“Did you learn anything?”
Jackson glared at Sir Shaw. And then he calmed down. Because he had learned something, but he wasn’t about to admit it. So he said nothing.
“Why do you not come in and have a cup of hot chocolate?” Sir Shaw asked. “I find that after-an-adventure is the perfect time for hot chocolate.”
Inside the elevator was a bench that folded down from the wall. It looked very inviting. Jackson hesitated.
“I have whipped cream and extra chocolate sprinkles.”
That was enough. Jackson stepped inside and sat down. Sir Shaw pulled out a shiny thermos and unscrewed the lid. The smell of warm, chocolaty goodness filled the air. He handed Jackson a huge mug and filled it up to the top with rich hot chocolate. He added a generous dollop of whipped cream and shook a canister of chocolate sprinkles on top. Sir Shaw sat down on a little stool and crossed his legs.
“Now tell me all about it.”
chapter 82
In Which Jackson Experiences the Effects of Hot Chocolate with Whipped Cream and Sprinkles
Jackson couldn’t remember the last time he had such a great conversation with someone. (Actually, the last time was last week and it was with his mom, but still. Good conversations are always enjoyable and should be more frequent.)
Jackson slurped the last of his hot chocolate and let out a warm, sugary burp. There are few things as comforting as a mug of hot chocolate and a kind ear.
“Sir Shaw?” he asked. “Is there any way that we can just go up? I’m so tired of the darkness and the grouchiness and the weirdness. I just want to go up. Back to the sunlight.” He looked at Sir Shaw, trying to blink back the tears that were just behind his eyes. (Hot chocolate will do that to you sometimes.)
“One needs only to ask, sir,” Sir Shaw smiled.
“Please? Please can we go up? To the very tippy-top of the tree where it’s sunny and beautiful and I can see the sky going on forever? Where I can smell fresh air? Then I’ll be ready to go home.”
Sir Shaw nodded.
chapter 83
At the Very Tip-Top
With a whir and a churn …
DING!
The elevator door opened.
“Top floor, sir,” Sir Shaw announced.
Jackson backed up, his arm shielding his eyes from the bright light. The entire elevator was filled with a warmth that he could feel right down to his toes.
Jackson squinted and slowly brought his arm down.
“Have a good day, sir,” Sir Shaw said.
“You know, you don’t have to keep telling me to have a good day. I don’t mind.”
Sir Shaw smiled gently. “Ah, but I tell you to have a good day because I honestly want you to have a good day. I care whether you have a good day or not.”
“Why?”
“Because I always care. Enjoy your day, sir.” Sir Shaw extended his arm out toward the beauty that lay just outside the door.
An endless golden field spread out before them. Jackson took one step out of the elevator and felt different. He couldn’t say how, exactly, except that he wasn’t tired anymore. And that he didn’t feel hungry anymore. And that he wasn’t terribly worried about getting home anymore. He just felt … satisfied.
His fingers ached to touch the golden grasses that shot up as high as his chest and to feel their soft, silky ends tickle his hands. But first he turned back to Sir Shaw.
“Is this place for real?” he asked.
Sir Shaw chuckled. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you believe or not!” Jackson laughed. He took another step on a path leading into the field.
“Have a good day, sir,” said Sir Shaw.
“You too!” And off Jackson went.
chapter 84
In Which Our Hero Encounters a Most Unusual Tree
Jackson had already seen some pretty odd places in the tree, but this field was unlike any other. He stepped carefully, the ends of the grass tickling his fingers, arms, and legs. The smell reminded him of warm, baked bread with a touch of cinnamon and ginger. The sun was bright above his head, filling him with such a coziness that he simply could not stop smiling.
As he walked, he felt a tingling in his legs. An energy surged through him, and there was just one word in his mind: run. So he took a breath and ran.
His muscles were strong and made him fast. He ran as quickly as he could, his arms pumping with each stride. He felt the grasses brush against his bare skin, tickling him. He ran faster and faster. He spread his arms out like he’d just won a race and kept running. He felt like he could run forever.
