Wonder Light

by R. R. Russell

  Mrs. Murley squeezed her shoulder. “Have a shower first. Keely can wait a bit longer.”

  Twig nodded. Casey slipped her hand in Twig’s and fixed her big brown eyes on her face. “Last night, Mandy tried to eat the frosting I picked for your birthday cake. She said it didn’t matter,” she leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “’cause you were gone. Janessa cried. Regina said it was nice knowing you and at least we could bake the cake and eat it anyway, but then she started crying too.”

  Twig smiled. She hugged Casey and almost started crying herself.

  ***

  Twig settled in Mr. Murley’s padded office chair. She’d let Mrs. Murley comb her clean, wet hair, as though she were just a little girl. Keely had called again while she was in the shower. As she’d rinsed away the residue of the battle in the forest, Twig had thought of Daddy—and of Ben, out in the stable getting to know Mr. Murley, probably feeling strange taking care of unicorns with him instead of with his father, probably missing his father more than ever and wishing Darian could’ve been there to see Dagger’s nightmarish leadership of the island herd come to an end.

  Twig wheeled the chair in front of the open laptop. “Hi, Daddy.” She made herself look right at him this time, and she spoke loud and clear.

  “Hi, baby. Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you.” There was a melancholy silence, and Twig suspected he was thinking how he wanted to say something about all the mess that had gotten her here, but Keely had warned him Twig didn’t want to talk about that.

  “I got your drawing. It’s amazing. You’re getting so grown up and so talented too.”

  “I love to draw now,” she admitted. “I love you, Daddy. But I love it here. I really do.”

  He looked away for a second, and Twig bit her lip, struggling not to cry.

  “I want you to be happy.” He paused, then looked down and leafed through the stack of drawings. “I really like this one.” He held up a drawing of Rain Cloud. “And this one.” Casey, riding Story. “But this one is my favorite.” Twig’s drawing of Wonder looked strange to her now without the horn. “Is this one of the horses there?”

  “That’s Wonder. She’s mine—for now at least. I feed her and groom her and ride her. I was there the night she was born.”

  The night Wonder’s mother died—and so did Ben’s father. Two deaths, one birth. When Twig thought of it that way, it seemed the balance was tipped in favor of the darkness of that night. But that wasn’t right. That wasn’t how that night felt now that Wonder was grown and strong and Ben was here and the herd was free of Dagger, and she had been a part of those wonderful mysteries that shouldn’t have been able to exist.

  How had all that happened? How was it possible that Daddy was holding a drawing that she was proud of? How could it be that there was so much more behind that drawing that she was even more proud of? How was it that Twig Tupper didn’t need to be told now to hold her head up?

  Something else had been born that night along with Wonder. Something had been born in Twig.

  “When Wonder runs, she dances. And when she jumps, she floats. She’s a little small for a horse. And she’s different,” Twig said carefully. “A rare breed.”

  “Sounds like just the right friend for you.”

  Twig nodded.

  “Twig, honey, I’m coming home in two months. When I come back…”

  “I know,” Twig said. “I need to come home too. But, Daddy, when you come home, I want you to come here. I want you to see me here first…and then I’ll go back with you.”

  “I can do that. I’d like to see you ride. It’s hard to imagine you riding a horse, let alone one called Wonder.”

  “I named her.”

  “Of course you did.” He picked up the drawing again. “From the looks of this, it’s just right.”

  “Daddy,” Twig said, “who called me Twig? First, I mean?”

  “Your mom, of course. Would you rather I called you Theresa now?”

  “No. Twig is just right.”

  ***

  When she was done Skyping with Daddy, Twig had a phone call to make.

  “Keely?”

  “Oh. Hi, Twig. Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you. And thanks for the birthday presents.”

  Twig could almost see Keely’s stunned expression through the silence on the other end of the phone. The words had come out as though she really meant them. And Twig was as surprised as Keely to realize that she actually did. She was still Twig, but she was new now. She was supposed to forgive. It had felt like such a hard thing all these months, even though she’d wanted to be different. She’d wished the Murleys would stop saying it. Wished she could scratch the verses that told her to forgive out of her Bible.

  “Mrs. Murley told me you like to draw. I didn’t know you could draw, Twig.”

  “That’s okay. I didn’t either.”

  Twig turned the box of colored pencils over in her free hand. They rolled gently inside—ninety-six colors.

  “I thought you might like to try some colors now. The lady at the art store told me those are the best kind.”

  “I can’t wait to try them. Um…can I talk to Corey?”

  “Corey? I don’t know. He—he doesn’t know what to say.”

  “He doesn’t have to say anything. Just put him on.”

  Keely let out a long sigh. Then there was silence. A moment later, breathing again.

  “Corey?”

  There was a choking sound.

  “I forgive you, Corey. And if Emily doesn’t, well, she should. Anyone can tell you’re sorry.”

  The voice on the other end of the line shook. It stopped and started. Finally Corey squeaked out, “Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks.”

