by Amy Neftzger
They walked around the courtyard to the far end of the building and climbed the stairs winding in one of the turrets. On the top floor the windows stretched from floor to ceiling. Light poured into the area and made it feel warmer than the rest of the building. Maybe the miracles in the garden below made it warmer, or perhaps it was just the sunlight. It was an odd sensation because the cold autumn air and stone structure usually kept the orphanage on the cooler side. Nicholas looked out through the panes of the tall windows to see yellow, orange, and red leaves falling from half barren trees. It was strange, he thought, that they were always falling, but the autumn never ended. It only started over again. Something inside of him told him that it should be another season, and he had a brief memory of everything being white. Then it was gone. He watched a brown and crimson leaf blow up against the window and then tumble away.
When they reached their destination, Taro was asked to wait outside the room while a stout looking assistant took the children to meet the guardians. He never gave his name or responded when Nicholas tried to engage him in conversation. The closest the assistant came to talking was an occasional grunt.
The room they entered was brightly lit but cold. Maggie shivered as soon as she entered it, but Nicholas tried to hide the fact that he felt chilled. He didn’t want to appear vulnerable in any way because he got the impression that he was the one on trial, and not the alleged miracle.
The guardians were sitting in two chairs with very tall, carved wooden backs. They sat on the opposite end of a long oak table that ran almost the length of the room. Numerous stacks of papers were arranged on the table in front of them, but they weren’t looking down at them. There were weights upon the papers to keep them from blowing away. Several large fans were generating a large draft within the room, causing the Pontiffs’ white hair to flutter continually off to one side. Mrs. Pontiff was wearing a very thick white sweater and gloves with the fingers cut out of them so that she could handle the papers. Mr. Pontiff appeared to have trouble staying cool even amid the frigid temperature and constant breeze. His white shirt was unbuttoned both at the neck as well as the sleeves, and his bright blue tie was loosened several inches so that air could circulate around his neck. Both of the Pontiffs were slightly overweight. Jovan thought their chubby physiques were likely due to lack of exercise and sitting all day. The children looked them over carefully, since they had never before seen the Pontiffs this close. It was very possible that other children would be curious and ask about the guardians. One thing was certain: The guardians loved white. Most of their clothing matched the color of their hair, which didn’t seem to have any trace of gray among the vibrant white hue.
The guardians watched Nicholas and his friends enter the room and studied them carefully, but the atmosphere seemed formal, as if they had never seen the children before. They had probably never noticed these particular children among the others. All this mutual scrutiny was distracting to Nicholas, and he felt so self-conscious that he stopped walking for a moment and then he stumbled forward. After bumping into Jovan and apologizing, he continued slowly moving into the room. It was difficult not to be distracted under the circumstances. The unnamed and unfriendly assistant ushered the children toward the long table and then closed the large, heavy doors to the room. The sound of the door latching echoed and made Nicholas think of a prison lockdown he had once read about. He turned around to look at the door and wondered how the assistant could move it without help. It was nearly as tall as the windows and must have weighed a few hundred pounds.
Jovan tugged at Nicholas’ sleeve to move his attention back towards the Pontiffs at the front of the room. The length of the table made the distance between them seem even farther away as the children waited for the guardians to speak. Maggie shivered a few more times and then took a deep breath to gather her strength. She thought that if she could punch someone, that it might warm her up a little and she would feel better.
“You may stand,” Mrs. Pontiff announced as if someone had asked to be seated, but none of the children had spoken or indicated a desire to sit. Perhaps she was used to people asking that question when they entered the room, but the children didn’t know what they should be doing. Jovan looked at the long table and counted the number of vacant chairs around it. There were 14 available seats.
“You may stand closer,” Mrs. Pontiff announced after she saw that the children were not moving. Maggie put a determined look on her face and marched forward until she was standing at the head of the table right next to the guardians. She felt her blood flowing as she walked. Nicholas and Jovan both quickly followed Maggie after they got over their surprise at her boldness.
