One
The afternoon Hillary first saw the elf village, she couldnt believe her eyes.
Are you sure it isnt mice? she asked Sara-Kate, who stood beside her, thin and nervous. The houses are small enough for mice.
No, it isnt, Sara-Kate said. Mice dont make villages in peoples backyards.
Hillary got down on her hands and knees to look more closely. She counted the tiny houses. There were nine, each made of sticks bound delicately together with bits of string and wire.
And theres a well, she whispered, with a bucket that winds down on a string to pull the water out.
Not a bucket. A bottlecap! snorted Sara-Kate, twitching her long, shaggy hair away from her face. She was eleven, two years older than Hillary, and she had never spoken to the younger girl before. She had hardly looked at her before.
Can I try drawing some water? Hillary asked.
Sara-Kate said, No.
The roofs of the houses were maple leaves attached to the sticks at jaunty angles. And because it was autumn, the leaves were lovely colors, orange-red, reddish-orange, deep yellow. Each house had a small yard in front neatly bordered with stones that appeared to have come from the driveway.
They used the leaves dropping off those trees over there, Hillary said.
Sara-Kate shrugged. Why not? The leaves make the houses pretty.
How did they get these stones all the way over here? Hillary asked.
Elves are strong, Sara-Kate said. And magic.
Hillary looked at her suspiciously then. It wasnt that she didnt believe so much as that she couldnt right away put Sara-Kate on the side of magic. There never had been one pretty thing about her. Nothing soft or mysterious. Her face was narrow and ended in a sharp chin, and her eyes were small and hard as bullets. They were such little eyes, and set so deeply in her head, that the impression she gave was of a gaunt, fierce bird, a rather untidy bird if one took her clothes into consideration. They hung on her frame, an assortment of ill-fitting, wrinkly garments. (Doesnt she care how she looks? a new girl at school had inquired just this fall, giving every child within earshot the chance to whirl around and shout, No!)
Least magical of all, Sara-Kate Connolly wore boots that were exactly like the work boots worn by men in gas stations.
Black and greasy, Hillarys friend Jane Webster said.
She found them at the dump, Alison Mancini whispered.
No she didnt. Alison, thats terrible! Normally, fourth graders were too shy to risk comment on students in higher grades. But Sara-Kate had been held back in school that year. She was taking the fifth grade all over again, which made her a curiosity.
Can you tell me where you found those amazing boots? Ive just got to get some exactly like them, Jane said to her one day, wearing a look of such innocence that for a second nobody thought to laugh.
In the middle of Sara-Kates backyard, Hillary recalled the sound of that laughter while she stared at Sara-Kates boots. Then she glanced up at Sara-Kates face.
Why does it have to be elves? Why couldnt it be birds or chipmunks or some animal weve never heard of? Or maybe some person made these houses, Hillary said, a sly tone in her voice. She got off her knees and stood up beside the older girl. We are the same height! she announced in surprise.
They were almost the same except for Sara-Kates thinness. Hillary was sturdily built and stood on wide feet.
In fact, Im even a little taller! Hillary exclaimed, rising up a bit on her toes and looking down.
Sara-Kate stepped away from her quickly. She folded her arms across her chest and beamed her small, hard eyes straight into Hillarys wide ones.
Look, she said. I didnt have to invite you over here today and I didnt have to show you this. I thought you might like to see an elf village for a change. If you dont believe its elves, thats your problem. I know its elves.
So, there they were: elvesa whole village of them living down in Sara-Kates junky, overgrown backyard that was itself in back of Sara-Kates broken-down house with the paint peeling off. Sara-Kates yard was not the place Hillary would have picked to build a village if she were an elf. Where there werent thistles and weeds there was mud, and in the mud, broken glass and wire and pieces of rope. There were old black tires and rusty parts of car engines and a washing machine turned over on its side. Carpets of poison ivy grew under the trees and among the bushes. Nobody ever played in Sara-Kates backyard. But then, as Sara-Kate would have said, nobody had ever been invited to play in her backyard. Except Hillary, that is, on that first afternoon of the elves.
Sara-Kate Connolly thinks shes got elves, Hillary told her mother when she came home, rather late, from looking at the village. The yards of the two families backed up to each other, a source of irritation to Hillarys father, who believed that property should be kept up to standard. But who could he complain to? Sara-Kates father did not live there anymore. (Hes away on a trip, Sara-Kate always said.) And Sara-Kates mother didnt care about yards. She hardly ever went outside. She kept the shades of the house drawn down tight, even in summer.
Elves? Mrs. Lenox repeated.
Theyre living in her backyard, Hillary said. They have little houses and a well. I said it must be something else but Sara-Kate is sure its elves. It couldnt be, could it?
I dont like you playing in that yard, Hillarys mother told her. Its not a safe place for children. If you want to see Sara-Kate, invite her over here.
Sara-Kate wont come over here. She never goes to other peoples houses. And she never invites anyone to her house, Hillary added significantly. She tried to flick her hair over her shoulder the way Sara-Kate had done it that afternoon. But the sides were too short and refused to stay back.
It seems that Sara-Kate is beginning to change her mind about invitations, Mrs. Lenox said then, with an unhappy bend in the corners of her mouth.
But how could Hillary invite Sara-Kate to play? And play with what? The elves were not in Hillarys backyard, which was neat and well-tended, with an apple tree to climb and a round garden filled with autumn flowers. Hillarys father had bought a stone birdbath at a garden shop and placed it on a small mound at the center of the garden. Hed planted ivy on the mound and trained it to grow up the birdbaths fluted stem. Birds came from all over the neighborhood to swim there, and even squirrels and chipmunks dashed through for a dip. The birdbath made the garden beautiful.
Now its a real garden, Hillarys father had said proudly, and, until that afternoon, Hillary had agreed. She had thought it was among the most perfect gardens on earth.
Sara-Kates elves began to change things almost immediately, however. Not that Hillary really believed in them. No, she didnt. Why should she? Sara-Kate was not her friend. But, even without being believed, magic can begin to change things. It moves invisibly through the air, dissolving the usual ways of seeing, allowing new ways to creep in, secretly, quietly, like a stray cat sliding through bushes.
Sara-Kate says elves dont like being out in the open, Hillary remarked that evening as she and her father strolled across their gardens well-mowed lawn. She found herself examining the birdbath with new, critical eyes.
She says they need weeds and bushes to hide under, and bottlecaps and string lying around to make their wells.
Mr. Lenox didnt answer. He had bent over to fix a piece of ivy that had come free from the birdbath.
