The Root of Magic

by Kathleen Benner Duble

  Wisp lays his head against her, closes his eyes.

  Their talk is over. Willow knows they will say nothing more. She saw that last night in her dream. This day is finally done. She has lived it twice.

  And now that it is over, Willow has to admit that seeing your day ahead of time is a pretty good thing. Knowing that she was to give Topher Dawson a kiss made doing it easier, even if she was nervous. And now, with Wisp, with this talk that she knew would be hard, she feels less sad than she would have if it had taken her completely off guard. Knowing something awful or scary is coming, even if you can’t avoid it, makes the hurt a bit more bearable and gives you courage to face it.

  Willow thinks back over everything that day, the good and the bad. And she realizes that she has liked the knowing, the certainty, the relief in seeing ahead of time what will come, in having the ability to be prepared. And she thinks she understands now why people eat a berry every night and why they never want to leave Kismet.

  Willow wakes just before dawn. It is still dark outside, but there is a whisper of light against the sky. The wind has picked up. It moans its way into Cora’s house, tapping bent branches against windows, swirling softened snow against sashes. But Willow doesn’t think it is the wind that has roused her from sleep.

  She lies still. And then she sees a shadow move slowly, stealthily in the light of the doorway. Willow catches her breath. Is her mom leaving them alone again to meet Cora? Will Willow finally get a chance to confront her?

  But a quick glance to her left tells Willow that she is wrong. Her mom is still there, under the blankets of their bed, lost in slumber and unaware.

  So who is it creeping about the house just as the sun approaches?

  Cora is not a reckless woman, even in this town she knows so well. She double-locks every door and window at night when she goes to bed.

  Willow knows she should scream—do something to wake her mom and alert her—but she is frozen with fear.

  She wishes she’d had another berry to eat. Then she would know who it is and what to do. She longs for a second chance at that magic, its sweet taste and ability to reveal the future.

  But at last, in the wan light from the window, she sees that the person skulking outside their bedroom door is Topher. What is he doing here?

  If her mom wakes and finds Topher sneaking about, she may freak out—or not. She should, but Willow can’t anticipate her mother’s reactions at all anymore. For all Willow knows, her mom would welcome him with her newly minted smile.

  Whatever her mom may do, Willow knows enough to stay still. Topher tiptoes into the bedroom. He puts a finger to his lips when he sees that she is awake and motions to her clothes. With a hook of his finger, he invites her to follow him.

  Willow’s curiosity prickles with possibilities. What can Topher want at this time in the morning?

  If she’d eaten a berry, she’d know. Now she will have to follow him to find out.

  Willow slides away from Wisp as Topher slips from the room. When she is dressed, she sneaks down the stairs, hurries through the darkened living room. She finds him waiting in the hallway. He has written a note, which he hands to her along with a pen.

  Gone out with Topher. Be back soon.

  Willow hesitates, thinking of Wisp and how angry her mother will be with her for stealing away like this, going off to do something impulsive, without telling her first.

  “Come on,” Topher whispers, his lips close to her ear. “Let’s do something totally unpredictable.”

  Willow looks up at him, sees a smile twitch the corners of his lips. She knows that if she does this, she will be in big trouble. But rebellion over a life often put on hold rises from her gut. And it is Topher’s birthday, after all. Perhaps, she can even get more answers to some of the questions she still has about the berries.

  Willow takes the pen. With a flourish, she signs her name.

  He sets the note on the table in the front hall and hands her her coat and mittens and ski boots.

  Willow grins, putting her worry aside. After all, she has already stolen and eaten a berry. What could be worse?

  * * *

  Outside, Topher picks up a backpack and shrugs it on. He has cross-country skis waiting for both of them, sitting side by side. Willow slides on the skis that go with the boots he gave her inside and follows him out onto the road and into the near dark. The cold nips at her fingers and toes, but they are both laughing so hard as they make their daring escape that Willow hardly feels anything but delight.

  Soon they are winging their way down the deserted main street of Kismet. The snow on the road is hard packed and perfect for going quickly and silently. They ski past all the darkened homes, the locked-up shops, the movie theater and hospital.

  At last, they reach the far edge of town.

  Light sharpens the horizon, turning the sky ahead of them all pink and puffy and full of promise. At a fork in the road, Topher takes the less traveled path. They are climbing steeply now, up and away from Kismet.

  Willow is breathing heavily, as is Topher. It is a long climb to the top of the hill. As they approach the summit, a sign reading LEAVING KISMET seems to shimmer into view. It greets them in big, bold lettering, along with a wire fence and an iron gate. The barriers hem them in, but Topher opens the gate easily enough with a key, and they glide through, past the sign to the very top of the mountain.

  “Wow,” Willow says, bending over and gasping for breath. “I am really out of shape.”

  Topher laughs. “Yes, getting up here is hard. But now we’re free!” he shouts to the wind as they stand at the top of the hill, the gate still open, looking down at Kismet, the brick building, and Cora’s house far, far in the distance.

  Willow laughs, even as a shiver of anticipation shimmies down her spine.

  And she wonders what the day will hold.

