Miracles on Maple Hill (Harcourt Young Classics)

by Sorensen, Virginia

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Table of Contents

  Photo

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1. There's All Outdoors

  2. Meet Mr. Chris

  3. Maple Hill

  4. The First Miracle

  5. Pancakes

  6. Journey for Meadow Boots

  7. Foxes

  8. Harry the Hermit

  9. A Big Decision

  10. Joe Does a Christmas Thing

  11. The Beginning Again

  12. No More Drumsticks?

  13. Annie-Get-Your-Gun

  14. Mr. Chris Gets a Taste

  About the Author

  Copyright © 1956 by Virginia Sorensen

  Copyright renewed 1984 by Virginia Sorensen Waugh

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be mailed to the following address: Permissions Department, Harcourt, Inc., 6277 Sea Harbor Drive, Orlando, Florida 32887-6777.

  www.HarcourtBooks.com

  First Harcourt Young Classics edition 2003

  First Odyssey Classics edition 1990

  First published 1956

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

  Sorensen, Virginia Eggertsen, 1912–

  Miracles on Maple Hill/Virginia Sorensen; illustrated by Beth and Joe Krush.

  p. cm.

  "An Odyssey/Harcourt Young Classic."

  Summary: After her father returns from the war moody and tired, Marly's family decides to move from the city to Maple Hill Farm in the Pennsylvania countryside, where they share many adventures that help restore their spirits and their bond with each other. [1. Moving, Household—Fiction. 2. Family problems—Fiction. 3. Country life—Pennsylvania—Fiction. 4. Pennsylvania—History—20th century—Fiction.] I. Krush, Beth, ill. II. Krush, Joe, ill. III. Title.

  PZ7.S72Mi 2003

  [Fic]—dc21 2003049939

  ISBN 0-15-204719-0 ISBN 0-15-204718-2 (pb)

  eISBN 978-0-547-54216-4

  v2.1012

  For Those Who Helped:

  Harvey Kreitz, and

  Waldo Bates, and

  RoyceMallory—

  And Remembering

  Uncle Chris.

  1. There's All Outdoors

  "Mother, say the scoot-thing again," Marly said.

  She slid forward in the car seat, talking right against her mother's neck, over her coat collar. "Say it just the way your grandma said it."

  "Marly—again?" Mother asked. "And please don't breathe down my neck, dear!" She was driving, and the road was narrow and snowy and worrisome.

  "Just say it once more. The way she said it."

  Marly noticed the look Mother gave Daddy who sat beside her in the front seat. She could tell that Mother was afraid Daddy would object to hearing the same thing over and over. He was more tired than usual, even. When he asked Mother to drive, he was always as tired as he could be. Now he sat with his eyes closed and his chin buried in the collar of his jacket.

  But it was for him, really, that Marly wanted Mother to say the scoot-thing again. Maybe they didn't think she knew why they were going to Maple Hill. But she did.

  "Just once. I promise never to ask again. I promise," Marly said.

  Her brother Joe turned from the window for a change. The whole way up from Pittsburgh he'd kept his face glued to it like an old fly. "Why don't you just say it to yourself?" he asked. "Mother's said it ten hundred times."

  "I want her to say it—just once."

  If Joe asked her why she wanted Mother to say it, Marly couldn't have told him. The truth was that when Mother said those certain words all the good feelings came back. Grandma's whole house and yard and her whole Maple Hill were in those words, just the way Mother had described them ever since Marly could remember. Grandma was in them, too, with the way Mother said her voice was, like a bird's voice if it pretended to be cross but really wasn't. Mother was in them, too, but in a special way. Not the way she was now, but the way she had been when she was Marly's age. Every summer she had come to visit her Grandma at Maple Hill, right here in Pennsylvania's corner.

  How so many things could be in a few words was something else Marly didn't know. But it was the same way the whole feel of school can be in the sound of a bell ringing. Or the way the whole feeling of spring can be in one robin on a fence post.

