The Root of Magic

by Kathleen Benner Duble

  “I can too,” Wisp argues. “I feel fine right now.”

  “Wisp, you’re not allowed to go outside,” Willow says. “You know Mom wouldn’t want you to.”

  “You’re not my boss,” Wisp says, his voice rising.

  “I am when Mom’s not here,” Willow snaps.

  “I want to go!” Wisp yells. “I’m going! I’m going! I’m going!”

  “No, you’re not,” Willow says.

  “Yes, I am!” Wisp shouts.

  “Enough!” Cora’s voice cuts through Wisp’s cries as she shuffles her way into the room holding Willow’s and Wisp’s coats. “Stop yelling in my house. Put your hats and boots on, and take your arguing outside.”

  Wisp sticks out his tongue at Willow. He is in his coat and out the door before Willow can protest. And what could she have said anyway? Wisp has made it impossible for them to stay inside. Cora has every right to shoo them out.

  And now Willow must go along with them. She can’t let her brother ski off and get injured. After all, it’s an unspoken family rule that Wisp must be careful at all costs.

  Willow wishes she were not in charge and the one responsible again, but obviously Wisp has now decided her afternoon for her. So she puts on her coat and boots, hat and mittens, and follows the boys into the snow. As she steps outside the door, Cora puts a hand on Willow’s arm.

  “Wisp will be all right today,” she says, and then, turning quickly, she closes the front door firmly behind her.

  Willow stares after her. This is the second time she has said this to Willow. And while she was right yesterday, there is no way she can be one hundred percent positive about how Wisp will fare after a long ski in wet snow and cold weather.

  Topher steps near Willow. “Trust her,” he says. His breath dances like a snowflake across Willow’s face.

  “Why?” Willow snaps. “Does she have ESP or something? Or is that a secret too?”

  Topher sighs. “Believe me, if Cora says Wisp’ll be fine, he will be.”

  Willow pushes him away, annoyed by this boy who hints at all manner of hidden things but will not answer anything. She skis away fast from him, trying to catch up with Joe Joe, Taddie, and most importantly, Wisp.

  * * *

  Willow calms as she skis along. Reverence is what this world demands, and gratitude is what she gives it.

  The world is a white wonderland, and they are its silent inhabitants. Everyone, even Joe Joe and Taddie, is quiet as their skis slice a path through the snow-covered trees near the end of the lake.

  Still, without words, it is clear that there is a contest to be won. Each boy pushes hard, trying to outski the others. Even Wisp is moving fast, and Willow worries he will tire long before they finish. She finds herself behind them, not even trying to stay abreast of these boys and join their race for the top, content to just keep Wisp visible.

  But at last, they all reach the summit of the hill, frost ballooning from their mouths as they gasp for air. Willow eyes Wisp with concern, but he is fine. His eyes are lit up like two lighthouse beacons.

  Suddenly, Willow realizes that she is about to have the fight of her life getting Wisp back before their mom returns and begins a full-blown war should they not be there.

  Below them, the town is blanketed in snow, sleepy and serene. As far as the eye can see there is nothing but the little village of Kismet, and the mountains and lake and stone wall that surround it. There isn’t another town in sight, not even a billboard or a farm—just Kismet’s huddled houses clinging to each other by the south and east sides of the lake, holding one another in a protective embrace. Willow does not know if she has ever been in a place so completely isolated from the rest of the world. They are truly in the middle of nowhere.

  Still, it is lovely to look at, and Willow sighs. She does not want to leave, not yet. She wants to stay for just a moment more and enjoy the peace of this snow-whitened world. And so she waits, not wanting to start the nagging process to get her brother home.

  “Enjoying the view?” Topher asks.

  Willow jumps. She didn’t notice he has come to stand beside her.

  He gazes out across the valley and toward the hills beyond. “You can see a long way from up here.”

  “It must be weird living so far from anything,” Willow says as she looks out over the distance.

  Topher shrugs. “Kismet has its own unique reasons for existing.”

