Somebody was shouting. “Down there!”
“Where?” called another voice.
A group of townspeople came up, breathing hard, some with lanterns, several with rifles, even one woman shaking a hay fork. They all watched the water in silence as the remnants of the bridge drifted slowly by.
Daniel made his way to the stream’s edge with Emily and Wesley beside him. In the dimming light, the ripples gleamed like oil, reflecting the sky and trees.
“It’s a cursed place,” muttered the young farmer named Paul.
No one contradicted him. All were noticing the disturbances in the surface, the slow, V-shaped ripples made by the water snakes.
The men held up their lanterns. Most had never been this close to the stream before, barred by thorns and warned away since childhood by scolding parents. Under the swaying light of the lanterns, they could see the heads clearly. Human heads, each one distinct.
As they watched, one snake, larger than others, slid by close to the shore. Daniel gasped. His father stepped back. In later days, the townspeople would argue about what they’d seen, but it was impossible to mistake the features of Captain John Sloper, his eyes glinting, his mouth curled in a serpentine snarl.
“There we go.”
Daniel hefted the heavy volume and opened it on the table. It was an oversized book titled The Book of Impossibilities. Only the initials J.B. indicated an author. There was no publisher; in fact, the whole thing was handwritten, in careful calligraphy, with many drawings and diagrams. The last third of the book, the children discovered, consisted of architectural plans for Bridey’s house.
“I don’t get it,” said Daniel. “How’s this book supposed to help us find your grandmother?”
Emily closed her eyes, as if a thought were at the tip of her mind. “I think Grandma meant us to look at the diagrams for this room.”
“Why would you think that?” said Wesley.
“Just a feeling.”
Daniel had already begun leafing through the volume. He stopped when he came to facing pages about the library and pulled the gas lamp closer. His hand trembled. Not surprising. It was nine-thirty at night, and he was still shaken by the events of the day. If he closed his eyes, he could see the collapsing bridge and the terror in Sloper’s eyes. He tried to concentrate, but the diagrams, arrows, letters, and labels wouldn’t stay still.
“What’s this?” said Wesley, looking over his brother’s shoulder. “It looks like an alcove.”
“So?”
“Look around. Do you see an alcove?”
There wasn’t any.
“It’s supposed to be over there.” Wesley pointed to a shadowy corner of the room, where the bookshelves rose nearly to the ceiling.
The children looked carefully, Daniel feeling along the higher shelves, Emily on her knees. They were almost ready to give up when the girl pulled out a big book on ornithology and felt behind it.
“Ha!” she exclaimed as her fingers found a small, trigger-like projection.
She pushed it. Nothing. Pushed it harder. Nothing again.
Finally, it occurred to her to pull it. There was a metallic cluck, followed by a faint groan, as a wall panel, five feet high, swung open on hinges.
Silently they looked in.
Darkness.
Holding a candle before him, Wesley led the way, shadows dancing along the walls and ceiling. The space was narrow and draped with cobwebs. Papers, books, and yellowing scientific journals filled the shelves above a dusty desk. But there was no room to move around because covering the floor in the center of the room was a flowered quilt. Sprawled across it lay a large woman. She wasn’t breathing.
“Grandma!” cried Emily.
Hesitantly the girl approached. She knelt. Touched the old lady’s shoulder. “Grandma?”
No response.
She shook the shoulder.
Nothing.
“Grandma, wake up!”
Wesley took hold of Bridey’s wrist and felt for a pulse. “I don’t feel anything!”
The children fell silent, awed by the lifeless form before them.
Emily tried to read the woman’s thoughts, but couldn’t sense any. Finally, she flung herself over her grandmother’s body. Tears wet the old woman’s nightgown. “No, Grandma! Don’t be dead!”
Daniel felt close to tears himself. He loved Bridey Byrdsong. He’d loved her all his life. “Anybody know artificial respiration?” He looked around desperately, but the others only shook their heads.
“Breathe!” cried Wesley.
Just then the cat padded in, curious about the commotion. It looked around, then stepped gingerly on the quilt.
Instinctively Daniel backed away, remembering Mallow’s transformation on the bridge. There was nothing ferocious about the little animal now. It walked over Emily’s back and went up to Bridey’s face.
“Go away, Mallow,” said Emily.
The cat sniffed Bridey’s cheek. It began licking her chin.
“Wait,” said Wesley, who was holding the woman’s wrist, “I think I feel something!”
Mallow purred and licked.
Bridey’s eyes trembled slightly, then fluttered open. “Mallow,” she said. “Stop that, you silly thing!”
The stunned children stared.
Bridey squinted back. It seemed to take an effort to focus, and the flickering candle didn’t make it easier. “Well!” she said.
