Back on the Map

by Lisa Ann Scott

  I wanted to cry. I wanted to holler, You can’t break us up! Instead, I just nodded. There was only one thing I could do: make sure New Hope’s Finest opened as soon as possible. I had to get New Hope back on the map. Otherwise, we’d be living in the woods—because no way, no how would we be going to a foster home. That, or I could find Wren. But I’d gotten nowhere with the search.

  Then I had an idea. “Maybe you could try to find my father.”

  “Is his name listed on your birth certificate?” Mrs. Rydell asked.

  “No one is listed under my father’s name on my birth certificate.” I swallowed hard. “But my Mama spent time right here in New Hope the summer before she had us. I think she met someone from the orphanage. A young man named Wren, like the bird. I think he’s my father.”

  She nodded. “All right. That’s not much to go on, but I’ll see what I can do. I’ll be in touch.”

  “And I’ll keep you up to date, too, Penny.” Miss Meriwether couldn’t look me in the eye.

  Parker ran off, I don’t even know where, and I went another way, stumbling until I found a quiet spot behind the building. Big smiles weren’t the only thing I hid from people. I didn’t want anyone seeing tears, either.

  CHAPTER 18

  I sat behind the Finest, peeling long blades of grass in half, twisting them around my finger until it hurt. I’d gotten a doom painting; of course something bad had happened. It hadn’t cursed me with getting stuck in the tree after all. It was something way worse. Why had I been so dumb to ignore what everyone else knew? The doom painting meant bad things were on the way. The doom painting meant it was time to set aside hope. No Hope, just like our town sign said.

  I let that box around my heart open a bit so the truth could settle in. Holding hope inside you sure is a hard thing when there’s no reason to keep it there. I was only eleven years old. Why did I think I could fix everything?

  But try as I might to let hopelessness take over, I just couldn’t. The fight in me wasn’t gone yet. I thought about David Farragut from Grauntie’s encyclopedia. He was the most famous Hispanic soldier in the Civil War. He was just nine when he joined the navy. Nine! When he was twelve, he fought in the War of 1812. He was in the navy during the Civil War and until he died. People still say his most popular war cry from a famous battle, “Darn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!” Actually, there was a bad word in his real cry, but it didn’t matter. Maybe that’s what I need to do, too—go full speed ahead. Don’t give up. Maybe I had a little bit of David Farragut’s fighting blood in me. He was going on my tree. I’m the descendant of a famous soldier.

  And maybe, just maybe, if I got New Hope on the map, good things would happen to keep us here. Someone might earn enough money to take us in. Or someone new would move to town who’d want us. Or Wren would find us.

  Once I wiped away my tears and boarded up my heart again, I went searching for Parker.

  He was trying to juggle some soda bottles, acting like he hadn’t even heard what the lady from the system had told us.

  “Parker, we need to talk. Follow me,” I told him.

  He let his bottles drop and followed me off the site and onto the street. “What?”

  I took a deep breath. “You heard what that lady said, right?”

  He nodded.

  “So please, try to find Wren. I’m not bossing you, I’m asking you as nice as I can. Just try.”

  He crossed his arms. “What if we find him and he says, ‘Get out of here! I never wanted you two dumb babies’?”

  I shrugged. “Then I’ll punch him in the nose.”

  Parker’s jaw dropped. “You’d really do that?”

  “If someone hurt you like that, sure I would. I love you, Parker. And I don’t want us to get split up. And if you love me, too, you’ll at least try to find Wren.”

  “Maybe I’ll punch him in the nose, too.”

  “Or maybe he’ll be so excited to find out he has two kids just waiting for a home. He’s probably rich and successful and lonely as heck and we could make his life perfect.”

  Parker nodded. “Okay. I’ll try finding him.”

  “Really? Thank you so much, Parker!” I hugged him as tight as I could.

  He wiggled away and sat on the grass in front of the fence. He closed his eyes. His shoulders rose and fell as he breathed in deeply. One eye opened. “Jenny Gray’s purple pillow is in her linen closet under her grandma’s old quilt.”