As Jackson weaved back and forth through the grasses, making his own path, he noticed something glistening and glittering up ahead. It looked like … a shimmering tree? He laughed. A tree within a tree. He ran toward it.
As he ran, the tree came into focus, but that trick of the light—the shimmering look of the leaves—didn’t change as he drew closer. And then, before he knew it, he was standing right in front of the tree. If he hadn’t been so transfixed, Jackson would have noticed that his legs weren’t tired at all. And that he wasn’t even breathing hard. But Jackson couldn’t think about anything but the tree.
The tree had thick bark, very much like a silver maple (Acer saccharinum), but with deep grooves like a black walnut (Julgans nigra L). The bark was brownish-grayish-blondish with black squiggles and the branches whorled like a white pine (Pinus strobus L.) (which in itself was ridiculous because this was clearly a deciduous tree). (Whorled means growing around in a circle and deciduous means that a tree loses its leaves in the winter. And you thought you weren’t going to learn anything in this book!) But this tree didn’t have leaves. Something else dangled on the branches.
Jackson stepped a bit closer. The silence was almost deafening. It was as if a hush had gone all over the world — as though this were a very special, secret place.
The tree shimmered with the most fantastic colors. Dazzling rainbows made of ten different kinds of reds, eleven yellows, fifteen greens, sixty-eight purples, thirty-two blues, and four oranges. As Jackson stepped even closer, he realized that the branches of the tree were filled not with leaves, but with little bits of colored glass, tied on delicately with fine copper wire. The tree began to tinkle, its colors rippling together, casting a rainbow so bright Jackson almost had to close his eyes. The tinkling stopped, and a bright amber piece of glass materialized right before Jackson’s face. There seemed to be little scratches etched on it. He looked at the other pieces of glass. They all had little etchings on them too.
Some of the pieces of glass had hieroglyphics on them, some had Chinese writing on them, some had Russian writing on them, some had French writing on them, and some had … oh! An English one!
On a piece of yellow glass, someone had etched in tiny, messy printing the words:
I pray my sister will get better.
Jackson’s brow furrowed. He looked at a piece of electric blue glass and read:
I pray my dad will get a job soon.
Were these all … prayers? Jackson swallowed. What was this place? And what was this tree? He kept reading:
Please help me find my cat, Sneakers.
Thank you for helping me find my teddy bear.
Thank you for the rains. Our vegetables
are finally growing.
I pray for a baby.
I pray for my mom’s cancer to go away.
I pray we can sell our house soon.
I pray for a friend to play with at school.
I pray my dad won’t die.
Jackson gasped. Was this … a prayer tree? He heard a snort and then some laughter. Jackson looked up.
chapter 85
In Which Stimple Makes a Monkey of Himself
Ya look ridiculous, bobbing this way and that. Studying a tree, are ya? Crazy monkey-man! Oo-oo-oo-eeee! Look at me! I’m a monkey!” Stimple shook his body about and bobbed his head.
Jackso
n turned red. But not very red. He didn’t know if Stimple was still mad at him.
“Have you seen this tree before, Stimple?” he asked.
Stimple grunted. “I work here, don’t I?” He dropped the garbage bag off his back onto the ground.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Jackson gestured grandly to the tree and smiled.
Stimple stared at Jackson. “It’s a tree.”
Jackson nodded. “A prayer tree!”
“A what?”
“A prayer tree! Well, that’s what I’m calling it. I think this is where prayers go.”
Stimple’s eyes grew wide. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This tree here is just a tree. Just like any other tree, except that it’s dead. I don’t know why they won’t just let me cut it down.”
Jackson stared at Stimple. “Can’t you see the prayers? All these little pieces of colored glass, the dazzling rainbows of ten different kinds of reds, eleven yellows, fifteen greens, sixty-eight purples, thirty-two blues, and four oranges? Don’t you see them?”
