The World From Up Here

by Cecilia Galante

  “I’m not sure what happened after that,” the witch said. “I was in the hospital for some time, undergoing skin graft surgery and all that. And I guess I sort of shut down. I thought Greta was dead, that I hadn’t been able to save her. I blamed her father, I blamed myself, I blamed my crazy fascination with plants and my carelessness with the stove. I wasn’t much of a people person to begin with, but after I got out of the hospital, I didn’t want to be around people at all anymore. After all my bandages came off, I looked like something out of a horror movie anyway. So I came up here. And this is where I’ve been ever since.”

  “But …”

  “But what?” Her eyebrows narrowed.

  “It wasn’t the stove,” I whispered.

  The witch’s eyes fluttered, as if she’d gotten something caught in one of them. “Pardon?”

  “You didn’t set the fire,” I said, a little louder this time. “Momma did. On accident. She was there by herself, and she was bored, and she started playing with matches downstairs …”

  “No.” The witch’s mouth began to tremble. “That can’t be right. It was me. I forgot to turn the stove off.”

  “Momma said it was her.”

  “She said that?” The witch’s eye twitched again. “To you?”

  I shook my head. “To Daddy. She’s blamed herself all these years for hurting you. And that’s why she broke down.”

  “Broke down?” the witch repeated.

  And then, before I knew what I was doing, I told Witch Weatherly everything. I told her about Momma’s gray hair and scaly, patchy hands that came and went every spring. I told her about the years of sadness and Momma’s breakdown, and how Dad had taken her to a hospital in Ohio. I even told her about Momma’s setback, and how she’d talked about the fire. By the time I was finished, my heart was beating so hard I could hear it in my ears. My hands were shaking and my tongue felt like cardboard. But I was also completely convinced about one thing. Witch Weatherly hadn’t cast a spell on Momma or Creeper Mountain. She hadn’t wanted revenge or payback. In fact, she’d been hurting just as much as Momma had, because she didn’t know the real story, either.

  All these years, Momma had blamed herself for the Weatherly house burning down. She even thought she was responsible for Bedelia fleeing to the mountain and becoming a societal outcast. It was heartbreaking to think about. But even more heartbreaking was the realization that Witch Weatherly had carried the same burden. She thought she’d killed Momma, that she was responsible for the death of a child. Both Momma and Witch Weatherly had assumed the worst about each other and had gone and lived their lives accordingly.

  It was time to change those assumptions.

  It was time to make things right.

  “Do you think you’d ever want to come down and see her again?” I asked.

  “Oh no.” The witch shook her head. “I don’t come down the mountain. Ever.”

  I looked down, disappointed. It would take a lot of convincing to get Momma to come up here. Actually, who was I kidding? She’d never do it.

  The witch slid her half of the medallion toward mine. “You give that to her when you get back down the mountain.”

  I took a finger and moved Momma’s half of the medallion until it lined up with hers. There was the little bird, whole now, sitting atop a thin branch with six little leaves coming out of the sides.

  “Do you want me to tell her anything when I give it to her?” I whispered.

  If I hadn’t been sitting there three inches away from her, I wouldn’t have believed it. But Witch Weatherly’s eyes filled with tears. She shook her head. “That’s enough,” she whispered.

  I glanced back down at the necklace, as if studying it for clues. There, spelled out beneath it was the word—

  “GRIT?” I looked up curiously. “I always thought it spelled GRETA. What does GRIT mean?”

  Witch Weatherly wiped at the tears in her eyes. “It’s an old word the guys in the Army used to use,” she answered softly. “It means courage.”

  Silver stirred across the room just then, almost as if she had heard us talking. Witch Weatherly got up from the table and went over to the bed. I followed. Silver still looked a little wan, but the color was starting to come back in her cheeks and the terrible blueness around her mouth had vanished.

  “Hey,” I said softly, taking her hand. “How are you?”