“You must be Margaret,” said Mrs. Pontiff. She spoke slowly but with authority.
“Maggie, ma’am” Maggie bravely corrected her. “No one calls me Margaret.”
“Fair enough,” Mrs. Pontiff agreed in an authoritative tone. She looked over at Jovan and Nicholas. “Which one of you is Nicholas?”
“I am,” Nicholas said quietly. He shivered involuntarily and right away knew that it made him look meek. He took a deep breath and pulled himself up to his full height. If Maggie could be brave, so could he.
“And you made the miracle?” Mr. Pontiff inquired.
“We all did,” Nicholas stated with more volume. “We’ve been working together.”
“You all agree to this?” Mr. Pontiff asked, looking at Jovan and Maggie for confirmation. They both nodded.
“We work as a team,” Maggie explained.
“How did you create this miracle?” Mrs. Pontiff asked. “Walk us through the steps and tell us everything that you did or thought as it happened.”
“I don’t remember exactly what happened,” Nicholas confessed. “It’s all kind of a blur.”
“And yet you insist that you were working together?” Mr. Pontiff asked for clarification.
“Yes,” Nicholas replied firmly.
“But you don’t remember?” Mrs. Pontiff asked sharply.
“I don’t,” Nicholas answered.
“Then how do you know you were working together?” Mr. Pontiff asked in an accusing tone.
“Because we’ve been working together since we were assigned to the lab,” Maggie explained in a slightly heated tone. “So, for your information, the only thing we know for sure is that we were working together.”
“Your tone is inappropriate,” Mr. Pontiff scolded her. “We’re simply asking questions.”
“And we’re trying to answer them,” Jovan interrupted in the most diplomatic tone he could find. “Please excuse our frustration.”
“I don’t want to be excused,” Maggie blurted out as she folded her arms in front of her chest.
“Yes,” Nicholas insisted. “We do want to be excused, and we also want to be respectful.” He gave Maggie a warning stare as he spoke. She looked back and forth from Jovan to Nicholas and saw that she was outnumbered.
“We do want to be respectful,” she agreed as she looked back at the guardians. There was no way she was going to ask to be excused, though. There was a short pause while the Pontiffs waited and then realized that Maggie was done speaking.
“And we’re prepared to excuse your outburst because we understand that you are particularly good with your plant. We’ve heard that your plant is healthier than all the others in the orphanage,” Mrs. Pontiff announced.
“Yes, it is,” Maggie replied in a proud tone.
“And what about your plants?” Mr. Pontiff asked as he turned to look at Jovan and Nicholas.
“Still growing,” Nicholas responded automatically.
“Alive,” said Jovan quickly.
“Alive and well? Or just alive?” Mrs. Pontiff asked pointedly. Nicholas and Jovan were taken aback by the question. Stating that a plant was alive was usually enough to keep the mentors from asking more questions.
“Alive and well,” Jovan replied, measuring his words.
“And yours,” she asked Nicholas, “
You said that your plant is still growing, but you didn’t say in which direction. Is your plant growing stronger or growing weaker?”
“Growing stronger,” he answered with conviction.
“Our plants are very important, aren’t they?” Jovan asked.
“Extremely,” Mr. Pontiff immediately agreed.
“Why?” Maggie blurted out the question while Jovan was still trying to think of the more diplomatic way to ask it. To all three of the children’s surprise, the question was immediately answered.
“Your plants are grown from the seeds of who you were when you entered the orphanage,” Mrs. Pontiff replied.
“The seeds of who we were? How do you do that?” Jovan asked. He was genuinely curious.
“Never mind how,” Mr. Pontiff dismissed the question.
“Why is it important to grow something that reminds us of who we were if we’re now in a different place?” Jovan asked as he was thinking out loud.