  “I’ll be sure to let her know. Keep trying.” I sat on the grass next to him, looking for four-leaf clovers. Figured we could use all the luck we could get, but I didn’t see any.

  Parker’s eyes opened. “Mr. Gaiser left his keys at the diner.”

  “I will tell him to get a key clip and attach it to his pants. Anything on Wren?”

  “I’m trying.” Parker stood. Then he stood and slowly turned in circles, his eyes wide open and not blinking. He looked like he was trying to find his way out of a pitch-dark room. Then he froze, and he whispered, “Penny, I found him.”

  “What? Are you teasing me?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I found him.”

  I jumped up and pumped my arm in the air. “Woo-hoo! Where is he?”

  He looked at me with wide eyes. “Wren is right here in New Hope.”

  “What? Really? Where? Let’s go right now!”

  He frowned and kicked at the dirt. “I don’t know exactly where he is. Just that he’s here. Somewhere.” So Parker and I rode our bikes around town to see if he could feel where Wren was, like if we were getting hotter or colder in different spots, but he didn’t come up with anything. We peeked in the windows of some boarded-up old houses, but it certainly didn’t look like anyone had been living in any of them.

  “It’s getting late, and I’m tired,” Parker said after we’d ridden around town a few times.

  “The Carlsons will be wondering where we are,” I said with a nod. “Let’s go.”

  As we rode home, I wondered how in the world we were going to find Wren. Maybe he’d been living quietly in some hidden cabin we didn’t know about. But if the Finest opened, no doubt he’d come out for a look. Then we’d find him, and he’d be so happy, and we could stay here.

  Only, I couldn’t wait until the July 1st map deadline. I needed to make sure New Hope’s Finest opened as soon as possible. Before we got shipped off.

  The search for Wren was stalled again, but work on the Finest was buzzing along. Mr. Carlson was working on the tires now, too, making a Loch Ness Monster sculpture. Carly and her mom were cutting up more soda bottles into flowers, while a few of Carly’s friends threaded them onto fishing line to hang from a tree. Mr. Smith was stacking all the spare bicycle tires into a crazy sculpture that climbed toward the sky, while Mr. Gaiser welded them into place. Kids were painting lightning bolts and stars and patterns on the bikes Mr. Smith had fixed. Everything seemed to be humming with magic.

  I walked onto the porch, where I found that someone had made a bench out of a headboard from an old bed. Chatter and laughter rung out when I opened the door and stepped inside.

  This isn’t even my project anymore, I thought. I don’t have to be here. All these folks could finish without me.

  I tried to figure out how to describe this place when I took out the advertisement looking for a buyer, but I didn’t know what to call it. It wasn’t one thing—it was dozens of things: a snow globe display, after all; an outdoor sculpture park; a museum of … everything.

  I climbed the stairs and stood in a bedroom, looking out the window at Joe’s tree house. I wondered if this was the very room he used to stand in when he was a kid, imagining the possibilities. And here he was, finally doing it.

  Kids stood below where Joe worked, gabbing with each other and shouting out questions to him. Even from where I stood, I could see him smiling. Guess they didn’t know how spooked the adults were by him. I wanted to feel mad at him about the doom painting, now that I knew how bad it really was, but I couldn’t.
I’d seen the sadness in his eyes when we’d talked about them. He didn’t like them, either. At least now that his paint was out of his house, he had no way to make them anymore. Too bad I’d had the bad luck to get his very last one.

  Just before supper, we piled in Mr. Carlson’s car to ride home. Mrs. Carlson had left early to work on our Thanksgiving-in-the-summertime meal.

  “We have a few more days with you kids until your Grauntie comes home,” Mr. Carlson said as we drove home. “Soon everything will be back to normal.”

  I crossed my arms and looked out the window. “No, it won’t. We met a social worker today who said Grauntie’s too old to take care of us. She’s looking for a new home for us. And I can’t imagine it’ll be here in New Hope.” I snuck a glance at him.

  “Oh, am I ever sorry to hear that,” Mr. Carlson said. “Are they looking for more of your kin?”

