by Lynne Jonell
“Yes,” said Tate, “but look at the way the water drops splash! Every one is different!”
“Books are even more different,” said Celia, and she tugged Tate into the library.
Abner watched the big double doors close behind his sisters. Then he turned to Derek. “Get some paper towels and mop this up, will you?”
“What are you going to do?” asked Derek.
“I’m going to the hardware store. Maybe Mr. Wopter will give us a ride home in his truck. That will keep Tate out of water trouble.”
“Brilliant,” said Derek with feeling.
Mr. Wopter was not at the hardware store. He had gone to the pie shop next door for something to eat.
“Sure, I’ll take you home,” he said. “Just let me finish my coffee, and I’ll swing by and load your bikes in the truck.”
When Abner got back to the library, Derek and Celia were stacking books in the bike baskets.
“Where’s Tate?” Abner asked.
Celia looked around. “She was here a minute ago.”
“TATE!” yelled Abner, cupping his hands around his mouth.
No one answered.
Derek cocked his head. “Do you hear water?”
Celia gasped.
“Oh, no,” said Abner. He suddenly remembered that the river ran some distance behind the library, through a park with trails—and over a cliff.
They left their bikes. They left the books. They raced down a trail, along a bend in the river, past a bench and a drinking fountain and a picnic table—and made it to the falls just in time to see Tate climbing over the guardrail.
Abner grabbed Tate’s right arm. Derek grabbed her left. Celia got a good grip on Tate’s ankles and hung on tight.
“Oh, come on,” Tate said. “I was just going to look.”
“You can see plenty from right here,” said Abner. “Like, did you notice the thirty-foot drop? Onto rocks?”
“I wasn’t going to fall,” Tate protested.
“You’re not going to fall now,” Abner said grimly. “Pull, everybody!”
Tate stumbled backward. “You get a better view up close,” she protested.
No one bothered to answer. They marched her back to the bikes and didn’t let go until she was on the truck, with a book in her hand. And when Mr. Wopter dropped them off at the stone arch bridge, they borrowed his handkerchief for a blindfold.
Tate was upstairs in the Loft, already on her third book. Abner, Derek, and Celia sat on the stairs, talking things over.
“That was weird,” Derek said. “I mean, a kiddie pool? Get serious!”
“I’m worried about the river,” said Abner. “If she gets too close—”
“Whoosh! Over the falls!” said Derek. “Just like the pig.”
Celia’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t want Tate to land on the rocks.”
Abner gave her a hug. “She won’t,” he said. “Reading books will keep her busy for a long time. We just have to stand guard at the door.”
“Let’s keep her away from all kinds of water,” Derek said. “So she doesn’t go wild.”
“Or get reminded of the river,” said Celia.
Abner nodded. He had not forgotten that thirty-foot drop over the falls, or the wickedly sharp rocks at the bottom.
“The magic will wear off, won’t it?” asked Celia. “After a while?”
Abner fervently hoped so. “It always has before,” he said.
Mrs. Willow came home. She wanted to know why the carpet was damp.
Abner, Derek, and Celia explained about the well. Their mother gave a little shriek. “Is Tate all right? Where is she?”
“The Loft,” said Abner, “but—”
Mrs. Willow didn’t stay to hear the rest. She ran up the stairs, and her children ran after her.
Tate let her mother check her for bruises, hug her, and smooth her hair. Then she picked up her book again.
Mrs. Willow walked to the door. She looked back. “She seems to be all right,” she said. “But she’s turning the pages too fast to be really reading. I suppose she’s just trying not to think about that dreadful fall.”
Celia said, “It’s more like she’s thinking faster— Ow!” She stopped as Derek nudged her in the ribs with his elbow.
Soon it was time for supper. “Can Tate have her supper on a tray?” Abner asked his parents. “She wants to keep reading.”
Mrs. Willow was worried. But Mr. Willow said they should let her alone. “She’ll get over it sooner if we let her handle it in her own way. And listen, you kids. I don’t want you going anywhere near that well until we get a cover on it.”
