Some Kind of Happiness

by Claire Legrand

  “Sad, sad orphan girl with a sad, sad curse,” they cried. “She takes everything happy and makes it worse.”

  No. Enough.

  “Be quiet.” I clench my fists. “Stop it. Stop, right now.”

  The Dark Ones shrank back and fell silent.

  (Think, Finley.)

  I must cross the Bridge, but it is long, narrow, slick with rain.

  I look down. Bad idea.

  The river is wild, swift, dark.

  I step back, breathing hard, the storm pounding in my ears—along with my heart, along with the rushing water.

  I cannot cross the river. My legs won’t move that way.

  Cupping my muddy hands, I scream toward Hart House, but the storm swallows my voice.

  No one can hear me—but I know where I can go for help.

  Past the Post Office, up the hill, pulling myself up by the roots—

  (I am a queen.)

  Across the yard, through the maze of old lawn chairs and half-filled trash cans—

  (I am not afraid.)

  I fling open the screen door and pound on the door behind it.

  Please. Please. Please.

  The door opens.

  “Mr. Bailey,” I gasp, “I’m sorry for bothering you. I know you don’t like me. But please, can I use your phone? My cousin Dex. He’s hurt—the river’s flooding—Jack’s with him—please—”

  I break down, the pieces of me collapsing inward until I am the smallest I have ever been.

  Mr. Bailey leads me inside. “Okay, now. It’s okay.”

  He sits me down in a chair. Cole and Bennett run in from the other room.

  “What happened?” asks Cole. “Where’s Jack?”

  Mr. Bailey picks up an old wall phone and dials.

  “Mr. Hart?” He rubs his face. “It’s Geoffrey Bailey. Listen, your granddaughter’s here. Finley. She’s okay. But she says her cousin Dex is down by the river and needs help. . . . Yeah, I’ve been watching the police come and go from over here. . . . Yeah, okay. I’ll tell her. Thanks.”

  I feel like the chair has disappeared from underneath me.

  I have done my part. Dex will be okay now. He has to be okay.

  Mr. Bailey hangs up and sits down beside me.

  “Someone’s coming to get you,” he says. He seems a bit shaky. I wonder what he is thinking.

  A few minutes later the door flies open. Avery and Gretchen burst in, drenched and pale. Behind them Stick calls out my name.

  My cousins launch themselves at me. It is the warmest hug I have ever felt.

  42

  THE PARAMEDICS SAID DEX WILL be okay, but it is hard to believe them. When they carried him off on the stretcher, he looked too small and pale to be alive. Like a soaked baby bird.

  Aunt Bridget and Ruth went with him.

  When I stepped inside Hart House in my wet shoes, the first person I saw was Aunt Bridget, and I thought she would yell at me, but she didn’t. She hugged me close and squeezed.

  (You, pounded her heart.)

  (You, answered mine.)

  Then she swept Ruth up into her arms and they were gone.

  We stand around while Grandma and Grandpa talk with the police. They call my parents, tell them it’s all right, that I am safe. They put the phone to my ear and through the fog of my shivering and my exhaustion, I hear Dad saying something about the storm making it unsafe to drive. They had to turn around, nearly got run off the road, but they’ll get here as soon as it lets up. His voice breaks into jagged crystal pieces, and I realize he was terrified that he had lost me. I want to tell him I’m sorry, but I cannot find the words.

  Grandpa calls Dr. Bristow, too, to let her know that I am safe, and then I feel even worse. I hope she won’t get in trouble for leaving her window open.

  When the police leave, there are thirteen of us left: my family (minus Dex, Ruth, and Aunt Bridget) and the Baileys.

  Thirteen people in a crowded kitchen, and still the room feels too empty.

  Aunt Dee is in charge of wrapping the wet people in blankets. When she gets to me, she holds me close, tucked under her chin, and kisses my wet head.

  Maybe I should want to pull away from her, but I don’t.