Stimple stuck his big finger inside his ear and waggled it about. It made very interesting squishy noises. “Boy, you’ve lost yer mind,” he said. “Nope. Been here forever—tree’s never changed. Dead is dead.”
“But Stimple! It’s here, it’s …” Jackson reached out to touch the glass but stopped himself. He shook his head. Why couldn’t Stimple see it? Maybe he was imagining things? Jackson felt a cold breeze and he shivered. The sun had hidden behind a grayish cloud.
“Stimple, this has to be a prayer tree. All these bits of glass have prayers written on them!”
“Humph. Don’t believe in no prayers.”
“But prayers are answered all the time!”
“Poppycock!”
Jackson began to get frustrated. “You know, just because you don’t believe in praying doesn’t mean prayers aren’t answered.”
“Who told ya that nonsense? Bunch of frilly faith monkeys? I like my facts, thank you very much!” Stimple snorted.
Jackson laughed. He couldn’t help it.
Stimple’s face turned red. “What’er ya laughing at?”
“You live in a tree! You collect garbage from a tree!”
Stimple’s nose turned red.
“There is an elevator right in the middle of the tree! There are talking chickens that wear makeup and run a beauty salon!”
Stimple’s ears turned red.
“There is a guy in the root system bandaging up the roots so the tree doesn’t walk away, and there are 3,486 squirrels living down there that harass his wife for peanut butter!”
Stimple’s fingers turned red.
“There is a beautiful garden with a golden toilet right in the middle of it!”
Stimple’s mouth snarled.
“I blew up here on a green-and-purple-striped umbrella — and you’re telling me, despite all of this nonsense, that you don’t believe in something as simple as prayer?”
“I can see everything that’s here, and that’s what makes it real,” Stimple spluttered through gritted teeth. “Just because your mommy told you to say your prayers doesn’t mean they’re going to be answered!”
Jackson got very angry. “You … are … ridiculous!” he shouted.
Stimple’s eyes turned red. In a flash, Stimple’s hand tightened into a fist and he punched Jackson right in the thigh. (Yes, I know it’s a ridiculous place to punch anyone, but Stimple is short, remember? Now be quiet. We’re getting to the fight scene.)
chapter 86
In Which Stimple Is Not Actually All That Scary
Jackson had never really been in a fight before. I mean, he had fought with his sister, but you don’t hit girls, ever, so these fights were always short-lived. His little brother had jumped on him a few times in the past, but his little brother was five. What did you expect? But Jackson had done some play-fighting with his dad, punching each other in the arm, swinging in harnesses while they kicked at each other, you know, stuff dads and sons do, so Stimple’s punch didn’t hurt very much. It actually shocked Jackson more.
Another punch to the thigh.
“Ow! What are you doing?” Jackson jumped out of the way.
“I am so sick of you … big people!” Stimple kicked Jackson in the shin.
Jackson pushed Stimple backward. “Knock it off! You’re being ridiculous!”
Stimple swung a fist at Jackson’s chest, but Jackson jumped back. “Stop calling me ridiculous!” Stimple growled.
Jackson stuck out a foot and tripped Stimple, sending him flying to the ground with a heavy thud. “I’m calling you ridiculous because you are ridiculous!”
Stimple jumped up and threw himself at Jackson. They both landed on the ground, and the air was knocked out of Jackson’s chest. Stimple may have been short, but he was one heavy troll. Stimple grabbed Jackson’s arms and tried to pin him down. “Take that back!”
Jackson struggled underneath him. He had to get him off! “Okay, okay, I take it back. You aren’t ridiculous.”
Stimple loosened his hold a bit, and at that moment, Jackson kicked and did a backward somersault, throwing Stimple off. Then Jackson jumped up.
“You’re not ridiculous. You’re a big baby!” he cried.
Stimple rolled over and stood up. “That’s it. You’ve asked for it!”
Jackson took a step back, his legs apart, his hands up, ready for the next attack.
Stimple’s eyes opened wide, and his bushy eyebrows went right up into his head. He took a hold of his nose hair and began parting it to either side of his mouth. His lips slowly moved outward and he began to grin, yellow teeth and all. “Grr! Grrr!” he grrrd out of his teeth.