“Because if you forget the essence of who you are, you become worthless,” Mr. Pontiff explained. Nicholas turned white and felt weak. He never dreamed that the plants were really important. He thought of them as kind of a joke with the orphanage staff placing entirely too much significance on them. But if his plant was the essence of who he was and he had given it to Maggie, then was he in danger of losing himself?
“Worthless???” Maggie shouted the question as if it was the craziest thing she had ever heard. “It’s just a plant,” she insisted.
“No, it’s not just a plant,” Mr. Pontiff explained. “And this is not just another orphanage. We’re in the Orphanage of Miracles. Each plant is unique and cultivated from your identity. It contains elements of your own personal story. It’s your only connection to the world outside of this place. If you give it up, you become lost forever.”
“We had no idea,” Nicholas confessed. Jovan wanted to ask about the missing children, about the ones whose plants had died. He wondered if they disappeared when the plants died because they ceased to exist or if they were removed from the orphanage because they forgot who they were and were, therefore, useless. He held back his questions, knowing that this was not the time or place for them.
“It’s not your place to know why the plants are here. It’s your place to cultivate them,” Mrs. Pontiff explained.
“And our discussion here should be centered on the miracle,” Mr. Pontiff announced, bringing everyone back to the topic. “What can you tell us about how you created it?” He stared pointedly at Nicholas.
“Well,” Nicholas started. He wanted to lie, to tell them that he knew exactly how he had done everything. But he knew that he couldn’t. Lies wouldn’t help anyone. “We had been looking at some explosive things,” he began. “Maggie really likes to blow things up.”
“Not surprising,” Mrs. Pontiff remarked.
“Well, we were looking at blowing things up, and I had this idea about colors.”
“Colors?” Mr. Pontiff asked as if the thought of them was ridiculous.
“I know it sounds odd, but for some reason, I was thinking about how colorful things made people happy and there didn’t seem to be enough happiness, and so I wanted more color.” Nicholas explained. “So I don’t remember what I did exactly except that it was some sort of combination of explosions and color.”
“We didn’t write anything down,” Jovan added. “Looking back, we feel that we could have done better with documenting our process.”
“Looking back with regret doesn’t help us now,” Mrs. Pontiff admonished.
“Neither does talking about what we don’t know,” Maggie added without thinking. Her tone wasn’t malicious, but as soon as she had spoken, she realized that it was the wrong thing to say.
“What she means is that we wish we could help more, but because we didn’t take notes on what we were doing, we’re not much help right now,” Nicholas said quickly.
“Very well,” Mr. Pontiff stated. He was ready for the discussion to be finished. “You may leave, then. Thank you.”
As they turned to leave, Nicholas heard Mr. Pontiff muttering something about colors. Nicholas wondered why he had so much trouble believing that Nicholas was thinking about color when the miracle took place. It’s odd, Nicholas thought, for someone dressed in white and so devoid of color to be confused by this concept. But perhaps Mr. Pontiff’s lack of color made it like a foreign language to him. There was something about the Pontiffs’ disbelief that Nicholas found irritating.
“Why are we under scrutiny? They act as if we’re criminals, and we’ve only done what we were told to do,” Nicholas complained as they entered the outer room where Taro had been waiting for them. “Why are the Pontiffs having so much trouble believing us?”
“It’s not just the guardians,” Taro explained. “It’s the other mentors, also.”
“Why are they suspicious of our miracle,” Jovan persisted.
“Because they just are,” Taro said with an air of finality. “They’re curious.” But Nicholas and his friends knew it was something more.
“How long has it been since someone made a miracle?” Jovan asked cautiously. It was the right question and Jovan knew that it was as soon as he had asked it.
“A very long time,” Taro answered and then quickly turned around to lead the children back to the lab. They didn’t really feel like working after their interview, but at least they knew how to fake it. They could pretend to work for the rest of the day. Nicholas was anxious, thinking about the fact that he had given Maggie his plant in exchange for hers and he kept wondering what would happen to his identity if the plant died.