  Grandma is the first to speak. I can hear every secret that clogs her voice.

  “You all had better go home,” she says to the Baileys, but she does not look directly at them. “I’m sure you’re tired.”

  Gretchen, red-eyed, shifts from one foot to the other. She stands behind Stick’s chair, her arms loose around Stick’s shoulders.

  Jack scowls at the floor. Cole stands stiff and tall in front of his dad, like a soldier.

  The house feels like it is holding its breath. I cannot stand this.

  “You could thank Jack,” I say.

  Grandma turns to me. “Pardon me?”

  “I said, you could thank him. He helped me save Dex.”

  “Yes, and he wouldn’t have needed to if you hadn’t been so irresponsible as to run away from Dr. Bristow’s office.”

  She’s right, of course, but it is worse to hear it said aloud. The words crush me flat.

  Grandpa places his hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “Candace . . .”

  “How could you have been so selfish, Finley?” Grandma’s voice shakes, the Hart mask slipping fast. I know she is upset; I get it. I know she was afraid of losing her grandchild.

  Still, I cannot believe she is saying these things to me.

  (I know the real you, Grandma.)

  (I know about your wig. I know you snore.)

  (I know the truth.)

  “If you hadn’t run off,” Grandma continues, “the twins wouldn’t have tried to find you, and Dex would not have fallen. If anything happens to him, it will be your fault.”

  “Grandma, please—” Avery interrupts.

  “After everything we’ve done for you, after welcoming you into our home, you do something so blindingly selfish—”

  Grandpa frowns. “Candace, that’s enough.”

  “Didn’t you stop to think for one second about the consequences of your actions? Didn’t you think—”

  “Selfish?” My brain is stuck on that word. It stings, and it is unfair. “At least I’m not a liar.”

  Grandma blinks. “I beg your—”

  “I know about the fire. Mr. Bailey told me.”

  The house goes from quiet to quieter. Stick says, “Dad?” and looks at Grandpa like she’s a little girl again and Daddy can make everything better.

  “What’s she talking about, Geoffrey?” Grandpa asks.

  Mr. Bailey crosses his arms over his chest, his shoulders hunched. “I’m sorry, Warren. I didn’t mean to, honest I didn’t.”

  “You promised us you would never tell a soul.” Grandma’s voice is wire thin. “Especially not our grandchildren.”

  “I know, and like I said, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Whether or not you meant to isn’t the issue here.” Grandma rises, leaning hard on the kitchen table.

  Everyone probably thinks she’s angry and tired from worrying about me and Dex.

  (But me and Avery and Grandpa, we know the truth.)

  “We had a bargain, and you broke it,” Grandma continues. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always been irresponsible and good for nothing, ever since you were a boy.”

  Jack kicks an empty chair. “Stop it. Don’t yell at him.”

  Mr. Bailey grabs his arm. “Jack, it’s okay—”

  “No it isn’t. Why are you letting them treat you like this? They’re the ones who started the fire, not you.”

  Grandma lets out a mean-sounding laugh. “Oh, is that what everyone thinks? Well, allow me to set the record straight.”

  “Candace,” says Grandpa, “let’s not do this right now. Everyone’s had a long day.”

  I stand up. “Tell us.”

  Everyone looks at me. Avery shakes her head slowly. What are you doing?

  I have no idea. But I am tired of se
crets.

  “Tell us the truth,” I say. “We’ve been going to the Bone House all summer. We’ve been cleaning it, and we found the gravestones. It’s ours now. We deserve to know.”

  Grandma looks like she’s ready to either cry or snap in two, but Grandpa says, “Okay, Finley. Okay.”

  “Dad, no,” Stick whispers. “Our kids—”

  “They deserve to know. She’s right.” Grandpa looks at Mr. Bailey. “Geoffrey? Is that okay with you?”

  “Dad?” Cole asks. “What’s he talking about?”

