The Silver Moon of Summer

by Leila Howland

  “I don’t really have time today,” Chloe said. “I’m working for Uncle Phil as a PA.” Marigold nodded, impressed. She knew that “PA” meant “production assistant.” It sounded so wonderfully professional. At the same time, she was disappointed. She’d been looking forward to having her alone time with Chloe. She guessed she should have thought about the fact that Chloe would probably be working. “But maybe we can talk about it tomorrow when we go sailing?”

  “Yes!” Marigold said. “Tomorrow is going to be great. You’ll see how fun it is. And Peter is one of the best sailors in Pruet.”

  “Cool,” Chloe said. “I’ll meet you out by the docks?”

  “Perfect,” Marigold said, and went to change out of her costume. She had almost reached the ladies’ room when she realized something that would ensure their sailing trip went well. “Wait, Chloe,” she said, hurrying back. “You might not want to mention that you’re Philip Rathbone’s niece tomorrow.”

  “Why?” Chloe asked.

  “Peter is the yacht club manager’s son,” Marigold explained. “And maybe you could tell this yesterday, but he’s not exactly thrilled about, um, all of this. Especially not with the tricentennial regatta coming up.”

  “Got it,” Chloe said. “That’s fine with me. I like to go undercover.”

  “We don’t have to lie,” Marigold said. “But we don’t have to talk about it, either.”

  Not mentioning something wasn’t the same thing as a lie, was it? She took a deep breath and shook off her discomfort. A lie was purposefully telling someone false information. This was different. She was sure of it. Almost.

  25 • The Quaker Graveyard

  Later, under the beech tree at Aunt Sunny’s, Zinnie wrote for an hour about what it had been like for a Hollywood crew to take over a small-town yacht club. She described the set, quoted Ashley throughout, and finished with a question for her readers: “If someone made a movie about your life, where would you want it to be set?” Then she typed the title of her post: “Hollywood Comes to Pruet.” A moment later she saw that Max was online. A little flame sparked inside her chest.

  She typed him a message.

  Zinnie: Hi!

  Max: Zinnie! Buena serra!

  Zinnie: How are you? What’s life like in Italy?

  Max: this is the best food in the world!

  Zinnie: Better than Aunt Sunny’s?

  Max: Well . . . close.

  Zinnie: I went to the tree house.

  Max: I know! I read your post. Awesome place, huh?

  Zinnie: The best! Thanks for the tip.

  Max: It wasn’t me.

  Zinnie remembered that the locals were sworn to keep the tree house a secret.

  Zinnie: I know! I’m just saying it was so cool.

  Max: Totally. See you soon!

  Zinnie: Byyyyeeeee!

  They signed off. How could a week feel so far away?

  It was only ten minutes later, after proofreading and publishing her post, that she received an email from Brave13.

  Have you ever seen a heart-shaped tree trunk? I know where one is, and it’s a little bit cool and a little bit scary.

  A link to a map followed the email.

  A heart-shaped tree trunk? The flame in her chest burst into a conflagration. The word “conflagration” came to her in an instant. She had loved it when she heard a forest ranger use it once and had tucked it away in her mind for exactly this moment.

  As Zinnie clicked on the link and zoomed in on the map, she saw that it was the location of a Quaker graveyard. A shiver went through her. Not only would a heart-shaped tree trunk make a cool visual for her blog, a graveyard definitely had the potential for adventure.

  She really wanted to ask Chloe to go with her. She had a Ouija board! If there were any spirits in Pruet, they’d probably be in a graveyard—and communicating with them would definitely make a story. She could just picture summoning ghosts with Chloe and getting wonderfully freaked out, like she did with her dad while watching suspenseful movies. Zinnie loved the idea of ghosts, but she wasn’t really and truly scared of them. What was more exciting was that the graveyard was probably bursting with poetry. Poems were likely hiding behind headstones and under rocks and in blades of grass.

  Ugh! Why had she made that deal with Marigold? Zinnie was frustrated, but she didn’t want to wait a whole day. She memorized the directions, pulled out a bike from the garage, and made her way to the next adventure with the wind in her hair.

  When she arrived at the Quaker graveyard about fifteen minutes later, it wasn’t nearly as creepy as she thought it was going to be. Set behind the old Quaker meetinghouse, up on a hill, next to a pasture where horses were grazing, it was a very peaceful place. And Max had been right: there was a heart-shaped tree trunk right in the middle. It didn’t just kind of look like a heart; it couldn’t have been more perfect if it tried. Zinnie snapped a picture.

  Even more amazing was that it was in between the gravestones of Remember Smith and Eli Martin. According to the inscriptions they died in the same year. As Zinnie studied the dates, she realized they were both only fourteen years old! They must’ve been sweethearts, Zinnie thought. Maybe a colonial version of Romeo and Juliet had played out right here in Pruet in the 1600s! And Max had wanted her to see it!

  As her heart leaped in her chest, she couldn’t believe that she was feeling so cheerful in a graveyard. But she was—in fact, she was downright delirious with happiness. So this is what all the love songs on the radio are about, she thought. This fluttery, buzzy, blooming feeling. She couldn’t stop herself from skipping around, spinning in a circle until she collapsed by Remember’s stone.