  * * *

  They turn from the top and Willow is surprised to see a bridge now, one she did not notice when they slipped through the gate. Topher locks the gate behind them and then they are off again, sliding across the bridge on their skis and down a long hill.

  They ski to the forest floor, and then Topher turns back toward town, following a wooded path. After ten minutes of wending their way down the trail, they come upon a narrow road. They ski along this road for about a mile, until finally, Topher stops.

  In front of them is a cabin.

  “This was my father’s little hideaway,” he says. “No one knew about it but us. It’s on the same lake that we skated on in Kismet, but way on the other side. My father used to bring me here all the time, but I haven’t been in a while.”

  “Where’s your father now?” Willow asks.

  Topher frowns. “I’m not sure. We’ve lost touch. Not having phones in Kismet kind of makes communication with someone from ‘away’ a bit tough.”

  “I’m sorry,” Willow says, and she is. She can’t imagine not even knowing where her father is.

  “Not a topic for today,” Topher says, ending any further discussion. “It’s my birthday, so all unhappy thoughts are taboo.”

  Willow nods. He is right. She shouldn’t make him feel sad today.

  The wind is strong on this side of the lake, and there is only a dusting of snow. Kismet now lies under blankets and blankets of the stuff, but this little slice of woodland is winter whiteless.

  Topher slides off his skis and his backpack. “Ready to try ice boating?”

  “Ice boating?” Willow asks.

  Topher smiles and nods toward the lake. Through the trees, Willow sees a sailboat sitting on the snow near the shore.

  “We’re going to sail on ice?” she asks.

  “Yep. Do you want to try?”

  “Sure,” Willow says. She feels wild and a bit reckless, and it’s a good, good feeling.

  Topher laughs. “I thought y
ou might. Have you ever sailed before?”

  “No,” Willow tells him.

  “Then I’ll teach you. Come on. Let’s get out there. Just let me drop my stuff off.” Topher opens the front door to the cabin and carries his backpack inside. Willow follows.

  The cottage has four large rooms—a living room, kitchen, and two bedrooms. There is a log-beamed ceiling and a fieldstone fireplace, and lots of crannies for curling up and nooks for napping. But there are also cobwebs everywhere, hanging from the rafters and the furniture, proving that indeed, no one has been here in some time.

  It’s warmer inside, but Willow’s breath still smokes out in tiny gusts of moist air.

  Topher places his bag on the counter. “Okay. Let’s go sailing.”

  As Willow follows him outside, all thoughts of magic and berries and missing fathers are forgotten in the excitement of trying something new.

  * * *

  The lake is like glass, smooth and black.

  “It’s not often we get these kinds of conditions,” Topher says. “I can’t believe our luck. It must be birthday luck.” He looks out at the ice and then at her. “Or because you came.”

  Willow smiles, then reddens as she realizes she probably looks like an idiot the way she is grinning at him.

  She helps him push the boat onto the ice. There are three blades on the bottom of the boat. Topher explains that they will ride those blades over the frozen water, just like skates.

  He has Willow hop on and then gets on himself, the two of them scrunched together tightly on the seat, and he raises the sail. The wind roars beside them and picks them up in its grasp. Their little boat responds with a groan, and they begin moving, faster and faster, until soon they are flying over the ice, the wind hurtling them across the lake.

  Willow holds on to the sides of the seat. Her eyes tear up from the wind, and her heart beats crazily from the speed. Yet she can’t help but laugh with delight. Topher lets out a shout of joy that mixes with the roar of the blades on the ice and the wail of the lines from the sail as it is pulled taut. His face is flushed. His eyes dance with joy. He is captain of this lake, and Willow is his first mate.

  Topher tightens the sail even more just as the wind twists and turns. Soon they are on the edge of only two blades, and zooming faster than Willow has ever moved on skates. Fear pumps deep in her stomach, but Willow pushes it away. Be brave, she tells herself as they sail straight toward trees and land.

  Topher pulls up just short of crashing on the far shore.

  They lean back, their cheeks chafed with cold, their hands frozen to lines and sides. Both of them happy.

  “Were you scared?” he finally asks her.

  Willow forces herself to shrug, though her mouth is dry and her heart beats a rock-n-roll drum rhythm. “No,” she says as casually as she can.

  Topher laughs. “Liar.”

  Willow grins. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

  “Come on, then,” Topher says. “You try now.”

  He hands her the line that controls the sail, showing her how to judge where the wind is coming from and how to catch those gusts that will move the boat across the ice. He sits behind her, steering the boat, his mittened hand on hers as she controls the sail, and once more they fly across the lake.

  And just as they start to really move, the sail quivering and straining against the wind, the sun bursts from the clouds and lights up the lake in a dawning that makes Willow ache with love of this world.

  And even though today is Topher’s birthday, Willow feels like it’s hers too.

  They shoot across the lake for almost two hours, swooping from one side to the other, each time trying to top their own speed record.

  Finally, Topher slides the little boat close to shore, drops the sail, and helps Willow off.

  “I’m starving,” he says. “We should probably head back.”