  Daddy opened his eyes. "You might as well say it, Lee, and get it over with," he said. He did not look at Mother or at Marly or at anybody. He liked to do the driving himself, especially when a road was as bad as this. But he was too tired. Soon after he had come home, while people were still marveling that he had come back at all after being a soldier and a prisoner and everything, Marly had heard him say to Mother, "I think I'm going to be tired forever."

  But Mother had answered, "Of course you won't. You know, Dale, I've been thinking—we could go up to that old place of Grandma's, Maple Hill. What you need is all outdoors for a while."

  "Honestly, Marly, I don't see—" Mother began. But she sighed, and then she said it. For a long time when Marly was little, she had corrected Mother every time any one of the words was the least bit different, so now Mother always said it exactly right. Every syllable. Every other word had to come strong, as in a nursery rhyme:

  "Now scoot, you two, for goodness' sakes! Up here, there's all outdoors!"

  There! Marly sat back again. If there was all outdoors, there couldn't be very much indoors where all the trouble was. She could see the little old woman in a blue dress and a white apron, with her broom in her hand. She was pretending to sweep the children out, as Mother said, because they kept hanging around the house after they arrived. The first time Mother told about it, a long time ago, Marly had asked, "Why did you hang around? Why didn't you go outside and play?" Mother laughed and said, "Grandma thought it was because we were too used to being penned up in town. We were so used to having walls around us and ceilings over us that the sky and the country scared us to death. Grandma hated cities. We could hardly ever get her to come for a visit. She insisted that my brother and I come every summer, out to Maple Hill. She told us, 'The only place worth a grain of salt is where a child can go out and run as he pleases.' "

  All outdoors! Marly stared out of the window on her side as Joe did on his.

  Maybe, she thought, it wasn't just because of the city. She could remember times that had been nice there, and happy, before Daddy ever went away. And even while he was gone, sometimes. Mother paid a lot of attention, and they went to the museum on Sunday afternoons and to hear the Pittsburgh Symphony and for picnics in the park. Everybody felt sorry for Mother because Daddy was missing, and nobody expected he would ever come back. But then he came.

  She wouldn't even think it was better before Daddy came back. Nobody must think such a terrible thing. But it was a worry. If a door slammed behind you, for instance, he'd shout, "Who slammed that door?" You'd start to tell him the wind made it slam, but there wasn't time. Mother always hurried in, saying, "Ssssssh! Ssssssh! Ssssssh!"

  Everything would be better in all outdoors. Mother expected it would be and it would. Already things looked better. For two hours the most wonderful outdoors, all hills and snow and big tall trees and farmhouses, had been going past the windows. Once in a while it was interrupted by a pretty little town, and then
it began again.

  "Marly," Mother said anxiously, half turning her head but watching the road at the same time, "you mustn't expect it to be exactly the way I said. Grandma's been gone from Maple Hill for nearly twenty years. Uncle John's lived here off and on, but ... Well, it's an old run-down place. Not like these lovely farms on the road at all."

  "I know that," Marly said. "But we're going to fix it up."

  Those were the words Mother used when Marly first heard them talking about it. Daddy had jumped the way he did sometimes and said, "You mean it's going to fix me up!"

  "Dale, I didn't say that."

  "You meant it."

  "Well, all right then," Mother had said, going red in the face. "Why shouldn't we say it right out? I'm hoping it will."

  That had been just a little while ago, during the Christmas holidays. You expected everything to be wonderful at Christmastime, and the town was wonderful, with colored lights and decorated trees in every direction. Marvelous things were piled in every window along the streets downtown, and big organ music made the sidewalks sort of tremble. But this year something had gone wrong with everything. Daddy didn't even come from his room Christmas morning to see the presents. Mother had explained, trying to smile. He was tired and hurt and not really cross. He was sick and discouraged, not angry at them or at anybody. There was a lot of difference, Mother said.

