but they were too polite to say anything so they just sat very still. As the lady was wrapping Stephanie's ankle she asked,

"Where do you girls live then?" She had a little bit of an accent and she smelled like flowers.

Stephanie tried to answer but her ankle was hurting too much and she began to cry again.

"We're just a few streets away," said Brittany. "I'm just visiting," We weren't supposed to go out," she started to cry.

"Shh, don't cry. Let me make you a cup of tea."

"But we're going to be in so much trouble. I won't be able to stay again," Brittany sobbed and wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve.

"Try not to worry," the old lady said. "Drink your tea and I'm sure you'll feel much better."

The girls sipped their tea. It was warm and comforting. It was the best tea they had ever had. It smelled like roses and tasted like apples. They started to feel better straight away.

"What's your name?" Stephanie asked the old lady.

"Isadora," the old lady replied.

"Have you lived here long?" Brittany asked. "I've not seen you before?"

"Oh yes, I've lived her for many years, before you were born. This house has been in my family for generations."

"Goodness what time is it?" Stephanie interrupted. "Perhaps we'd better ring my mum. Would it be all right if I used your phone?"

"Yes of course, it's down the hall, maybe your friend had better call. What's your name, love?"

"Brittany," said Brittany.

"Follow me, Brittany. It's just down here."

Brittany followed the old lady back down the hall towards the front door. Now that her eyes had become used to the light she noticed that there were several doors leading off the hallway. They were all shut. The telephone was on a wooden stand between two of the closed doors. It was one of those black old-fashioned phones with a ring dial on the front instead of buttons. She wondered if it would work.

"Okay then, I'll leave you to it," said Isadora. "I'll go and check on…?"

"Stephanie," said Brittany realizing that neither of them had introduced themselves properly.

"If you need anything just yell."

"Thank you," said Brittany and she picked up the phone. She heard a dial tone and she dialed the number. It rang for ages but there was no answer. She hung up and tried again. Maybe she'd dialed the wrong number. The phone was quite tricky to use. She was used to the touch-tone type. She waited again but there was still no answer. She hung up and went back to the kitchen.

"What did she say?" asked Stephanie, not really wanting to know.

"There was no answer," said Brittany.

"Maybe you rang the wrong number, what number did you ring?"

"No, I rang it twice, 487 526, that's right isn't it? I wonder where she is?"

"I thought your mum was coming to pick you up at five? She really should be home." Stephanie was starting to worry. "It's not like her to leave the house without telling me where's she's going. What if something happened? God I hope she's all right."

"How could she tell you where she was going? You're not there; you're here. Besides she's the one who's probably worrying. My mum, too. They're probably worried sick. They're not home 'cause they're out looking for us," Brittany felt like she was going to cry again.

"Stop your blubbering," snapped Stephanie. "We've got to go. Where's Isadora?"

"I don't know, she said she was coming back in here to check on you."

"I haven't seen her since she took you to the phone."

"Should I go and find her?" Brittany asked not liking the thought of wandering around the big old house by herself.

"No, we don't have time. We need to get home before someone calls the police. We are in so much trouble. Come on."

"But what about your ankle? How are you going to walk?"

Stephanie looked at her ankle. How strange. The swelling had almost gone. She wiggled her toes and moved her foot backwards and forwards. It seemed fine. She put on her shoe and walked slowly across the kitchen. There was no pain at all. The girls stared at each other in disbelief.

"Perhaps she's a witch," whispered Brittany

"Don't be stupid," said Stephanie. "Come on let's go."

The girls walked into the hallway. The front door seemed very far away.

"Shouldn't we say goodbye?" asked Brittany, she felt very rude sneaking out when Isadora had been so kind.

"We'll send her a card, and some flowers," said Stephanie. "We can't let our mums' worry for another minute."

When they got to the front door they half expected it to be locked. Stephanie grabbed the doorknob and twisted. The door creaked open. They both looked back down the hall and thought they saw a cat but it was dark and they weren't sure.

"Goodbye and thank you," they whispered and ran out into the sunshine.

When they got home the girls found Stephanie's mum in the kitchen. She was drinking a cup of coffee.

"Where's Brittany's mum?" Stephanie asked, still puffing.

"She's not coming till five. Are you ready to go home Brittany?"

Brittany didn't answer.

"Five?" Stephanie exclaimed. "What time is it now?"

"About ten to," Stephanie's mum said. "What ever is the matter?"

"Haven't you missed us? I fell over running back from the park. I really hurt my ankle."

"I thought I told you two to stay here?"

"I know, I know but this really nice lady helped me. We've been at her house for at least an hour, I don't understand…"

"Just calm down," Stephanie's mum said. "Perhaps you should start at the beginning."

The girls explained that they had met Kate and Laura at the park and that Stephanie had hurt her ankle while they were running home.

Stephanie said, "She made us a cup of tea and we tried to ring you but you weren't home and I started to worry and then the weirdest thing happened. My ankle didn't hurt anymore. It was like magic, wasn't it, Brittany?"

Brittany nodded her head. "Her name is Isadora, she was really nice."

Stephanie's mum stopped drinking her coffee. "Did you say Isadora?"

"Yes," said Stephanie. She lives in the big old house on…"

"Sycamore Street," said Stephanie's mum.

"Do you know her?" asked Brittany.

"Vaguely," said Stephanie's mum, "when I was a girl. Though I've not seen her for years. Everyone thought that she was a witch."

"So did I," said Brittany.

"That's just silly," said Stephanie.

Just then Brittany's mum arrived. "What's just silly?" she asked as she walked into the kitchen.

"That Isadora from Sycamore Street is a witch," said Stephanie.

"Isadora Franklin?" asked Brittany's mum. "Don't you mean - was a witch?"

" Is a witch, was a witch, it doesn't really matter," interrupted Stephanie's mum. "The point is that you two were very lucky that she helped you out at all. Surely you both know how dangerous it is to go into a stranger's house. Anything might have happened. I thought you were more sensible than that."

"We're going to buy her some flowers tomorrow," blurted out Stephanie, trying to change the subject. "Can Brittany come with me?"

"No," said Brittany's mum, "I don't think you quite understand. The reason I said, was a witch, is not because she's no longer a witch but because she's no longer alive. Isadora Franklin died years ago before you two were born. She's buried in the graveyard near the old church."

"You mean she's a ghost?" squealed the girls together.

"Perhaps she is an angel," said Stephanie's mum with a smile. "Sent to look out for disobedient little girls."

Stephanie and Brittany often visited Isadora's grave after that and sometimes they brought flowers but they always remembered to say thank you. And even though no one really understood what happened that strange day, Brittany and Stephanie learned that sometimes keeping secrets can be dangerous. Especially when you keep them from your mum.

The End.

Jackie Hosking lives in Australia. She's been writing for several years now and has had many short stories and poems accepted for publication

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