  How was it possible that someone had actually been named Remember? She said it aloud, repeating it as she considered what it must’ve been like to be called that. As she did, she realized that the word had a very pleasing sound. It was one of those words that seemed to carry a feeling in its vocalization. Okay, inspiration was striking!

  Zinnie pulled out her notebook and started jotting down the uncommon names she spotted: Verity, Amity, Theodosa. Azuba, Comfort, Phoebe. Barnabus. Obadiah. Absalom. Together they sounded like a poem. These were some of the best names Zinnie had ever heard, and jotting down a list of them conjured up a cast of characters she was eager to write about later. She headed back to Aunt Sunny’s, where she wrote her post right away. Two posts in one day. She was definitely on a roll.

  26 • Love and Friendship on the High Seas

  “Okay, Jean, all the decorations for the ice cream social are ready,” Marigold said when Jean entered the office after her meeting with the tricentennial parade committee. “Come on, Zinnie, let’s show her what we made.”

  Marigold and Zinnie had spent the entire morning making banners for the ice cream social. They’d used brown butcher paper to create cones and bunched-up tissue paper as ice cream and then strung them together with twine. Now, she and Zinnie proudly displayed their work to Jean.

  “They’re charming!” Jean said. “We can hang some from the tent posts and others across the table. I knew you girls would come up with something creative—these are so much better than the boring old signs Mack and I would have made. And I’m impressed by how well you two work together.”

  Marigold and Zinnie exchanged a tense glance—they hadn’t been working well together. Especially after Jean had informed them that Vince was not going to be able to go sailing as planned because he was needed on set. Zinnie wanted to go sailing with Marigold, Peter, and Chloe, and now there was no excuse.

  “Why?” Zinnie had said as she cut out paper ice cream cones. “Vince isn’t coming anymore so there’s room! Besides, I really need to write another adventure, and sailing is perfect. Come on, you know how important my blog is to me and how much I need adventures.”

  “Didn’t you just have two adventures yesterday?” Marigold had asked, bunching up pastel-colored tissue paper. “You went to a graveyard, right?”

  “But I need to h
ave eight before we leave, and I only have four so far,” Zinnie said, dropping the scissors and shaking out her hand. “And my hand is hurting from all this cutting.”

  “We can trade,” Marigold said, taking the scissors and handing Zinnie the tissue paper. “But you can’t come sailing with us. It’s high schoolers only.”

  “Really?” Zinnie asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

  “I just want some space,” Marigold said.

  “Are we still on for today?” Chloe asked, peeking her head into the little office.

  “Yes!” Marigold said.

  “Are you okay, Zinnie?” Chloe asked. “You look . . . mad.”

  “She needs to come up with an adventure for her blog,” Marigold said, answering before Zinnie had another chance to plead her case.

  “I read your last post,” Chloe said. “That graveyard sounded so cool.”

  “It was,” Zinnie said.

  “All right, so I’ll see you out by the docks after lunch?” Marigold said.

  “Yes,” Chloe said. “I’d better get back to work. See you then.” She waved and left.

  “Girls, these are just beautiful!” Jean said now.

  “And I’m not done yet,” Marigold said. “I’m also going to make some bigger ice cream cones out of paper lanterns that we can hang from the tent.”

  “It’s time for a well-deserved break,” Jean said. “I know you and Peter are going out for a sail this afternoon, Marigold. Zinnie, what are you up to?”

  “Do you mind if I check my email?” Zinnie asked.

  “Be my guest,” Jean said. Marigold cleaned up some scraps of paper while Zinnie sat at the computer.

  “Oh, I got another email about my blog,” Zinnie said. “Something about a bison! I’m supposed to look a bison in the eye.”

  “Awesome,” Marigold said, relieved that Zinnie was distracted.

  “Do you know whereabouts I can find a bison around here, Jean?” Zinnie asked.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Jean said with a laugh. “There’s one out at Featherbrook Farm, just a bike ride away.”

  “Have fun, Zinnie,” Marigold said. She was itching to get outside to see Peter.

  “See you later,” Jean said.

  It was going to be a perfect afternoon, Marigold thought. The sun was shining and the breeze was moderate and steady. She knew from her sailing class that it was great sailing weather. Even better, there was no way Zinnie was going to intrude on her group date. But best of all, she was finally going to be with Peter in the place where he was happiest—in a boat. She hoped that not only were the conditions right for sailing, but that they were also good for romance.

  “Hi!” Marigold said as she greeted Peter and Chloe. They were waiting for her right by the dinghy, which Marigold knew was the little rowboat that Peter would use to take them out into the harbor where his catboat was tied to a buoy. Her prediction had been right. Peter’s mood was better.

  “Hi,” Peter said. He was smiling again!

  “I’ve never been sailing before,” Chloe said. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  “You’re going to love it,” Marigold said. “Let’s get going!”

  Once they got into the catboat, they talked about the differences between middle school and high school, and Peter asked Chloe where she was staying during her visit to Pruet.