  Willow laughs. “I agree. My stomach is growling louder than those blades on that ice and the wind together.”

  They pull the boat onto the shore, tie it up, and then head into the cabin.

  Immediately, Willow’s fingers and toes start to burn as blood rushes back into them in the relative warmth of the cabin. Topher goes to grab his backpack. “I brought some granola bars to tide us over until we get home.”

  “You’re not going to cook me something?” Willow teases.

  Topher shrugs. “Actually, I can cook, at least a little. When you’re being raised by a single parent who works a full-time job and you’ve got two hungry little brothers, yeah, you learn to cook. What about you?”

  “I can cook too,” Willow tells him. “When your brother is sick, and your mom is running around trying to find out what’s wrong with him, yeah, you learn to cook—at least a little.”

  She has a sudden memory of cooking with Wisp when he was younger, making special meals for their mom and dad. But those meals were for fun, not because she had to, not because her mother was too busy with Wisp to make anything for them to eat.

  Topher hands her a granola bar.

  Willow unwraps it, the simple act of pulling away the paper giving her the courage to tell him what she is thinking. “My brother and I used to love to cook dinner for my mom and dad. Wisp would always slow down and be more patient if he was allowed to hold a knife and chop something up.” She forces a laugh. “I think my mom welcomed the break from chasing him around all day back then.”

  “You don’t do that anymore?” Topher asks.

  Willow shakes her head. “No. He can’t really eat a lot with his illness. Why would he want to cook what he can’t have?”

  “Or do you think maybe it’s because Wisp thinks you’ve lost interest in cooking with him?” Topher asks.

  Willow is about to say no but remembers how Wisp’s friends stopped wanting to hang out with him when he got sick. Has she done that to Wisp too?

  Topher shoves his granola bar wrapper in the backpack. “Yeah, well, we should get back before your mom gets too mad at me.”

  Willow agrees. She opens the door so they can grab their skis.

  And she catches her breath.

  Outside the cabin window, Willow can see nothing but white. A storm has engulfed them.

  “What are we going to do?” she asks.

  “We can’t go back in this,” Topher says, looking out the cabin door. “It would be too easy to get lost. I have to find the bridge and then the gate to get back in, and we might miss them with this snow.”

  Realizing they are stranded there for a while, they go back inside the cabin. Topher pulls out some cards. They play hearts and gin and go fish and any other card game they can think of to still the nervousness they both feel at being stuck.

  Willow thinks of Wisp and how horrible it is that she doesn’t have a phone to tell him or her mom where she is and that she’s safe. She bites her lip with guilt.

  “We’re going to miss the party,” Topher says as he frowns and glances out the window before dealing more cards. “My mom is going to be so mad.”

  Willow sighs, knowing how much trouble they both will be in. Their moms and Kismet may never forgive them.

  It is cold in the cabin, but there is nothing to be done about it. They are afraid to start a fire, and at least it’s a little warmer than outside. Willow shivers as they sit there, waiting for the storm to end.

  At last, she can stand it no longer. If they can’t dig their way out of this predicament, Willow will at least try to dig up more facts about the magic in Kismet.

  “Topher,” she says, and she keeps her voice quiet and steady, hoping it sounds like a trustworthy voice, “can you tell me more about the berries?”

  Topher looks up, startled. “I thought you knew everything.”

  Willow shakes her head. “Not everything.”

  Topher looks everywhere but at her.
“We’re not supposed to tell. Your parents are the only ones who are supposed to explain everything.”

  Frustration floats up inside Willow again. “Stop,” she says. “We’re stuck here, and my mom has enough to worry about. I want to hear it from you. Please, Topher.”

  He hesitates and then shrugs. “Do you know the history of the berries? I can at least tell you that.”

  Willow shakes her head.

  He looks out the window for a moment and then begins. “The story of the berries actually starts back in the seventeen hundreds sometime. I don’t know the exact date. Sorry. I don’t remember things like that.” He looks at Willow apologetically, as if an exact date will make a difference. “It was about the time when my ancestors, the Acadians, left Canada. Some of them landed here looking for a new life. A couple named Fabre came and began panning for gold in the waters by the lake. One day, the woman was down there…”

  Here Topher sweeps his hand in the direction of the lake on which they just sailed. “She was near where we skated a few nights ago, washing her clothes, when she saw this bush. The berries looked really good, and so she ate one. She immediately fell asleep and had the most vivid dream. When she woke, she was completely refreshed, and she went home. The next day, her dream came true. Exactly as she had dreamt it, her day unfolded. It kind of spooked her, so she brought a berry to her husband, and he ate it that night. And he had a dream of his next day that also came true.”

  Topher shrugs. “Anyway, they thought this was better than gold. And so they left our village and started riding around from town to town, offering the berries to people who would pay. And each of these people had a vision of exactly what would happen to them the next day, and the Fabres grew rich offering people the chance to know their fate for the day. But it was kind of a dumb idea.”

  “Why?” Willow asks. “People would pay a lot to know what their future is.”

  Topher nods. “Yeah, they did, until someone said the Fabres were witches and that was that. The couple were tried, sentenced, and hanged.”