  I nodded. “But I don’t think there’s anyone left willing to take us in.”

  “Hey,” Parker said. “You and Mrs. Carlson take real good care of us. Wonder if we could stay with you?”

  “Parker!”

  “What? We like them. Plus they’re good cooks,” he whispered.

  Mr. Carlson pulled the car over on the side of the road and parked it.

  I gulped. Was he going to holler at us? I glared at Parker. “Hush!” I hissed.

  Mr. Carlson turned around to look at us. He was quiet for a moment. “We adore you kids. Truly. In fact, we’ve talked about whether we could take you in.”

  “Really?” I could barely get the word out.

  “Yes. But Mrs. Carlson and I tried being foster parents once before, not long after Mary died.” He closed his eyes for a few moments. “As we told you the other night, it didn’t work out well. We got so attached to the little boy that we were devastated when he was given back to his family.” He sighed.

  “Mr. Carlson, I promise you, no one will come looking for us.” I wasn’t begging him to take us. I was just stating the facts.

  “The whole thing just made Mrs. Carlson miss Mary more. It launched her into a long sadness. Took quite a while for her to get better. And she still has her bad days.” He shook his head. “She used to have the most amazing smile. Lit up a room. Reached the heavens with that smile. I haven’t seen it since Mary died, and I miss it so. What I wouldn’t give to see it again.” His voice got low and scratchy. “I miss my daughter like nobody’s business, but I miss my wife, too. The way she used to be. So I hope you can understand why foster care just isn’t a good fit for us. Let’s not mention this idea to Mrs. Carlson. I’m sorry, kids. I really am, but it just wouldn’t work.”

  My heart fell. Even though I’d shushed Parker and knew I’d never ever ask to be part of someone’s family, happiness had bloomed inside me, just for a moment, thinking about being part of the Carlsons’ family. Forever. “That’s okay,” I said. “He was just kidding anyways. We’d never beg someone to be part of their family.” I glared at Parker. “Besides, you guys are way too busy to take in two kids. You’re right; it wouldn’t be a good fit.”

  Parker let out a long sigh.

  “That lady’s going to try to find our dad,” I said. “I doubt she will. Still, it would be nice to know something about him. Something about that side of the family, the way you know you’re related to Duke Ellington, Mr. Carlson.”

  He chuckled and pulled back onto the road. “I’m real proud of that. I hope you find something out, Penny. I’d bet anything you two are related to someone real amazing. Someone real creative—like Mr. Walt Disney.”

  “You think I could be related to Walt Disney?” I asked.

  “Sure do. Do you know he was fired from a newspaper? They told him he wasn’t creative enough. And look what he went on to do. And I bet he didn’t do anything as impressive at your age as fixing up an old, forgotten building.”

  I nodded, feeling good from his encouragement, but feeling lousy that the Carlsons had had a chat and decided they didn’t want us. I wished I didn’t even know it.

  When we stepped into the house, the most delicious aromas filled my nose.

  “You’re just in time!” Mrs. Carlson said in a singsong voice. “Turkey, dressing, sweet potatoes, cranberries, rolls. Mmm. Everything for a Thanksgiving feast.”

  “Is there pie?” Parker asked.

  Mrs. Carlson came over and squeezed his cheeks. “There’s lots of pie.”

  We sat down to eat, but the flavors didn’t dance across my tongue like I thought they would. Maybe ’cause my brain was distracting me with a rainstorm of questions. Did the Carlsons really not want any new kids, or did they just not want us? Maybe if we were better, or cuter, or smarter, they’d love to take us in. Maybe if I knew who we really were—who my daddy was and the great things he’d done—they’d want us. Maybe if we weren’t mixed, things would be different.

  I glared across the table at Parker. He was no help, inhaling food like a stray dog, chewing with his mouth open and burping. If he wasn’t such an odd bird, they might want him and take me, too, out of pity.

  Or maybe Parker and I just weren’t family material, and never would be.