“Grandma!” Emily cried. “You scared me to death!”
“Did I?” She looked confused.
“I couldn’t hear your thoughts and I was afraid …”
“Were you? I suppose I was pretty far away.”
Emily seemed caught between a smile and a tear. “Oh, Grandma!”
Bridey closed her eyes to remember. “I was on the island with Jakob and Miranda. Wait,” she said. “I’m not in my own room, am I?”
Daniel spoke. “You’re in an alcove behind the library.”
Bridey’s eyes widened. “Where’s Jakob?”
“He’s not here,” said Daniel.
“No, of course he’s not.” She shook her head to clear the confusion. “He never stays.”
“How’d you ever get in here?” said Daniel.
She was still putting it together. “Well,” she said, “I had to park my body someplace safe.” Wincing, she sat up. “Same old aches and pains, I see, just waiting for me to come back. Hello, aches and pains. Did you miss me?”
Wesley shot a look at his brother. “She’s delirious.”
“I don’t think so.” Emily was beginning to smile. “I think it’s that same trick Uncle Jakob did with his dog. Right, Grandma?”
“You are a smart one.”
“What dog?” said Wesley, bewildered.
Emily explained about Jakob’s dog, Bounce, and how he had looked dead but wasn’t.
“Well,” Bridey interrupted, as if stating the obvious, “you don’t think this old body could have gotten to the island the way you did, crawling around under thorn bushes!”
Bridey struggled to get up then, but couldn’t manage it. “Could you dear people help me back to my room? I’d like to freshen up.”
“Maybe you should wait a bit, Mrs. Byrdsong,” said Daniel.
“Wait?”
“Till you’re a little steadier?”
Bridey rubbed her forehead with a knuckle. “I suppose you’re right. Oh,” she said, suddenly wide awake. “I’d forgotten about that awful Captain Sloper. Do you suppose he’s still angry at me?”
“Grandma,” said Emily, “I don’t think you need to worry about Captain Sloper.”
“Really?” She looked at her granddaughter narrowly. “You’ve got a sly look, Emily Byrdsong. What have you done with him?”
“Danny did it.”
Bridey turned wondering eyes on the boy.
He shook his head. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You did him in, didn’t you?”
He laughed. “Your cat did hi
m in.”
“What? Mallow?” She scratched under its chin. The cat purred loudly. “Why, she wouldn’t hurt a flea!” She paused. “Or maybe she would. Did she?”
“She scared him into the creek,” said Daniel. “Scared me, too.”
“Naughty cat.” She pulled it onto her lap. “You know about cats. Regal creatures.” Color was coming into her cheeks as she spoke, as if the subject put life in her. “Out here they’re kitties. But on the island they take their true form.”
Wesley was looking from her to the cat and back again.
“I call her Mallow,” she said, “after those lovely flowers by the island. But you can just as easily use the name Wesley came up with.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Snowball!” He scooped the creature into his arms.
“Snowball, it’s you!”
It rained that night, hard enough to suppress the few fires the soldiers had managed to start. Daylight came with sullen clouds and the stink of charred wood. Emily sat on the roof with Mallow in her lap. Across the woods lay the island, as beckoning and unreachable as ever. At least her grandmother was home. It must have been hard for her to return and accept the aches and illnesses that had plagued her so long.
She’d been climbing trees on the island. Climbing trees! Back home, she could barely climb the stairs. Yet she’d chosen to return.
Emily didn’t know if she would be so generous.
“Hey, Em, you up there?”
She ran to the edge of the widow’s walk. Below, standing in the curved drive, were the Crowley brothers, Daniel with a saw over his shoulder. She waved. “Come on up!”
“Wish we could,” Daniel said. “A bunch of us are heading to Eccles’s place to help rebuild the barn. Want to come?”
Did she want to help build a barn?
“I’ll be right down.”
In the days ahead, there was much work to be done, and everyone’s help was needed. Sometimes Emily almost forgot about the island.
But one night, just as the full moon approached, she was lying up on the roof with Mallow, staring at the constellations that weren’t entirely obscured by moonshine, when she heard a distant voice. She sat up. Then she stood up. It was a woman’s voice, singing!
“Mama!” she cried, hurrying to the wrought-iron railing at the roof’s edge. “Mama, I hear you!”
The voice went on, song after bedtime song, like a silver ribbon unspooling through the dark. Emily scarcely noticed the cat rubbing against her legs, or the moon-silvered tear working down her cheek.
The next day, she told Daniel her plan. She would go back to the island. He could come with her if he wanted. He could even bring Wes.
“Don’t try to talk me out of it. She’s right there. She was singing to me. What’s to stop us?”