  Silver blinked a few times, and then tried to smile. But it came out wavy and strange looking, as if her lips had turned to rubber. “I feel weird,” she said. “My arms are heavy.”

  “That’s the aconite,” Witch Weatherly said. “It helps fight infections, but it can affect your muscles a little. It’ll be gone in a few hours.” She slid a palm over Silver’s forehead and nodded. “Your fever’s gone. How does your side feel?”

  “It doesn’t hurt at all.” Silver’s eyes widened. “What’d you do?”

  “She put this whole mix of stuff on it,” I said. “Herbs and things she boiled on the stove and poured into your cut. It sealed it off, and stopped the bleeding.”

  “Wow,” Silver said softly. “Thank you.” She looked over at me with fearful eyes. “How long have I been out? What time is it?”

  I went over to my backpack and fished out Silver’s cell phone. “Seven thirty,” I said, trying to hide the dread in my voice. We were late. Really late. It was impossible to know what Russell was doing right now, or what Aunt Marianne was thinking, but I knew neither of them could be good.

  “Oh, we have to go!” Silver tried to get up, moving the covers back with one hand, but her movements were stiff, and she fell back against the pillow.

  “You’re not going to be able to go anywhere for at least a few more hours,” the witch said. “Until that aconite wears off, you aren’t going to be able to walk.”

  “Plus, it’s dark,” I added.

  Silver took a deep breath. “We have to find a way. I’m telling you, Wren, my mother probably officially freaked out at least an hour ago. I don’t want to make her wait half the night just to let her know I’m okay. She’ll have a heart attack.”

  “But it’s dark!” I spluttered out.

  “I threw a flashlight in the bottom of my bag.” Silver edged herself off the bed, balancing herself with one hand. “We can use that.”

  “Silver,” I tried again. “I really think we should wait until …”

  “I have to get back down there,” Silver said. “As soon as possible. Seriously. I’ll crawl if I have to. It’ll be okay.”

  “You can take her in my sled,” Witch Weatherly said suddenly. “I have a big plastic red one out back that I use to haul wood in the winter. She can lie flat and there will be room for your backpacks, too.”

  “You have a lot of red things around here, don’t you?” I said.

  “It’s my favorite color,” said Witch Weatherly. “Come with me. It’s behind the house.”

  I followed the witch out back and tried not to act surprised at the size of her yard. Something that looked like an old, worn-out garden was on the left side, and there, meandering inside a small fenced-in area, was a small goat. “You have a goat?” I asked, staring at the small animal. It was chewing grass and swishing its tail.

  “Of course I have a goat,” Witch Weatherly said. “I like milk. And butter.” I watched as she emptied her canoe-sized sled of leaves, and then wiped it down with a cloth. It was a good size, with a wide back, and ample room on the sides. Silver might actually be comfortable.

  “Do you make your own flour, too?” I asked, thinking of the buns I’d eaten.

  “Sure do,” she grunted. “There’s a whole wheat field over on the west side of the mountain. I harvest it every summer. All right, let’s go.”

  I couldn’t believe we were leaving already. And with so much left to talk about. Maybe even to fix.

  “You said you don’t ever come down the mountain,” I said, “but what about last week?”

  Her hands stopped moving. “Last week?” />
  “We were on a horse ride through the pasture at the bottom, and my horse saw your red kite in the trees and got spooked and ran off.” I put my hands on my hips. “How’d you get your red kite back if you never go down the mountain?”

  The witch held my gaze for a moment, and then made a huffing sound. “I think you’ve just met your question quota for today, which means that I’m done giving answers. Let’s go. Everything’s ready.”

  I stared at her, filled with disappointment. It wasn’t like we’d become friends or anything, but after everything we’d just found out about each other, was she really just going to let me go like this? As if nothing had even happened? And what about Silver? She might have been on the mend, but she was still severely injured. And we were three, maybe even four hours from home.

  On top of a mountain that was covered with hornet-head snakes.