Jackson cocked an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”
“I’m scary! Look! A troll that smiles! Isn’t it the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen? Aren’t you terrified for your life? Look at you! You’re trembling in fear!” He took a step toward Jackson.
“Are you serious? You think you’re scary-looking?” Jackson slowly lowered his arms.
“Grr! Grrr! I’m a big ugly troll! Grrr! Nightmares for weeks!” He took another step toward Jackson, parting his nose hair even further.
“Ah, Stimple?”
“Grrr! What?”
“You’re not scary-looking.”
Stimple shook his head. “Yes, I am! Grr! I’m the most hideous thing you’ve ever seen! Don’t you just want to leave now? Run away forever? Never see me again?”
“Um, no?”
Stimple faltered. “What do ya mean?”
“You’re not that scary. I mean, some of the stuff stuck in your nose hair is a little unappetizing, but no, you’re not scary. Or ugly.”
Stimple’s smile turned to a frown. “Well, I don’t understand then.”
“What?”
“That’s what my mother said when she left.”
“She said you were scary?”
Stimple let go of his nose hair and sat down on a rock. He put his big head in his big hands and stared at the ground.
“When she left. I asked her why. She said it was because I was so ugly and so scary-lookin’. Then she left.”
Jackson walked toward Stimple. “That is an awful thing to say. I’m so sorry.”
“What’er you sorry for? You didn’t say it!”
“No, but you can say you’re sorry by sympathizing with people you know. It makes them know they’re cared for.” Jackson put his hand on Stimple’s head. He really, really didn’t want to accidentally touch his nose hair that was now hanging off his shoulders.
Stimple snorted. “And why would you care for someone the likes of me?” He rubbed his nose with his fist.
Jackson tapped Stimple’s head gently. He looked up so he didn’t have to see the nose hair. “Everyone has a story, Stimple. And some people just need someone to listen to theirs.” Stimple didn’t say anything. He just sighed.
“Why don’t you believe in prayer?” Jackson asked, using a casual voice so it didn
’t sound like he was prying or trying to antagonize Stimple. (Antagonize is when your little brother is sleeping beside you in the car and you lean over and poke him so he wakes up crying. You really shouldn’t do that, because you’re just teasing him in a bad way.)
Stimple sighed again. “Why should I? Never did me any good.”
Jackson looked at Stimple. “You mean, you prayed once?”
Stimple said nothing. Jackson looked back at the prayer tree. All the colors were so mesmerizing … Jackson felt a warmth fill his body. And then something caught his eye.
chapter 87
Which Explains a Great Deal
Jackson walked over to the base of the tree and found a persimmon-colored glass hidden in the grass. He leaned over and picked it up. It was cool and smooth, but the copper wire holding it was mangled and bent in a funny direction. Jackson held the glass closer so he could read it, but the etching was written in strange letters he didn’t recognize. He walked over to Stimple, holding it gently in his hands.
“Is there such thing as Troll language?” he asked.
Stimple nodded quietly.
“Do you speak it or write it?”
Stimple sighed.
Jackson held out his hand, showing him the glass. Stimple sat up quickly. “Where did you get that?” he asked.
“I found it on the ground.”
Stimple stared at the glass, then reached out to pick it up with his thick fingers. His bottom lip began to tremble.
“Stimple?”
“Even my prayers are rejected,” Stimple whispered as tears fell onto his hairy face. “Not even my own mother wants me. And now the tree doesn’t want me either. I’m awful!” Stimple clutched the glass tightly in his hands and fell on the ground, curled up into a little ball, and sobbed.
Jackson had no idea what to do. It isn’t every day that one confronts a crying troll. He watched Stimple roll around on the ground, whimpering and sobbing. Bits of food were falling to the ground … including a banana peel and a half-eaten cookie. Jackson needed to get control of the situation.
Jackson Jones, Book 2 Page 10