  Of course it was true. But the house felt ugly and tight. Joe went off with his crowd right after breakfast. During the holidays he found someplace to go every day.

  Once when they began to talk about coming to Maple Hill, Daddy had said, "I don't know whether I can do it, Lee. All that wood to cut and everything. Do you think I can swing an ax anymore?"

  "Why, of course," Mother said. "And Joe can help. He's twelve, isn't he? That's just the age Grandma used to say kids stopped being a nuisance and started being useful."

  In two years I'll be twelve, too! Marly had thought. She was so interested in imagining the piles and piles of kindlings she would cut that she forgot to listen to what Mother and Daddy said next. She was reaching up in her mind to put a piece of wood on a pile higher than her head. But then Mother said something so interesting and wonderful she couldn't help hearing it. "When I was a little girl up at Grandma's," Mother said, "I was certain that Maple Hill was the place where all the miracles had happened."

  Daddy didn't laugh. For a minute it was as if the two of them were holding their breath together. Then Daddy said, "I'm afraid miracles don't happen anymore—even at Maple Hill."

  "We'll go find out," Mother said.

  That was soon after Christmas. Now it was March, and here they were, going to find out.

  "It's not very far from here," Mother said.

  Now all outdoors seemed to be mostly trees close along the road. There were bare limbs that bent against the car, scraping as it passed, brushing off their snow. Hemlocks were like frosted green. Mother shifted gears, and the car was a big black noise in the middle of a huge white quietness.

  "What a hill!" Mother said. "I'm not even sure this car is going to make it."

  They all leaned forward as if that might help somehow. The car was really struggling. "I've heard stories about these spring roads!" Mother said, pretending not to mind. "But it was always summer when I came, and I never believed them."

  The car stood still, then, its wheels singing and whirling. Marly saw Daddy's face set hard, the way it always did when he was angry or upset. His cheeks sank in, and she could see his heart beating in his neck. Mother stepped on the gas, and the wheels sang still louder and the engine roared like a truck.

  "Shall I get out and push?" Joe asked eagerly.

  "That's all we need," Daddy said in an angry voice. "Just Joe to get out and push!"

  Joe's face went red. Daddy's was white. Mother roared the engine louder and louder.

  "Stop it, Lee. You'll only spin the wheels," Daddy said.

  When the sound of the car died, silence was suddenly everywhere. It seemed coming and going in every direction, and they were in the middle of it. The front of the car tipped upward on the bare beginning of the long hill.

  "It can't be far to Chris's place now," Mother said. "They can probably pull us out. People here are used to such things."

  "We didn't even think to get chains," Daddy said. "What farmers we'll be!"

  "Mother—" Marly began, but Joe interrupted her. He said just what she'd meant to say, except that he said "I" and she had meant to say "we."

  "Mother, I'll get my boots on and go ahead and tell 'em," Joe said.

  "I'll go too," Marly said.

  Joe looked at her in a superior way. "You'd just slow me down," he said. That was the way he talked to her lately, even when it wasn't true. She never could say it wasn't true, though, because every time it made an argument and Daddy thought every argument was a fight and had to be stopped instantly. He said there was plenty of fighting going on in the world without them doing any of it.

  Mother hesitated. "I don't know what else—" She looked at Daddy.

  "My boots are in the trunk," Joe said, and out he went.

  "Mine are, too. Get mine, too!" Marly cried.

  "He'll be sopping wet before he even gets his boots on," Mother said. "Who would have thought there'd still be snow like this up here?" Her voice was worried. Daddy didn't say one word. He just sat still, staring out of the windshield up the long hill.

  "Mother—Daddy—can't I go, too? Joe knows I can go as fast as he can! He knows I can!" Marly cried.

  "Hush now," Mother said. "There's no use both of you catching your death of cold."

  "Mother, we wouldn't—"

  "Don't argue, Marly! Please!" Mother said. She gave Marly the look that said: Now don't talk about it anymore or you'll worry Daddy again.