  In the absolute pitch dark.

  “So you’re not going to …” I hesitated.

  “Going to what?” The witch looked at me impatiently.

  “Walk us back down?” The words came out in a peeping sound.

  “Young lady, how many times do I have to tell you? I don’t leave the mountain.” She raised one eyebrow. “Unless my kite flies off.”

  “But we don’t really know the way!” I pleaded. “And it’s so dark!”

  Witch Weatherly grabbed the sled rope out of my hand and pulled it toward the front of the house. “You found your way up here,” she said over one shoulder. “Which means you can find your way back down. Now let’s go.”

  We started out slowly. Every few feet, I would glance over my shoulder at the wide silhouette of Witch Weatherly against the light of her fire in her living room. I was surprised by how much I wanted to run back and … and what? Say thank you for being so kind to Momma all those years ago? Tell her I was sorry for all the ways we—and all of Sudbury—had misjudged her? She would recoil, probably, look at me strangely. She’d been embarrassed that I’d seen her eyes fill with tears, I was sure of it. And she sure didn’t have any patience for my scaredy-cat ways. I wasn’t going to push things. Instead, I reached over my shoulder and gave her a tiny wave. She nodded and went back inside her house, shutting the door behind her.

  It was a whole different story, being up Creeper Mountain in the dark. A full moon, pale and round like one of Witch Weatherly’s buns hovered over the trees, throwing dark shadows over the forest floor. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, and other sounds that I could not place snapped and crackled at every turn. Sounds that made my whole body shiver and my mouth turn cold.

  “I’m sorry you have to pull me.” Silver’s voice floated up into the darkness; one of her arms was draped over her eyes. “I hope I’m not too heavy.”

  “You’re okay,” I said. “Besides, it’s all downhill this time.” I walked slowly, following the small circle of light that my flashlight afforded, and dragging the sled behind me. I was glad Silver couldn’t see my face just now; all the swimming that was going on in my head was sure to have created a very unique expression.

  I thought about the spell I’d been so sure Witch Weatherly had put on Momma; it had been real after all. But it hadn’t been the kind I was imagining. In fact, it had been the opposite. Momma had felt such guilt about starting that fire. And Witch Weatherly had felt responsible for an actual life! The truth was, they’d both been under a spell and hadn’t even known it.

  “So,” Silver said. “Did you two talk at all while I was asleep?”

  “Yes.” It was a tiny word that somehow encompassed so many things. A lifetime, almost.

  “Like what?” Silver asked.

  I stopped walking and turned around. “You wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Tell me,” Silver said.

  I talked and talked as I pulled the sled, telling Silver everything that Witch Weatherly and I had uncovered—about Momma, and Sudbury, and each other, too. I was pretty sure I would have run into a burning building if I thought Silver was trapped inside, just as Witch Weatherly had done with Momma. Even if it scared me. Because friendships—real ones, anyway—were worth feeling scared for. Sometimes, it was the scary parts about them that led you to the brave ones.

  Silver let out a low whistle when I finished. I turned, half expecting to find her laughing in disbelief. “It’s unbelievable,” she said softly. “All of it. I mean, it’s even better than a legend, you know? Because it’s real. It’s like the realest, most awesome story I’ve ever heard in my life. Plus, you guys totally bonded.”

  I thought about this for a moment. Witch Weatherly and I had definitely shared an experience. And for the first time in my life, I found myself thinking about her as the real person she was—a student, probably very smart; a woman, who told it like it was; and most importantly, a true friend—someone who had helped my mother feel less lonely at a time when she felt loneliest. If she had felt guilty all these years, I could only hope that hearing the news about Momma made her feel a little less so. It was all I could give her, the only thing I had left.

  “You never got your interview,” I said suddenly, remembering.

  “You know what,” Silver said, “I think I did. It’s just not the one I thought I was going up there to get. I think the stuff you found out—stuff that only we know now—well, maybe we should keep it that way. We can think of something else to do for our history project.”