  “Like what?” Willow smirks. “Its secrets?”

  “It’s not a big town,” Topher says, not really answering, “but it’s a close town. Everyone here wants the same kind of life, I guess.”

  She cannot imagine living in a world without the ability to reach several museums or restaurants. In Burlington, Vermont, where she lives, there are many choices. Here, you’d have next to none.

  “Sounds boring,” Willow mutters.

  Topher laughs slightly. “Well, you’re right about that. You’re really lucky to live somewhere else.”

  Willow points to the brick building. “What’s in there?”

  “It’s just a hall,” Topher says.

  “I’ve watched a few people go in there,” Willow says. “What’s inside?”

  “Nothing you’d want to see,” Topher says.

  He waves a hand toward the mountains. “Even this boring town has some things that are nice about it. Those mountains are kind of beautiful, right?”

  “Yeah, beautiful,” Willow says, irritated again that he won’t answer a simple question.

  Her annoyance with him reminds her that she needs to stop fooling around and get Wisp back. Her mom will blame her if he gets sick from being out in the cold.

  “It’s kind of nice to have someone new in town to hang out with,” Topher says, turning and looking into her eyes. “Even if it is only for a couple of days.”

  He reaches out wool-thick fingers and brushes back a strand of hair that has strayed into her eyes.

  At his touch, Willow’s stomach flops like a fish pulled from water. She steps back.

  “Sorry,” Topher says, smiling. “Just thought it was in the way.”

  Then he nods toward the lake they skied past on their way up the hill. Closer to the center, its icy top is covered with thick snow, but at the near end, the surface shines like newly polished stone.

  “That’s where we skate,” he tells her. “The town keeps it clear and checks the ice to be sure it’s solid. Want to go skating tonight? I mean, since you’re still here. They light up the lake. It’ll be fun.”

  “Fun” is a word that dropped out of Willow’s vocabulary two years ago. School, homework, the laundry her mother forgot to do, the dirty dishes in the sink, the house that’s been left a mess, doctor visits with Wisp—this has been Willow’s world recently. There has been no room for lights, music, and laughter. And they are leaving Kismet, hopefully in a few hours—tomorrow at the latest. There is no point in letting this boy wiggle his way into her life.

  But before Willow can answer, a snowball hits Topher square in the back. Wisp, Joe Joe, and Taddie have taken off their skis, fallen to their knees, and made a snowball fort. A battle has begun with snowball ammunition, and suddenly, Topher and Willow are warding off an attack. Their enemy laughs and giggles as they pelt Topher and Willow.

  Topher’s eyes flash with delight as he whips off his skis too. “Come on, Willow. Charge!”

  And for an instant, Willow’s sadness lifts a little, and she takes off her skis and follows his lead, running toward the boys. They fall on top of them, grabbing their heads and stuffing them in the snow. The boys fight hard, shoving snow down Topher’s and Willow’s backs. They all howl and holler.

  “Snow angel time!” Willow shouts.

  They all fall on their backs and wave their arms around, making wings in the white powder. Then they stand and look at the perfect
circle of angels they’ve made.

  But then Joe Joe throws another snowball, and soon they are all pummeling each other again. They dash and dodge, bombarding one another and laughing loudly.

  Finally, they are exhausted. They all fall down and lie quietly on their backs in the snow and the silence, and for the first time in a long time, Willow feels a smile on her lips—until she notices that the sun has begun to sink in the sky and the shadows of an early-winter afternoon are beginning to creep in.

  Willow jumps to her feet, her heart thumping. Her mom is going to be furious that Wisp is not safely resting inside, and Willow will be the one to blame. “We have to get back.”

  She pulls Wisp to his feet, and the others rise reluctantly. Soon they are off, heading down the hill. But this time, Willow is in front, leading the charge.

  She has screwed up. She has let Wisp out and let him run wild. It is so unlike her. She is Wisp’s reliable sister. A surge of guilt runs through her for breaking the family rules.

  “Hurry!” Willow urges them all, and the boys move faster, though Wisp falls behind a bit as his energy wanes.