  Mr. Bailey nods slowly. “It’s all right. Just listen.”

  “The truth is, I’ve been wanting to tell this story for a long time,” says Grandpa. “We should’ve told it a long time ago, when it actually counted.”

  Grandma makes a small noise and goes to the sunroom windows. The world outside is storm-dark.

  Then Grandpa folds his hands on the kitchen table and begins.

  NCE UPON A TIME, A wizard lived in the Everwood. He had a wife and a small daughter.

  For generations his family had been poor. He worked in a small shop, where he earned enough wages to feed and clothe his loved ones, and to take care of his crumbling castle.

  Though it was old and humble, he and his family loved it with all their hearts.

  They lived a small life, and they were happy.

  • • •

  In this same forest there was a river.

  On one side of the river lived a family of pirates. On the other side of the river lived another family—a king and a queen, and four children.

  The family of pirates was troubled.

  The father had long abandoned them, and the mother fell into a deep sorrow. Their son left his schooling to take care of her, and the family’s estate fell into disrepair.

  The family of royals was charmed.

  The king and queen were wealthy. Their son, the prince, was quiet and studious. Their daughters, princesses three, were golden-haired, beautiful, and clever—but increasingly discontent.

  There were many rules about how to be proper princesses, and the daughters hated them all. They wanted to please their parents, but they feared they never would.

  One night the three princesses took to the forest in the midnight hours, even though wandering into the woods after dark was forbidden.

  Their younger brother, the prince, secretly followed them, for he could tell they were not themselves. They walked unsteadily and spoke too loudly.

  The pirate son joined their revel, glad for the chance to escape his troubled home.

  The four young people began to drink and dance, filling the forest with laughter.

  From the shadows the prince watched, and he began to think his worry needless. They were children, after all, not much older than he. They were only children celebrating the night.

  They were wild creatures, and this was their kingdom.

  Their revels brought them deeper into the forest, until they were very near the wizard’s castle, hidden in shadow and thick trees.

  The princesses and the pirate built a fire and danced around it. For a time they forgot everything else. The world was simply them, and their forest, and their fire reaching higher and higher.

  But the fire grew quickly, consuming the surrounding trees, and the princesses and the pirate played their games and laughed their hearts free, oblivious to it all.

  The young prince ran out from his hiding place, shouting. The wizard’s castle was wreathed in flame.

  They watched as the wizard fell from a tower window. He did not get up.

  Smoke filled the forest, followed by horrible screams. Someone remained in the house. Two someones.

  The princesses and the pirate tried to help, but the flames were too great, raging stronger than any known Everwood spell.

  They found the man who had fallen and pulled him to safety.

  They watched as the castle crumbled, and the screams faded away.

  • • •

  The young prince ran through the forest and across the river to his parents’ white castle.

  The king and queen summoned help, and they cared for the frightened children as the flames were put out.

  They even brought the poor wizard to the best healers they could find, but it was not enough. His hurts were too great.

  He woke up long enough to ask them two things: that they bury him and his family beneath the old tree behind their beloved house, and that they tell his family’s story and not let their memories turn to dust.

  But the king and queen were afraid. They gathered up the truth of that night and locked it away in the darkest parts of their hearts.

  The fire had begun through no fault of their own, they said. It was the poor wizard, who had let his lands become overgrown, who had lit a fire when he should not have. The three princesses saw the flames from afar and tried to help, but they were too late.

  The three princesses, then, were heroes, and so it became known throughout the land.

  • • •

  The Everwood disapproved of these lies and decided that the king and queen must be punished. They must give up their crowns and offer up themselves. For all eternity they must guard the Everwood and never reveal its secrets.

  The king and queen agreed and became guardians of the forest. They were bound to the trees by deep, old magic, and their hair and flesh turned white and as cold as stone. Through the years they became ever more powerful—though the burden of their many secrets ate away at them.