  CHAPTER 19

  I did my best to avoid being alone with Mrs. Carlson over the next few days. It was too strange now, knowing they’d decided we weren’t right for them. Felt like I couldn’t look her in the eyes. Course, she was nice as ever, doing all the work at home, and bringing trays of food to the site at lunch.

  People would swarm around her and grab something to eat, then sit down to chat and visit while they ate.

  But I noticed Joe never came over to join us. “Can I take one over to Joe?” I asked one day when she arrived with the food.

  Mrs. Carlson looked at him standing by a tree, watching us all. “I’ll take it over to him, dear.”

  “Thanks. He thinks no one wants him here. You don’t feel that way, do you?”

  “No, I do not. I’m happy he’s helping. I don’t know why we didn’t all get together sooner and work on this place years ago. Should’ve done this the day after those crooks left with our money.” She looked down. “Of course, none of us had much money left then. Or enthusiasm.” She took a deep breath and smiled. “Good thing for fresh starts.”

  I watched her walk over to where Joe was building the tree house. When he saw her coming, he climbed the stairs up onto the platform before she could reach him. If only he knew how nice she was, he’d try to get to know her.

  She stood there for a moment, then set a plate of food on top of his cooler of drinks and came back to the group.

  While we ate, people talked and laughed and told stories about the old times, when New Hope really did have hope—when the town had a Fourth of July celebration with a penny carnival and fireworks. When people planted flowers in their gardens and brought picnics down to the creek.

  I wanted Joe to be part of this happy talk, too. Would he ever feel comfortable around people in town ever again? Not just the kids, but the grown-ups, too? Would his wish that he could make things right with everyone come true?

  After I finished eating, I checked out all the work being done. Mrs. Carlson had come up with incredible ideas for the tires. One was cut up in a way to look like a snail. Another looked like a turtle. “You did these all by yourself?”

  She beamed. “I got the ideas. Mr. Carlson did most of the cutting, and I did the painting. I’ve got plans for more tire animals. I was inspired by your critters, Penny.”

  I felt a blush burning my cheeks. “My critters are nowhere near this neat.”

  “They most certainly are. And I got to thinking: Why can’t we have a salon after all? We’re going to have tire chairs aplenty out here, if people want to sit around in the great outdoors reading or talking about books.”

  “I think that’s a great idea,” I said, and we shared a smile.

  Mr. Carlson headed toward Joe, but Joe hurried inside the building. I watched Mr. Carlson turn around and head back our way.

  Joe
was being silly. I had to tell him not to worry about the Carlsons being mean to him. They were the nicest people in town. So I followed him inside and found him wandering around the big back room where the orphanage kids used to eat their meals. “Why do you keep running away from the Carlsons? They’re not going to say anything mean to you. I think they’re trying to be friendly.”

  Joe took a deep breath and let it out. “I can’t face them,” he said.

  “Because of the money they lost investing in the Finest? Everyone is getting over that, now that this place is coming to life. You have to give people a chance if you want them to give you a chance.”

  He held up one hand like he wanted to stop me. “Penny, you don’t know everything that happened here.”

  “I’m sorry. I just want to see you happy. And I want you to stop feeling so bad about what happened here ten long, long years ago.”

  “That’s not it.” He shook his head.

  I put my hands on my hips. “Well, if it’s not the money, then what could possibly be so bad?”

  Joe leaned against a windowsill and looked out into the yard. “If it wasn’t for me, their daughter might still be alive.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He closed his eyes. He looked like he was in pain. “I had a dream before she was killed. In it, I saw exactly what happened. And when I woke up from the horrible, very real dream, I said nothing. I didn’t warn anybody. I should have told them to keep her off her bike. To forbid her from riding it in front of the orphanage.”

  I set my hand on his arm. “It’s not your fault, Joe. You don’t know if you could have stopped it from happening.”

  “And I had other dreams like that. Dreams in which terrible things happened. And I never told anyone.”

  “Do you still have those dreams?” I asked, a little bit worried.

  He shook his head no.

  “Then what’s done is done. But Joe. The Carlsons want you here. And so do a lot of other people. Me especially. I’d probably still be up in that tree if it wasn’t for you.”