Mrs. Willow looked in the refrigerator. “We’re out of milk.”
The children glanced at one another guiltily.
“The water was shut off for a long time,” said Abner.
“We were really thirsty,” Celia said.
“Oh, well,” said their mother. “We’ll drink water with supper. I’ll make juice in the morning, and we can have bacon and eggs instead of cereal.”
“Water?” said Derek. He glanced at Abner and Celia.
“Can Tate have a soda?” Abner asked quickly. “For a special treat, because she fell?”
Mother smiled. “Oh, just this once.”
It was long past their bedtime when Tate closed the sixth book on her list. Derek and Celia were asleep. Even Mr. and Mrs. Willow had gone to bed, but Abner was staying awake to watch Tate.
He yawned widely. His eyelids drooped. “Are you going to bed?” he mumbled.
Tate nodded. “I’m just going to get a drink first.”
No one liked to drink from the bathroom faucet, because it tasted of toothpaste. Abner watched in a sleepy daze as Tate started down the stairs. His eyes drifted shut.
Then, all at once, they snapped open. Was she going to get a drink of water?
Th-thump!
The sound came from below. Abner ran down the steps. Now there was a spurting, spraying sound. He rounded the corner to see Tate squatting on the kitchen counter with the spray hose in her hand. She was spraying water up into her mouth. She was getting everything wet.
“Tate, STOP!” he hissed.
Tate, startled, jerked back. One foot slipped into the sink. She lost her balance and fell right onto the faucet.
It broke off. Water sprayed everywhere. And no matter how Tate twisted the faucet handles, the water just kept shooting out.
Abner’s whisper was furious. “Now look what you’ve done! What were you doing on the counter?”
“I was checking the water flow!” Tate’s whisper was every bit as mad. “I wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t scared me!”
Water sprayed everywhere. Abner slipped on the wet floor and grabbed the counter’s edge. “Think of something! You’re the one who’s so smart!”
“My brain isn’t smarter. It’s just faster,” Tate snapped. She looked around, thinking hard. The first thing was to stop the water.
She grabbed a dish towel and pressed it on the hole where the faucet had been. The towel was soaked, but at least the water wasn’t spraying all over.
Then Tate had another idea. “In the basement, by the meter,” she said.
“What?”
“That’s what Mr. Wopter said when you asked him how to shut off the water. Remember?” She pressed the towel harder against the hole. The water pushed around her fingers and squirted into her face.
“Right!” Abner ran downstairs. Where was the meter? Was it that round thing with dials? There was a handle next to it. He turned the handle and hoped for the best.
Up in the kitchen, the stream of water became a trickle and stopped. Tate felt a little sad. Something in her loved to see the water spraying free. But another part of her brain knew she was in big trouble.
“Well done,” said Tate when Abner came back to the kitchen. She wrung out the sopping towel. “Now we have to mop up the water. Look—isn’t it kind of cool, the way it flows over the floor?”
Abner grunted. Then he grabbed a mop from the closet. “I’ll clean up. You go to bed. And stay away from water until the magic wears off, will you?”
Tate sighed as she climbed the steps. She was pretty sure the magic was starting to wear off already. It had taken her longer to read that last book. Maybe she had better read the seventh one before the magic was completely gone.
Tate lay in bed with her reading light on. She heard Abner come up the stairs. Then she heard his bedsprings creak.
She tried to read. But she couldn’t keep her mind on her book.
The magic had felt so wonderful at first! She had actually enjoyed doing her homework—it was fun to understand things so quickly. She had felt as if she could learn anything at all! Not just out of books, but things like cartwheels and flips and treading water, too. But she had done some stupid things.
At the waterfall, she had scared her brothers and sister. She had made a watery mess at the library. And now she had broken the kitchen faucet.
Her parents would have to pay Mr. Wopter to fix it. They would have to pay someone to cover the old well, too.