  At last, they come to Cora’s house. Willow’s heart stops when she sees the front door open and their mom standing there.

  But surprisingly, her mom doesn’t look worried. Her brows are not raised in fury, as Willow expected. Instead, her mom is smiling, as though they have won some great prize.

  “Did you have fun?” she asks as Wisp curls about her legs and Willow begins stumbling for an explanation.

  “Come inside,” Mom says. “I have some news.”

  Willow’s stomach sinks to her booted feet. She does not need to ask.

  Her mom has found a new test or treatment for Wisp. Already, Willow can feel the happiness of this afternoon floating away like a snowflake swirled skyward by the wind. She shakes snow from her hat and helps Wisp take off his boots and mittens and coat. They wait together to hear what their mom has to say.

  She smiles at them both and says the thing that Willow was afraid might be coming: “I think we may stay in Kismet for a while.”

  Willow blinks. What did her mother say?

  A quick test, a day or two of treatment, Willow could understand. But stay here for a while? What does that mean? Willow is as blown away by her mother’s words as the snowflakes on Cora’s windows are by the whipping wind.

  “You’re talking about until the roads are cleared, right?” Willow manages to finally ask.

  Their mom shakes her head. “No,” she says, continuing slowly. “I’m thinking we’ll stay on a little longer than that. I may even rent a house when this storm is over. I have a few more things to check out. I’ve talked to some people, and I think it would be helpful for Wisp to be here.”

  “Yippee!” Wisp yells. He runs about the room like a crazed squirrel, high-fiving anything in his path: a wall, a chair, a door.

  “Why?” Willow asks—the real question that needs an answer.

  “There’s a wonderful hospital here,” Mom says, lowering her voice so Wisp will not hear. “I met those boys’ mother, and we talked. She’s got some ideas for Wisp—and for us. I think we should give them a try.”

  So, a treatment has been suggested, and once again, all arguments fall away in the face of Wisp’s illness. And who is Willow to disagree? Wisp has to come first. Her wants and needs are hardly as important. After all, she is the healthy child.

  But it must be a long treatment or many tests if her mom is willing to consider renting a place. And then Willow thinks of him.

  “But Dad—” Willow says before she can stop herself.

  Her mom’s face tightens, but before she can say anything, Cora comes into the dining room, carrying a plate of food.

  “Cookies?” Cora asks.

  Wisp runs to her side. He reaches for a treat before their mom can protest.

  The smell filling the room is pure chocolate chip, and Willow would be almost weak with wanting a cookie after her exertions this day if she weren’t so consumed with the ridiculous decision her mother is considering.

  “I like it here,” Wisp says between bites as he devours the treat he has shoved into his mouth.

  “Of course you like it here,” Willow snaps. “But what about home? What about our friends?”

  She sees Wisp frown and immediately regrets her words.

  Friends. Wisp has none anymore. Eight-year-olds do not want to hang out with other eight-year-olds who cannot run around or eat french fries. Over time, all of Wisp’s friends have drifted away, like survivors from a sinking vessel. Only Wisp has been left to captain on, alone.

  But then she remembers her own friends. She thinks of Elise and her teammates, her school and her teachers—all the things in her life that have been her rocks during this unhappy upheaval. What about her friends? For two years, Willow has been living a held-hostage kind of life, her every move dictated by Wisp’s needs. Now this?

  “Not forever,” Willow says, turning back to her mom. “Just a week or so, right? At the most a month?”

  Her mom pauses, and her eyes flick to the left. Willow catches her breath.

  Did her mom just exchange a glance with Cora? Why would Cora have anything to do with this decision? Uneasiness snakes its way into Willow’s heart.

  “Mom!” she says, trying to redirect her mother’s attention, to make her focus on Willow, on them, not Cora. “Not forever, right?”

  Her mom smiles in that way that always makes Willow’s insides heat with anger, as if Willow is acting like a baby. “It’s far too early to decide something like that,” her mom says. “We’ll have to wait and see how Wisp’s treatments go, if I decide to try them.”

