Behind the boats looms the towering rock face of Mount Tzouhalem. The alders are budding, and are covered with soft green fuzz. It won’t be long before the Garry oak meadows up there will be in bloom. It’s one of my favourite places to visit in the spring. And it looks as though this spring will be my last around here. A lump forms in my throat but I do my best to push away the invasive thoughts of our impending move to Victoria.
“What’s with you?” Sabrina asks from her seat. “You don’t look that stoked to be home.” She takes a compact mirror out of her bag and starts fussing with her hair.
“I’m just tired,” I lie.
As we taxi into the marina, my thoughts turn to Kimiko. I wonder what she is doing this very minute? Maybe she’s back on the computer in the Big Kahuna, making her arrangements with the people at the Japanese orphanage. Maybe they’ve already sent her photos of the children who live there—the kids she will undoubtedly end up playing “big sister” to. Or maybe she’s out on the beach thinking about Sitka, remembering the way the wolf stayed close to her until the time was right for her to return to her family.
Mike glides up to the government dock and has the Beaver secured in no time. Sabrina and I scramble out of the plane, and I stretch out my back a little.
“Well,” Mike says, “I guess I’ll be seeing you a little later on, Hannah. Your aunt has invited me for dinner tonight on your houseboat.” I swear he blushes a little when he says this. It’s kind of cute—the guy is obviously completely smitten with Aunt Maddie. He clears his throat and helps us with our stuff, then tips his hat to Sabrina. “And I hope you had a good spring break, Katrina.”
“Meh,” Sabrina says, but she smiles at him, and doesn’t give him a hard time about getting her name wrong again either.
“Oh, and thanks for the ride.”
“My pleasure,” Mike says, sounding a little surprised. He’s not the only one!
We thank him for everything and say goodbye, and when Sabrina and I get to the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the road, we stop. She’s going up them, and I’m hanging a right. For a moment, there is a bit of an awkward silence.
“Well,” I say first. “I guess I’ll see you at school on Monday.”
“Yeah.”
“Some spring break, hey?”
“Yeah.”
“Is someone coming to pick you up?”
“I’ll text Rosa. I’m sure she’ll be around.”
“You can wait at my place if you want.”
“That’s okay. I think I’ll get a coffee from the Dog. I haven’t had a quality dose of caffeine since we left.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll see you at school, then.”
“Sure. See ya.”
I watch her climb the stairs, wrestling with her shiny pink suitcase as it bumps up the steps behind her. For some reason I can’t seem to walk away.
“Hey!”
She stops on the steps and turns around. “Mmmm?”
“I kind of feel like some tea. Do you want some company?”
She eyes me suspiciously. “Don’t you want to watch for Jack or something?”
“Oh. He’ll be a little while. He’s got a long flight ahead of him, around 165 kilometres. Well, you know, as the crow flies.”
“Don’t you mean, as the raven flies?”
I laugh. “True.”
The tea is delicious, and I can’t help thinking how odd it is that I’m sharing a table in the Salty Dog with Sabrina Webber … by choice! Truth be told, it isn’t even that awful. We talk about school and our favourite movies, and discover we actually have a couple of things in common, at least as far as rating our teachers go. Who knew?
“Refill?” Bea, the co-owner of the Dog asks us. Sabrina looks at me as though she’s waiting for me to make the decision. “Sure,” I tell Bea. “Thanks.”
An hour later I unlatch the gate next to the Salty Dog, go back down the stairs, and walk over to dock #5. Aunt Maddie is picking my dad up from the airport, and they won’t be here until closer to dinnertime. Max is due back from Mexico this afternoon, too, and I’ve already invited both he and Izzy (sans Tyler) to join the rest of us for dinner. But right now, I’m glad to have a little time to myself. I need to prepare for the reactions everyone is going to have to Jack’s new look when he shows up. I’m still not sure how I’m going to explain it!
And then, just like that, I see him! A bright white speck perched on top of the lookout on the estuary trail across the water. It’s got to be Jack. It’s always been his favourite place to perch. He’s back so soon? I marvel at the way the afternoon sun glances off his wing, and try not to think about how my life might be without Jack around to share it.
A minute after I set foot on the deck of our houseboat, he arrives. He’s none the worse for the wear, just a couple slightly ruffled feathers.
“Whoa! How did you get back here so fast?” I shake my head and hold out my arm. Sure enough, he lights on my shoulder, and I’m comforted by the familiar weight of him. “Welcome home, Jack.”
Home. There’s that word again.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“People are going to want to know about this,” my aunt says. We’re all sitting in our living room—Max, Izzy, Mike, Aunt Maddie and my dad—having enjoyed one of my aunt’s epic spaghetti dinners.
“She’s right, Han,” Dad says. “If that really is Jack, you can’t expect a radical change like this to go unnoticed.”
“Oh, Jack will be noticed all right,” I say, “but why does there have to be a logical explanation?”