Everything she’d done had caused trouble. Everything she’d done would cost money to fix.
And now her family wouldn’t have anything to drink in the morning. They were out of milk. And they wouldn’t have water to make coffee or juice until the faucet was fixed.
Her parents would be grouchy enough when they saw the broken faucet. They would be even grouchier without their coffee. And everyone would be thirsty.
Suddenly Tate sat up in bed. She knew where there was water.
She shivered. Did she dare? Did she dare go out at night, in the dark, to the wild side of Hollowstone Hill?
Tate put on a robe over her pajamas. She put on her shoes and socks. Then she found the flashlight they kept in the Loft in case the power went out.
She crept past the room where the boys were sleeping. She tiptoed down the stairs, skipping the step that squeaked. She opened the front door.
Abner had left the bucket and rope on the porch. She slung the rope over one shoulder in a coil. She didn’t feel like doing any flips. Her mind was busy enough, watching for rocks, gopher holes, and wild animals that might be out at night.
It was chilly. The grass was damp. Overhead was a thin, sharp moon. The flashlight beam didn’t go very far. Tate stood shivering on the big, flat rock at the crest of the hill and looked down. The wild side of the hill was even scarier at night.
Her mind might have been going five times faster, but that didn’t mean she was five times braver. Tate did not want to go down into the steep, prickly dark.
The first step was the hardest. After that, she just kept going. Her robe was full of stickers by the time she found the well.
She leaned her flashlight against a thorn tree. She tied the bucket on the rope, using the bowline knot she had just studied. Then she remembered something she had learned in school. If she threw the rope over a tree branch, it would act as a simple pulley. She could pull the loose end of the rope to lift the bucket. It would be easier.
Tate lowered the bucket until she heard it hit the water. When she felt the bucket grow heavy, she pulled on the rope.
It was hard work to pull a bucket of water all the way up the well. Even though she was using a tree branch as a pulley, it took a long time.
It was even harder to lug a bucket of water back to the house. Some of the water sloshed out. She had to stop and rest when her hands got sore.
But she had done it! She had gotten water for her family!
Tate opened the refrigerator. Her mother had put in a can of frozen juice to thaw for the morning. The directions on the label said to mix with three cans of water. That was easy. Tate got out a pitcher and made the juice.
Then she looked at the coffeemaker. It had directions, too. She scooped out the coffee. She measured the water and poured it in. All she had to do in the morning was push the button to ON.
Tate climbed the stairs to the Loft, yawning. She was so tired. Her mind seemed slower, too. The magic was almost gone.
Tate turned out her light and shut her eyes. She had read six books out of the ten on Mr. Davy’s list. That left four still to read before Monday.
Without magic, she didn’t have a chance.
Sunshine seeped in between the window and the shade. Tate opened her eyes. Celia was still sleeping.
Tate threw on jeans and a shirt and ran downstairs. Were her parents up yet? She had to push the button on the coffeemaker. If her parents were greeted by the smell of fresh coffee, maybe they wouldn’t be so mad about the broken faucet.
Tate ran to get the newspaper. By the time her parents came downstairs, the coffee was hot.
Tate poured them each a cup. “Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!”
Mr. and Mrs. Willow looked surprised. Mr. Willow smiled, took his coffee, and picked up the paper.
“I’ll drink mine in a minute, Tate,” said Mrs. Willow. “I promised to make everyone bacon and eggs.”
Derek and Abner were watching cartoons in the next room. Tate stood in the doorway, biting her fingernails. If her parents didn’t notice the broken faucet soon, she would have to tell them.
Her mother opened the refrigerator. She saw the pitcher of juice. “Did you make juice, too, Tate? Thank you!”
Tate took a deep breath.
But Mother had already started to talk to Father. She said that someone wanted to buy more of her paintings. She kept talking while she got out the frying pan and put in the bacon.
The bacon began to sizzle. Mrs. Willow cracked eggs into the pan. She was still talking, and Tate hadn’t had a chance to tell her anything.