  “What treatments?” Wisp says, all ears now that he is no longer hungry. Chocolate decorates the side of his lips.

  “Just a few little things I’d like to try, Wisp,” Mom says. She brushes the hair out of his eyes, licks her thumb, and scrubs away the chocolate from his face. “And no more cookies, please. You know those aren’t good for you.”

  “Milk and cookies are always good for the soul,” Cora says.

  She gives Willow’s mom a long look, and Willow sees her mother nod. What is going on here? What has Cora done to her mom? Who is Cora to decide a DuChard future?

  “I don’t want any more treatments,” Wisp says, his mouth twisting up in a scowl worthy of the Grinch.

  “I know you don’t, sweetie,” Mom says. “But it won’t be bad. I promise.”

  DuChard Spoken Family Rule #3: Always be patient with the patient.

  “I don’t want to,” Wisp repeats.

  “Well, it’s not something you have to worry about now, okay?” Mom says in a calm voice.

  “Another cookie?” Cora asks, holding out the plate to Wisp.

  Cora has won the day and distracted him. Wisp’s hand rises wearily to take his second prize away.

  “Cookie?” Cora asks Willow, extending the plate.

  Willow ignores her, refusing to be that easily bribed or swayed. Bubbling, simmering anger oozes through her.

  “This is stupid,” she says.

  “We’ll talk about it more later, Willow. I haven’t even made a definite decision yet. I’m still thinking on it. No reason to get upset,” Mom says, and she turns away so the discussion can’t go on without making everyone uncomfortable. It’s one of her favorite strategies in the midst of a battle—the distraction, the delay tactic. But Willow has a few tricks of her own. She is not about to surrender.

  * * *

  She sneaks into Cora’s kitchen and finds the only phone in town. Before her mom can start looking for her, Willow dials her dad’s number.

  When he answers, relief loosens the knot that has lodged itself in her gut. Willow is giddy with the promise of salvation.

  “Dad,” she says, and her voice i
s earthshakingly unsteady. “Dad.”

  “I’m here, Willow,” her dad says.

  “Mom’s lost it again,” Willow says. “She’s heard about some new treatment, and she’s saying we may stay here in Kismet for a while.”

  There is a long pause on the other end of the line, and suddenly, Willow feels as if her insides have just blown up in one long, terrible explosion.

  Her mom already told him.

  “Dad, I have school,” Willow reminds him, panic gripping her hard, “and hockey.”

  He sighs. “Hockey’s over for Christmas break, Willow. And I’m sure your mom is only considering a week or so.”

  His voice holds the hope of a fool searching for paradise. He is grasping onto the belief that Willow’s mom will give up eventually and come home.

  But Willow knows better. If there is a sliver of a chance of curing Wisp or even just figuring out what he actually has, Willow will have new classmates in Maine come January 3. She can’t believe this is happening to her. She longs for adulthood and the ability to walk away from this foolishness. But she’s only twelve, and so she’s stuck.

  “I miss you, Willow,” Dad says, his voice low with longing.

  THEN DO SOMETHING! Willow wants to scream at him in surround sound. GET UP HERE! But her mouth stays shut.

  “We’ll talk every day, okay, Willow?” Dad says.

  “Sure,” Willow says. She hangs up the phone without saying goodbye, the only rebellion she can eke out of this situation that stinks stronger than sweaty hockey equipment.

  Tears trickle down her face, and then she is surprised to find a tissue thrust at her.

  “It would be nice to know what will happen, wouldn’t it?” Cora says. “To be better prepared when hard times come your way?”

  Willow does not want comfort right now. She wants to be alone. She wants to be at home. She wants to be with her friends. She wants to talk to Elise. She wants Wisp to get better. She wants Mom to stop obsessing. She wants Dad to take charge and do something for once. She wants to hit something. She wants her stuff back from the river. She wants her hockey stick so she can whack a puck so hard it shatters glass. She wants. She wants. She wants.