“Come on,” Izzy says. “You know what people are like around here.”
“I just don’t get it,” Max says, slumped on our couch. His normally mousy hair is a shade or two lighter from the sun, and he’s got a pretty impressive tan. “I’ve heard of white ravens before, but to actually change from black to white? No one is ever going to buy it.”
“But,” I say. “You guys believe me, don’t you? I mean, you can’t deny it. That is most definitely Jack.”
We all look out the window at the same time to see Jack walking along the railing with his trademark hip-hop shuffle.
“Of course it’s Jack,” Aunt Maddie says. She looks to Mike for backup, but he just smiles and shrugs. He’s clearly enjoying the conversation.
“I agree,” Izzy says. “Without a doubt.”
“For sure,” Max says.
Dad walks over to the window, his fingers drumming thoughtfully on the side of his face. Jack freezes and stares right back at him. It’s a classic Mexican standoff. Then, I swear to God, he sticks out his tongue at my father.
Dad holds his hands in surrender. “Okay! I concede! It’s Jack.”
“Annie has keys to the new house,” Dad says the next morning from the kitchen. “Madds and I were thinking of meeting her down there for another look-see. You up for a road trip, honey?”
I shake my head. I’d rather stick pins in my eyes. “I just got back,” I say from the couch. I pick up a magazine—one about wooden boats—and start flipping madly through the pages.
Dad sits down beside me, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Look, I know this is hard for you, Han, but it might help if you actually saw the place.”
Flip. Flip. Flip.
“Not interested.”
He looks crestfallen, but quickly pastes on a smile and leans over to give my shoulder a squeeze. “Okay, okay. There’s no rush. You just have a nice morning. Annie and I will be back a little bit later.”
He gets up to search for his wallet, whistling and doing his best to appear cheerful. But the whistle lacks its usual energy and his shoulders are stooped, and I feel worse because he’s trying so hard to cover up his oh-so-obvious disappointment.
“Can Izzy and Max come too?” I ask.
Dad finds his wallet on top of the refrigerator, chucks it in the air with one hand and catches it behind his back with the other. “You bet, Hannah Banana. The more, the merrier!”
I don’t say a
word all the way to Victoria, but no one notices because, as usual, Aunt Maddie yaks non-stop the entire way. But when we turn onto Douglas Street in town, my heart starts pounding and I feel a little sick. Sensing my anxiety, Max takes my hand.
We make a left on Fort Street and then a right onto Cook Street, destined for the village centre. We pass coffee shops, a second-hand clothing store and a winemaking place. Dad turns onto a road with an antiquated Tudor-style bookstore on the corner.
“Almost there,” he says cheerily.
When we turn down a narrow lane, I immediately spot “Opal,” Anne’s little white Fiat parked halfway down the street. Dad pulls in behind her and shuts off the engine.
I roll my window down and stare at a little cottage that sits between a heritage house on one side, and a giant maple tree on the other. The cottage is white with black trim, and has a bright red door with a wrought iron knocker in the centre.
“Welcome to number 9 Sitka Lane,” Dad says. “Shall we?”
I freeze. “Wait, that’s the name of this street?”
“According to the sign on the corner,” Dad says, laughing.
I look at the gate in front of the house, and sure enough, a big black number 9 sits right smack in the centre of it. There’s something about the number nine…
“Hello? Earth to Hannah? You still with us?” Aunt Maddie teases.
Before I can say anything, Izzy pipes up from the back seat. “Wow. Check that out!” She points to the little turret on the second floor where a diamond-pane, leaded-glass window hangs open. There’s a blue birdhouse to one side of it, some grass and twigs protruding from its entrance. Spring has definitely sprung.
The front door opens and Anne emerges. Her dark hair is tied back with a blue scarf, and she waits on the front step with her arms folded, looking more than a little anxious.
Dad opens his door. “Come on. Everybody out.”
I walk up the front path, and Anne pulls me in for a hug. “How was your trip, honey?”
“It was good, thanks,” I say.
She keeps an arm draped around my shoulder and steps off to one side as the others rush past. “Hey,” she says softly, after they’ve disappeared inside. “I know this is tough for you.”
“Yeah.”
“Just have a snoop around, okay? Take all the time you need.” She kisses my cheek and walks into the house in search of my dad. I like that she didn’t pull the “you’re going to love it here” stuff. She stops in the hallway and points above her head. “Oh, and the little turret upstairs? It’s yours.”
“Seriously?” Izzy and Max say at the same time. They both make a beeline for the staircase. I trail up the stairs after them.
The room is small and filled with diffused golden light that filters in from the window. The floors are hardwood, scuffed and marked, but polished to a deep low lustre. I walk over to the window and look out over the road. A little boy is playing with a small brown dog—a dachshund—on the sidewalk. Two houses over, a woman digs in her flower bed. I push open the window and find I can just touch the end of a branch of the big maple. That’s one good thing, I guess; Poos and Chuck will appreciate the easy access to the great outdoors.