“Boys! Breakfast!” Mother called. She went to the sink to wash her hands. Then she gasped. “What happened to the faucet?”
It took a long time to explain.
“Let me get this straight,” said Mr. Willow. “You were up on the counter? Can you tell me why you thought that was a good idea?”
Tate shook her head miserably. She stood up to pour the juice. Maybe if she was helpful enough, her parents wouldn’t be so mad.
Celia came down the stairs in her pajamas. “Can I have some juice, too?”
Mother looked at the pitcher in Tate’s hand. “Wait a minute.”
Tate didn’t like the tone of her mother’s voice.
“If the faucet broke last night,” Mother said, “where did you get the water to make juice? And coffee?”
Tate explained about the well. Before she even finished, her mother cried, “Don’t drink that juice!” She dumped the whole pitcher down the drain.
Tate stared at her mother. Why had she done that?
“We don’t know how safe that water is,” said Mrs. Willow. “You might have gotten sick from it.”
“But I used it to make coffee, too,” Tate whispered.
Her father looked at his coffee cup. “Oh, well.” He drank the last swallow. “Go ahead and drink yours, Molly—I’m sure the coffee is hot enough to kill any germs.”
Mrs. Willow looked at her cup doubtfully. “I suppose so.”
“But what are we going to drink?” asked Derek. “This bacon is salty, and I’m thirsty.”
Mr. Willow said, “You can have coffee, too.” He grinned at his wife. “Don’t worry, Molly. Coffee isn’t going to hurt them this once.”
Celia took a sip of coffee. She made a face.
“Cool!” said Derek. Coffee was a grown-up drink.
Abner didn’t like coffee, but it was partly his fault that the faucet had broken. He supposed he deserved to drink something bitter with breakfast.
Tate didn’t drink her coffee. She felt too terrible.
“It’s excellent coffee, too,” said their father. He flung out his arms and did a little tap dance. “It makes me want to get up and do something!”
“Good,” said their mother. “Because the garden needs weeding, and the gutter needs fixing, and the garage needs cleaning—”
Mr. Willow laughed. “I’ll get to all of that,” he promised. “But first I want to go to the university. I just had the most wonderful idea, and I want to set up an experiment!”
Mrs. Willow poured herself a cup of coffee. “Oh, my, this is good coffee,” she said. She drank it all and set her cup down. “I think I’m going to paint today,” she said. “Goodness, I can hardly wait to get started! I can’t even sit still!”
Mrs. Willow did a little jig out the door and slammed it with her foot.
Tate set down her coffee cup. Then she went to the window. Out on the lawn, her mother was doing a cartwheel.
Tate turned slowly to face the others.
“You’re not going to believe this,” said Derek, “but I feel like doing homework!”
Abner jumped up. “Tate, the magic came because you drank the water! Not because you swam in it!”
Tate remembered how she had almost drowned in the well. “I guess I did swallow some water when my head was under,” she said.
Abner grinned. “I’ve got a science project to do that’s supposed to take a month. I bet I could get it done before lunch!”
“I’m going to practice my knots,” said Derek. “I can finally learn that old bowline knot. And the timber hitch, and the square lashing …”
Celia bounced on her toes. “I want to draw a fish! And an octopus! And a shark!”
Tate knew what drinkable magic could do. “Just make sure you don’t do anything wild and crazy around water,” she warned. “It’s better to stay away from it. Now leave me alone, everybody. I’m going to drink my coffee. And then I’m going to read the last four books on my list!”
Tate flopped back on the living room couch and dropped the eighth book on the floor. It had been so good! Now she only had two stories to go. But maybe she had better check on the others first.
Her brothers and sister weren’t in the Loft. Tate looked out one of the third-story windows. She could see a curve of the river, still muddy and brown from the rains. Would they have gone to the river? No, of course not. Not after yesterday, when they had tried so hard to keep Tate out of danger.