  After she’d said good-bye to her stepfamily, Twig sank onto the couch. She picked up the envelope Mrs. Murley had set with her presents. She slid a finger under the flap. It was a plain white envelope, and inside it Twig found plain, lined paper, folded to look like a card. Twig frowned. The lines were blank. But when she turned it over, there was a heart, carefully drawn and filled in with a black pen. “Happy Birthday” was penned neatly above it. “From Mom.” Twig opened the makeshift card. “I love you, Twig,” it said in great big letters. Then underneath, in cramped cursive, “I don’t know what else to say.”

  Beneath those words, the empty blue lines had bled and run together. Twig let her own tears fall among the smudged ink. She let everything blur together.

  The door opened, and she heard the distinct pat-pat of Casey’s stockinged feet. Casey snuggled up beside her.

  “I’m glad you came back. I’m glad you came here.”

  “Me too,” Twig said.

  Mrs. Murley peeked in the door, which Casey had left halfway open. She sat down on the other side of Twig and wrapped her arm around her.

  “Hey,” Regina whispered from the doorway.

  Behind Regina, Taylor protested in her own whisper and tried to drag Regina back.

  “Thanks for bringing us a real wild boy.”

  “Regina!” Taylor said, no longer in a whisper.

  But Mrs. Murley laughed a soft, tired laugh.

  “Just kidding, Mrs. M. He’s Mr. Murley’s nephew and that makes him family, right?”

  “Right.” Mrs. Murley extended her arm to pull Regina and Taylor onto the couch.

  Then the door flew the rest of the way open and Janessa came in with her mouth pressed into a deliberate frown. But her eyes were dancing as she said, “Is this where the birthday party is? How come I wasn’t invited?”

  Mandy entered after her. “There’s chocolate cake,” she said with her trademark scowl. “Everyone knows how you like chocolate.”

  Ben stood in the doorway. His cloak was off, but something intangible billowed out of him. He carried himself wi
th the confidence of someone who’d tamed the fiercest of wild unicorns, yet he reminded Twig of when she’d first come here—a glimmer of contentment in his eyes, a flash of fear that it wouldn’t last.

  Was he thinking about Terracornus? About Merrill’s note?

  Mr. Murley came up behind Ben and put his hands on his shoulders. “What’s all this silliness? I’m sorry, Ben. There are entirely too many girls in this house.”

  Twig smiled. “I heard something about cake.”

  They all tumbled out of the office and to the table, yanking each other back and laughing all the way.

  Ben ate his first piece of chocolate cake ever—his first piece of chocolate anything. And then he ate three more pieces and smiled triumphantly at Twig, who’d only managed to stuff down two and a half.

  Indy and Wonder were still too tired to ride, but that night Twig and Ben let them out for a stretch. Everyone watched the two unicorns—father and daughter—dance, white and silver against the dark of night, leaping like the blink of starlight.

  A sliver of moon lit up the still, clear sky, and the island’s gentle breeze breathed a sigh of relief; it whispered through the cedars, You belong to us, Twig, you and your Wonder. We are waiting, waiting for something even more wonderful to happen.

  No howling, no hunting tonight. Twig dared to imagine the rest of the herd joining Indy and Wonder, dancing and not hunting. The last free herd, the unicorns of Lonehorn Island, becoming the wonder they were supposed to be.

  Acknowledgments

  I wrote my first book in a storage closet. It smelled like crayons and Play-Doh, and it was one of my favorite places to be, scribbling on stacks of paper my dad had brought home from work. Pages that were used on one side, still perfectly good for us kids. But when I told my mom I wanted to make a book to take to kindergarten for show-and-tell, she gave me brand-new paper and helped me fold and staple it.

  My mom taught me to read and write. She taught me to love making things, and to make the things that I loved.

  And so I made books.

  My husband married this crazy dreamer, this maker of books. He supported me and defended my dream. Jason, you’re my hero, even without a cape or a sword.

  My children listened and read and demanded more. They laughed and cried with me and rubbed my shoulders and made me coffee. Such beloved sharers of stories!

  My friend Byron gave me the idea to write a book about unicorns, and so many other friends and family members believed in me and were here to lend a hand when life got hectic and deadlines loomed.

  Debra E. Davies of Davies Arabians, a generous friend and a horsewoman to the heart, read and gave me helpful suggestions.

  My editor, Aubrey Poole, understood Twig and Wonder. Thanks, Aubrey, for your encouragement, insight, and advocacy for this book.

  When I began writing Twig’s story, I shared her broken heart. Now I share her wonder. Lord, how you have blessed me! “For you are great and do wondrous things; you alone are God.” (Psalm 86:10)

  About the Author

  R. R. Russell lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest. She grew up traveling the world as an army brat and now travels the country as a coach with a nonprofit judo club. She loves to read and draw, and like Twig, once spent a lot of time sketching unicorns. Visit her website at www.RRRussellauthor.com.