“Hannah! Look at this!” Izzy and Max are standing next to an open door at the side of the room.
“Closet?” I say.
But it isn’t a closet. It’s another room—a tiny one with a built-in desk that sits under a window with bright yellow curtains. There is a long, low shelf running the length of the little room, with a custom-made padded cushion on top of it, its fabric printed with colourful cats lounging on stacks of books. When I lift a corner of the cushion, I find a blue, well-chewed squeaky mouse toy hiding underneath it.
“Cats lived here,” Max says. “Poos and Chuck will love this room.”
“Let’s go check out the backyard,” Izzy says, already through the door.
Dad, Aunt Maddie and Anne are in the garden, staring up at a gnarled old apple tree that is beginning to show the first hint of pink blossoms. There are five trees in total, and Anne tells us they are all fruit bearing.
“Apple butter, Hannah,” she says with shining eyes. “We’ll be able to feed the entire neighbourhood.” I smile. Man, she’s trying so hard.
Along with the fruit trees is a big tangle of wild roses, a fenced vegetable garden, a slightly tilted greenhouse, and … a white raven perched on its window ledge! What? My heart lifts, and I can’t help but laugh out loud.
Jack squawks at us, but becomes distracted by his reflection in the greenhouse window. I swear he’s checking himself out; he even does a little over-the-top preening and strutting.
“Jack!”
He flutters down and lands in the grass at my feet. I extend my arm, but he is way too busy checking the place out to fuss about having a bonding moment with me.
“I think he approves,” Max says, grinning.
I press my forehead into his shoulder and close my eyes. “What about you?” I say. “What do you think of this place?”
“I like it, Han. The whole place … I dunno, it feels good.”
I’m not going to lie; much as I’ve been resisting, the house does feel good. And when we all go into the kitchen after Anne has made tea and warmed up biscuits she bought in Cook Street village, it smells good, too.
I take my mug of tea and wander through the living room to the front window. The dachshund and the little boy are still playing on the sidewalk. When he sees me watching them, he stands up and waves. I wave back.
I guess as houses go, number 9 Sitka Lane could be worse.
When we get back to Cowichan Bay, I clomp up the spiral staircase to my loft, kick off my shoes and flop down on my bed. It’s funny—Dad was right—I do feel better after seeing the house, and it was awesome having Max and Izzy and Jack there with me. And the address! How crazy is that?
A moment later my phone pings. It’s a Facebook notification. I open it to discover a friendship request from someone called “White Fox.” A huge smile spreads across my face as I log on and view the profile. And there she is: a pretty face framed by a multitude of dark braids, except for one that stands out from the others—a bright white one!
Talk about fast. Facebook-savvy already! I click on ACCEPT, and right away the space between us doesn’t seem as vast.
That’s when I remember her gift! How could I have forgotten? I unzip the pocket on my backpack and place the origami raven carefully on the shelf beside all the things Jack has brought me over the years. Then I unwrap the gift. The delicate tissue paper comes off in one piece to reveal a plain flat cardboard box. Inside, is a tiny scroll of parchment paper the same kind the raven was made from—tied in the middle with a white satin ribbon.
I slip the tassel off the scroll and smooth out the delicate parchment. It’s a poem: a haiku poem. The ornate script has been carefully written in fine, black ink, maybe a fountain pen? I read the poem, and then I read it again. It’s beautiful. Simple. It’s perfect.
I place the paper between the pages of my journal. I want to be able to read it every night before I go to sleep, no matter where I live. Because the seventeen syllables Kimiko has written comprise words I don’t ever want to forget:
The message was there
In bright white wings & wild woods
Showing me the way.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Carol Anne Shaw is the author of three novels for young adults, and when she isn’t writing, she can often be found at her easel, swinging a paintbrush. “I love writing for kids,” Carol Anne says. “They have such an authentic and refreshing way of viewing the world and everything in it. Kids give you the straight answer, they seldom suffer fools, and they know what they like. I respect that.”
Hannah & the Wild Woods is the third book in the “Hannah” series. The first novel in the series, Hannah & the Spindle Whorl, won a 2011 Silver Medal in the Moonbeam Children’s Book Award and was a BOTYA 2010 Finalist in the Young Adult Fiction Category.
The second novel, Hannah & the Salish Sea, was shortlisted for a 2014/2015 Chocolate Lily Award, and was included in the Canadian Children’s Book Centre’s Spring 2014 edition of Best Books for Kids & Teens. Carol Anne lives with her husband, also an artist, and their beagle, Eddie, in a little house in Cobble Hill on Vancouver Island. Please visit her at her website at www.carolanneshaw.com, on Facebook at facebook.com/carolanneshawauthor, or on Twitter, @CarolAnneShaw.
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