At lunch that day (her grandma’s special: egg-salad-and-watercress sandwiches on lightly toasted cheese bread, with the edges cut off), she broke the news. The old woman stopped eating.
“What’s the matter?” said the girl.
“I’m afraid it’s not possible.”
“What do you mean? Of course it’s possible! We did it before.”
Bridey set her sandwich on the plate. “That doesn’t mean you can do it again.”
She saw Emily’s look.
“Don’t be angry, dear,” she said. “You’ll learn many things as you grow up. You may even learn ways to get back to the island.”
“Like the way you went?”
“Ah,” said Bridey. “That was a trick Jakob taught me. It took years to learn.”
Emily jumped up. “I don’t care what you say; I’m going back to be with my mother! You’ll see!”
She stormed out and ran down the road and across a field to the Crowleys’ house, where she found Daniel stacking firewood out back. She spoke in such a rush that he didn’t catch it all.
He rested his hands on his hips. “Well, we did it once. Let me get Wesley.”
She wiped her tear-smeared face, aware suddenly that she’d been crying in front of a boy. Of course, Daniel wasn’t a boy, not what she thought of when she thought of boys. He was better.
“Here,” he said, offering his sleeve.
She looked at him questioningly. Then she bent toward the sleeve and wiped her nose on it.
The wind was picking up by the time they reached the cave. Everything was as it had been before—the tools and cooking utensils on the shelf inside, the fire pit out front. Emily was ready with her pail of dirt from next spring.
On all sides, the tops of trees were sighing. The whole forest, it seemed, was excited. Even the clouds ran races.
“Hope it doesn’t rain,” said Emily.
“Looks like it might,” said Wes.
Daniel pursed his lips. “Okay. We’re looking for three stone markers, starting with this one.”
They poured some water in the pail to make mud, then smeared it over the spiral petroglyph.
“Righty tighty,” murmured Emily. “Lefty loosey.”
The way around the island was difficult, but they kept on, reaching the other two formations. More mud. Pushing on, they completed three circles, arriving back at the campsite scratched, exhausted, and windblown.
They were no further back in time than when they’d started, and the creek was no narrower.
“It’s not working!” cried Emily.
“Let’s take a break,” Daniel said.
They walked along through the woods till they came to the path that led to the wooden bridge.
Wesley climbed up and straddled the railing. He turned to Emily. “Mind if I look at those freckles again?”
She sighed. “Okay. Sure.” She leaned against the rail and let him pull the shirt away from the back of her neck.
“Where are they?”
“Where are what?”
Daniel was looking, too. “They’ve faded. I can’t see anything at all!”
“What!”
“Nothing there,” said Daniel. “It almost seems like we’re not supposed to do this.”
“But I’ve got to see my mom!”
“I know, Em.”
“Don’t I?” Suddenly she didn’t seem sure.
“I don’t know.” He stared at his shoes, thinking. “She did say, didn’t she, that she wanted you to live your life out here.”
“Yeah,” she said bitterly. “Where I could do something unexpected.”
“Well, we’ve done one thing I never expected,” he said.
“We beat Sloper.”
“We did.”
Daniel could tell this gave her comfort.
“We did do that. Still …” Her voice trailed off.
“Still you miss her,” Daniel completed.
That’s when Wesley spoke up. “Hey, look what I found in my pocket!” He pulled out a creased and dirty piece of paper. It was the copy he’d made of her freckles.
“Let me see!” Emily took it and spread it open on the railing.
But just as she was starting to examine it, a gust of wind snatched it away.
“Oh!” she cried out.
They watched the map somersault through the air, tumbling high above the creek. It landed finally in a stand of rose mallow flowers on the other side.
Daniel moved close to her and she buried her head against him. “Maybe it’s all right,” he said quietly, “living here with us.”
Maybe it was, but she wasn’t ready to hear it.
“Danny, look!” said Wesley. “It’s him!”
Stately as a church elder, feathers riffling, the great blue heron paced the other shore. The first fat drops of rain hit the railing of the bridge, but the children didn’t notice. They were transfixed by the slow-motion dance before them.
Tilting its head one way, then the other, the creature bent toward the paper as if to see what it was—then suddenly stabbed it with its beak.
For long seconds, the great bird stood immobile. Finally, it turned, the map still impaled, and walked slowly away.
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Acknowledgments
Special thanks to my Braintrust, an elite group of readers I turn to when I can’t see my way ahead. You always get me back on track. Thanks, also, to my insightful editor, Nancy Siscoe, for her fine eye and blue pencil, and to my artful agent, Jodi Reamer, for guidance and great lunches.
The Door in the Forest Page 18