The three of them quietly returned to their lab table and began gathering supplies to pretend they were working. Maggie was busy with her fireworks project, and Jovan was helping her again. He was fascinated and impressed with how much research Maggie had done. Nicholas, on the other hand, was thinking about trying to create another miracle to show the Pontiffs that it wasn’t a fluke. He didn’t know if he could, but he wanted to try and prove himself. In his mind, he was going over everything he was doing when the miracle was created. He was absorbed in thought when Junko suddenly held up something in one of her hands and exclaimed, “It’s a miracle!”
At first Nicholas thought that she was making fun of him, but after a bit more shouting, Ms. White appeared and shuffled unsteadily over to Junko’s lab table. She wobbled in her tight green knit dress as she snatched the object from Junko’s raised arm. She pushed the black rimmed glasses up onto her nose as she examined the item. It was the same manner in which she had examined the contents of the beaker when the other miracle appeared.
“It is a miracle,” she remarked loud enough for everyone in the lab to hear. “Two miracles in one month,” she announced as she glanced first at Nicholas and then at Junko, “and this one is perfectly formed.”
Junko smiled broadly with satisfaction. She first looked down her nose at Nicholas and then glanced smugly at Maggie.
Chapter Fourteen
The Next Best Thing to a Miracle
On the other side of the desert was another trading post very similar to the one they had left. In fact, it looked so much like it that Kelsey studied it carefully to make sure that it really wasn’t the same one. It seemed as if a long time had passed since they left the other post, but she wasn’t sure exactly how long they had been in the desert. From what she could remember, this post looked identical, with only a few differences in the shops. The patch of forest on the other side looked similar, also. After a few minutes of studying, she noticed enough distinct characteristics of the new post and was satisfied that they hadn’t gone in a circle.
“Where’s your friend?” Kelsey asked Megan.
“He won’t come into the post,” Megan explained. “It freaks people out when they see him.”
“More than a giant snow leopard?”
“I blend in,” Megan answered in a very matter-of-fact tone. Kelsey disagreed, but she had to admit people didn�
�t seem to notice the leopard. Perhaps Megan was invisible. Well, she couldn’t be invisible to everyone because Kelsey knew that she and Silence could both definitely see her. But it was odd that no one stared at Megan or seemed to take notice of her. Perhaps she was invisible to some people and not others. After thinking through the issue for some time, Kelsey decided to simply ask Megan the question.
“Can other people see you?” Kelsey asked as they walked down the wide, sandy street through the trading post. The question didn’t appear to rattle Megan, but she took her time responding.
“People see what they want to see,” Megan finally answered in a very flat tone. Kelsey took that as a definite no and left it at that. There were too many odd things to worry about why one creature was feared or whether one creature was more visible than another. Nothing made much sense, anyway. “I need to purchase a gift for Roland,” Megan suddenly announced as they strolled past the tents.
“What kind of gift?” Kelsey asked, wondering where Megan would keep money if she didn’t have pockets.
“Something nice.”
“Well, what sort of things does he like?”
“Shiny things.”
“Anything else?”
“Small mammals. Reptiles, occasionally.”
“He likes pets?”
“No. Food. He likes to eat them, but they must be freshly killed and he usually likes to do the killing himself. It’s a hobby we share in common, although our methods differ somewhat.” Megan paused in front of a tent selling gold jewelry.
“These things are shiny,” Kelsey admitted as she glanced over the highly polished necklaces and rings on display. She’d never been fond of gold. It was too soft to cut anything, so in her mind it was next to useless.
“Roland doesn’t wear jewelry,” Megan replied. “He only likes the shine, so I don’t think we should spend a lot of money on something rare. He’ll probably just bury it, anyway.” Kelsey wondered if Roland was a fierce looking dog. The only things that Megan had said to describe him were that people “freaked out” around him and that he was a friend.