  They told their children to never reveal the truth of what happened that night, for doing so would endanger everything they had built. They commanded the pirate son to do the same, and offered him coin in exchange for his silence.

  Some years later the pirate fell in love with a woman who bore him three boys, who all grew up to be pirates as well. But the pirate father was poisoned by drink, and on the days when he raged, he became a monstrous troll, and his family grew to fear him.

  The young prince, who hated lies, left the kingdom forever. He would not betray the ancient guardians, but he would no longer be theirs to call son.

  • • •

  And so the Everwood grew on and on, while the ancient guardians watched over its secrets—until, one day, an orphan girl who did not know she was a queen arrived in the forest, and everything began to change.

  43

  NOW I FINALLY UNDERSTAND.

  My aunts—three girls, trying to be happy. Trying to be Harts.

  (It’s not just about the blood in your veins. It’s also about the smile on your face.)

  Geoffrey Bailey—Jack’s father.

  Four kids, around Avery’s age.

  Four kids, drinks, a bonfire. Out in the forest where they weren’t supposed to be. A celebration of forgetting their problems for a while.

  (I understand these things.)

  An overgrown house, hidden in the trees.

  A man who had a family, and then did not.

  A melted bicycle, a shoe belonging to Cynthia Travers.

  The knife? Maybe it fell from someone’s pocket. Maybe it was knocked out of the house when the firefighters arrived.

  Dad, watching it all happen. And after, maybe wanting to talk about it. Maybe wanting to tell the truth.

  And this is why, isn’t it? This is why no one talks about him, why he left, why I am only now meeting my family.

  Because he wanted to tell their secrets.

  Grandma and Grandpa Hart, hiding it all so no one would see. Paying the right people. Spinning stories and lies and smiles.

  That is the truth, the real truth, of the Everwood.

  • • •

  “So that’s it,” I say into the silence. “That’s what happened.”

  Stick, Aunt Dee, and Kennedy are crying. Mr. Bailey seems like he might be about to. Cole holds Bennett. Avery looks like if she breathes too hard, she will shatter.

  Jack watches me. I think he is waiting for me to make the next move.

 
“How could you do that?” Gretchen blurts out.

  (I know how.)

  WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A HART

  • You must make the world see you as you want to be seen.

  Something inside me detonates. I want to hit something or run somewhere or cry until I can’t anymore.

  I want to say I hate them. I want to yell and scream and spit and kick.

  But I can’t do that, because I don’t.

  I still love them. I love them.

  This realization has been coming to me in pieces over the summer, but now it rushes at me, fully formed.

  (Now? Now, after what I have learned?)

  (Yes. Now.)

  I love my family.

  I love Aunt Bridget, because her heartbeat sounds like mine.

  I love Aunt Dee, because she was the first one to say she loves me, too.

  I love Stick, because I am her coolest niece, and she belongs to my Gretchen.

  I love Grandpa, because he dresses old-fashioned, and he built us a tree patio, and he talked to Dad when no one else would.

  I even love Grandma, because she slept beside me, and I see the person she is trying to be.

  They are mine, and I am theirs.

  We are Harts. It’s in the blood.

  But it isn’t fair, what they have done. It isn’t fair that I love them. I shouldn’t love people like that.

  But . . . people like what? They were only kids, my aunts and Mr. Bailey. They were afraid.

  And Grandma and Grandpa, they were also afraid—for their children, and for their own sorry, wonderful selves.

  I cannot stop imagining Avery doing something like that, and hating herself, and living with the horrible fact of it forever.

  I cannot stop imagining what I would have done, if instead of my aunts and Mr. Bailey it had been me and my cousins.

  What would we have done?

  Would we have been the same? Would we have allowed such secrets, to protect one another? The queen and her companions, bound through the power of the Everwood.

  What would we have done?

  I think about it, a hot bubble building inside me.

  Then I decide: We would not have done that. We would not have hidden what we had done.