  I nodded, overwhelmed all over again by how grateful I was to have Silver for a friend. But I was getting tired. She was a little heavier than I expected. I sat down after another few yards. My hands hurt from holding the rope attached to the sled, and my shoulders ached from pulling it.

  “You okay?” Silver asked. “Do you think you can make it the rest of the way?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I just need to sit a minute.”

  A snap sounded in the distance, followed by another. I sat up, rigid with fear, and glanced around. By now, it was so dark that it was difficult to see my hand in front of my face. Another crack sounded, followed by the swish of leaves.

  “Flashlight,” Silver whispered, beckoning with her hand.

  I handed her the light and pressed myself flat against the base of the tree. Silver swung the light to the right and then to the left. There was another snap, and then one more, much louder this time than the first. I covered my face with my hands, and held my breath.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” said a slightly breathless voice. “I just wanted to give you something.”

  I lowered my hands, staring at Witch Weatherly, who was now lit up in Silver’s flashlight beam, clawing her way through a mess of brambles. She was holding an envelope.

  “Boy, you can move when you want to,” Witch Weatherly said, looking at me. There was a slight edge of admiration in her voice. “I’ve been following you now for the past hour. Couldn’t catch up for the life of me.”

  “Why didn’t you just yell?” I asked.

  She glanced around nervously. “Loud noises startle the hornet-heads.”

  It was as if the spoken word conjured the animal itself. The snake appeared out of nowhere, its small yellow head poking out from a thick clutch of leaves, directly behind Witch Weatherly’s left ear.

  “Oh!” I took a step back, pointing.

  Witch Weatherly froze, her eyes as large as quarters. Behind me? she mouthed.

  I nodded.

  A sound came out of her mouth then, a grunt—no, a whimper—combined with the edge of terror. She fastened her gaze on me and did not blink.

  Silver sat motionless in the sled, still holding the flashlight, which lit up the snake in an eerie glow. “Don’t move,” she whispered. “It worked before. Just don’t move anything.”

  But what had worked for us before was not working now. Instead of slithering away, I watched in horror as the reptile descended slowly along Witch Weatherly’s shoulder. Its black tongue flicked in and out as it unraveled its length from the branch. Witch Weatherly was holding her breath. The fear in h
er eyes was palpable.

  Suddenly, I thought of something.

  It was a million to one, but I had to try.

  I put my hand out slowly, trailing just the tips of them along Witch Weatherly’s sleeve. Fingers loose and wide, knuckles raised slightly. Middle finger lower than first and fourth; thumb extended.

  It’s just a pencil, I told myself. It’s just a pencil.

  I froze as the animal’s yellow head snapped up and then seemed to relax again.

  Could I really do this?

  I couldn’t do this.

  There was just no way.

  “Wren?” Silver hissed below. “What are you doing?”

  I moved my hand another inch. I was going to have to flatten my entire hand beneath the snake and then lift it up, threading it lightly through my fingers. Someone else had written about this very thing—and said it worked. Now I was going to have to trust it would work for me.

  I slid my hand toward the still-moving reptile. It’s just a pencil. It’s just a pencil. There was no doubt about it; I was going to have to move my fingers quicker than I had ever done before. Twice as fast—maybe even three times. But it was the only way. There was nothing—and no one else.

  Pencilpencilpencil.

  Gritgritgrit.

  Quick as a flash, the hornet-head snake lunged. My fingers moved with a will of their own, sliding underneath and threading the snake between them before I even realized it was done. I held the snake away from my body, moving it gently, quickly between my fingers until I could lightly toss it toward the ground.

  The snake stared at me for a long moment, then disappeared back into the tree from where it had come.

  Witch Weatherly staggered backward and sat down hard on the ground. Her face was as white as the moon overhead, and her fingers were shaking. “Where on earth did you ever learn how to do such a thing?”