The Boggart by Susan Cooper

Author:Susan Cooper
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books
Published: 2001-11-24T16:00:00+00:00

AUNT JEN said brightly, “Well, I’m glad to see you, whatever the circumstances. And it’s always nice to have help on Dusting Day.”

Emily said resentfully, “Mom only had to ask us to help — she knew we’d have come. But she has to turn it into this great huge punishment deal. You will spend Saturday working at the shop! As if we hadn’t been helping at the shop ever since we were little!”

Aunt Jen gave her a comforting hug, and produced a handful of dusting cloths from the pocket of her voluminous jumper. Dusting Day came once a week at Old Stuff. It was a tedious process from which not only every piece of furniture but every small object, from roasting pan to thimble, had to emerge dust free and sparkling to attract the customers.

“Silver cloth for Em, standard for Jess” she said, handing out dusters. “And for Pete’s sake don’t break anything.”

“Are you kidding?” said Jessup with feeling. “She’d atomize us!”

“You’ve all been having a difficult time,” said Aunt Jen diplomatically. She was always careful not to take sides in Volnik family tussles. “Do a great job, and things’ll get better. Maggie will be back soon — she’s picking something up from Customs.”

She disappeared into the back of the shop, and Emily and Jessup began their dusting, very carefully indeed. Jessup took six champagne glasses off a shelf, polished the shelf and each glass, and put the last glass back with a sigh of relief. Emily polished a silver coffeepot, cream jug and sugar bowl. “Good thing that boggart’s not here,” she said.

“Why holly?” Jessup said.

“What?”

“He put holly branches over all the windows. He must have had a reason.”

“I don’t think it has real reasons for anything,” said Emily wearily. “It just likes bothering people. I mean what reason would it have for putting a squishy sandwich on your chair, except playing a silly joke?”

“I don’t think he’s an it —” Jessup began, but the door of the shop opened and their mother came in, carrying a cardboard carton. Emily looked up warily, and saw behind Maggie a tall, dark, grave man whom she felt she had seen before, though she couldn’t remember when or where.

“Emily, Jessup,” said Maggie, formal and brisk. “This is Dr. Stigmore.”

“Good morning,” said the man.

“Hi,” said Jessup.

“Hello,” said Emily. She started to polish a box full of silver-plated knives and forks, all set neatly in rows.

Sitting on the open lid of the box, the Boggart looked across at Maggie, resentfully. He had come to the shop, clinging invisibly and uncomfortably to the handlebars of Emily’s bicycle, because he wanted to be with his two new friends — not with this woman who had dared to dress up as the Cailleach Bheur. Someone had described her costume that night as the Wicked Witch of the West, whatever that might be, but he knew better. The Boggart felt disappointed. He was not good at coping with more than one emotion at once, and the sight of Maggie had brought a shadow over his new-discovered happiness.

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