  "Please!"

  "Marly! You heard what I said!"

  "But, Mother—"

  "Marly, don't argue!" Daddy's voice was fierce.

  Joe scrambled back in the car with his boots and pulled them on, jamming his jeans inside. How important he acted! You'd have thought he was the President of the United States or something. For a minute Marly hated him. If he just said he'd like her to go along, she could. But he wouldn't say it for the world. She always said she'd like him to go along wherever she was going, and it was even true. But he'd never say it. Never, never, never.

  "Please, Joe," she whispered so Daddy and Mother wouldn't hear.

  But Joe didn't seem to hear her either. Mother said, "Joe, you'll likely see the Chris place as soon as you get to the top of the hill. It's a big white house down a lane. Green shutters. Behind it is a huge red barn. I'm pretty sure it's the next place—" Her voice didn't sound sure at all.

  "Just tell whoever is at the next place," Daddy said.

  "I hope I'm right," Mother said. "They're such wonderful people and were such good friends to Grandma—and to John and me."

  Joe got out. He acted more important than ever, pulling his gloves tight up over his sleeves. Marly said once more, "Mother—" but Mother looked at her, hard. Joe started out, turning to smile and wave. Marly hated him again, this time even more, but in a minute he was walking alone up the hill—littler—and littler—and the three sat silently, watching him. By the time he got to the top of the hill she loved him again and opened the door and hopped out on the running board to wave. He waved back. His hat looked very red and small, a dot on the white road, against the sky.

  "For heaven's sake, close the door. No use freezing while we wait," Daddy said.

  But Marly hardly heard. "I smell smoke," she said. "Look—look! right there!"

  Only a little distance up the hill, on the side where she stood, was a wreath of blue smoke winding into the air. It looked lovely, curling upward from the trees.

  "Mother, may I go and see? May I?" she cried.

  Mother and Daddy looked at each other. They both looked up the hill where Joe had disappeared.

  "I can see a tiny little road. It turn
s in there-see, behind us. We didn't even notice it before."

  "It can't do any harm, can it? While we're waiting? Then she won't—" Mother stopped. She almost said: Then she won't be making a noise and fussing and being in the way.

  Marly saw their looks saying "why not?" and scrambled out for her own boots, using the tramped places Joe had made. Now it was her turn to start out, to turn and wave from the little road, to follow the deep ruts.

  "Don't go far! Come right back!" Mother called.

  "It's got horse tracks!" Marly cried back. "And tractor tracks!"

  Then the road turned into the trees.

  How beautiful, how beautiful! The land went up and down, with snow everywhere, unbroken except where the little road wound through. But then there was another little road, going into the trees. And another. She stood still, wondering. The tracks went around—over there and over there—in a big circle, and ... She stood staring. Every tree was hanging with bright buckets. And every bucket had a little pointed lid, like a cap. Once she had seen a picture in a book at school—

  Then she heard somebody ahead, chopping wood. The sound of the ax coming down was sharp and clear. And there he was, the woodchopper, swinging up and swinging down again. The sound of the ax hitting the wood reached Marly as he lifted it up again. He stood by an immense pile of wood, and behind the pile was a little brown house. It had a high brown smokestack that the blue smoke was pouring from and an extra little roof that seemed to be sitting on great billowing white clouds of steam.

  She glanced back toward the road. It was as if another step would bring the ordinary world completely to an end and this would be Wonderland. Even the sights and sounds didn't match here. Near her a bucket hung against a tree, and she distinctly heard a sound of drip—drip—drip—

  The man saw her as she came. He stopped chopping and lifted a hand to wave. He was smiling. Then, suddenly, he dropped the ax and began to walk toward her. She didn't know whether to go on walking herself or turn and run. But she went on walking, and as he came closer he cried suddenly, "Lee! For goodness' sakes! Lee!"