  “Just out by Charlotte Point,” she answered vaguely.

  “Oh really? Which house?” Peter asked.

  Before Chloe could answer, Marigold said, “I’d love to sail for a little bit.”

  “Sure,” Peter said, and handed her the tiller and the lines. “It might be about time to tack. Can you handle it?”

  “Yes,” Marigold said confidently. Everything she’d learned in her sailing lessons back in California was coming back to her. “Ready about?” she called.

  Peter said, “Ready.”

  She let out the sheet and said, “Hard-a-lee!” And turned the little boat into the wind.

  Peter clapped. “Wicked good job!”

  “It’s so cool that you know how to sail,” Chloe said.

  “I took lessons in Redondo Beach,” Marigold said. “Next year you can come with me.”

  “Maybe I will,” Chloe said.

  “That was a perfect tack,” Peter said.

  “You aren’t still looking for a skipper, are you?” Marigold asked. Her success had filled her with confidence.

  “Vince is almost done with his role, and he thinks we can practice enough in the next week to make up for lost time,” Peter said. “But if he’s not up to it, I’m going to call you.”

  She and Peter locked eyes and smiled at each other in the way Marigold had been imagining since that first day back in Pruet. The sun warmed her cheeks, the salt air twisted her hair, and her heart was as full as the sail that carried them swiftly and smoothly across the bay.

  27 • Friendly Chickens, a Gentle Bison, and an Attack Goose

  After Marigold had left to go sailing, Zinnie and Lily hopped on the bicycles that had once belonged to Tony’s daughters and then set off down a long road in the opposite direction of town and away from the ocean. She may have one rude sister, Zinnie thought, but she also had one nice one—Lily—so she was happy to be taking her along on her adventure.

  Zinnie had been okay with Marigold asking for some alone time with Chloe after the shoot, but did she really need to exclude Zinnie from sailing? That seemed unfair and mean.

  She tried to wipe her negative thoughts from her mind as she and Lily pedaled toward Featherbrook Farm in search of the bison.

  The latest email from Brave13 had been a little mysterious. All it had said was “Go look a bison in the eye.” It left Zinnie to fill in the gaps, which was actually part of the fun. Jean had told her all about Featherbrook Farm and shown her where it was on a map.

  “Is he a . . . working bison?” Zinnie had asked Jean. She knew so little about farming. Did people use bison to pull their plows or something?

  “He’s more of a . . . pet,” Jean had said, which had made both of them laugh.

  Featherbrook Farm was two and a half miles away and in a part of Pruet they had never been to before. They passed a few farms on their way, and Zinnie wondered if it was possible that more than one of these farms had a bison. That seemed unlikely. And what did it matter anyway? Brave13, who she couldn’t stop picturing as Max, hadn’t mentioned that it had to be a specific bison. The girls crossed a bridge that went over a wide brook, which reminded Zinnie that they were going on the fun fourteenth tomorrow. She and Marigold had managed to keep their promise so far. If they could just get through the camping trip, they’d probably be able to make it through their whole Pruet visit without fighting.

  They knew they’d arrived at Featherbrook Farm because of the hand-painted welcome sign and an arrow pointing to a little dirt parking lot and what looked like a store. They stopped to chat with the chickens for a moment. Lily plopped right down in the grass to get on their level. There was a station wagon in the driveway, and in the distance someone rode on a tractor, but other than that there didn’t seem to be anyone around.

  “These are just the cutest chickens in the world!” Lily said as she sat on the soft grass near the coop.

  “I guess this is what people mean when they say ‘free range,’” Zinnie said.

  “Hello?” Zinnie called a few moments later as they stepped into the little store. There were baked goods, homemade jam, fresh vegetables, and some farm supplies. Everything had a price on it, and there was a plaque that read “$2 to visit our animals.” But no one was in the store, even though the doors were wide open. There was just a sealed box and a small hole cut out at the top, with the sign that said: “Please pay here.”

  “Can we get some strawberries?” Lily asked.

  “I only have four dollars,” Zinnie said. “We don’t have enough.”

  “I’d rather meet a bison than have a strawberry,” Lily said, and Zinnie stuffed her money into the
slot.

  “How are they going to know we paid?” Lily asked.

  “I guess it’s the honor system,” Zinnie said, and took Lily’s hand and followed the sign for the animals.

  “What’s an honor system?” Lily asked as they walked toward a barn.

  “It means they trust us,” Zinnie said.

  “‘Beware of the goose,’” Lily said, reading the sign that hung outside the barn aloud.

  Zinnie wrinkled her nose as soon as she set foot inside. It was also empty.

  “Nothing to see here,” Lily said, disappointed.

  “But plenty to smell,” Zinnie added, and dragged Lily out another door.

  “Maybe that’s where the animals sleep when it gets cold,” Lily said.

  “Maybe,” Zinnie said. “Ew!” As she stepped in something squishy, she was really glad that she’d decided to wear her sneakers instead of flip-flops. She dragged her shoe across the grass to get the stuff off.

  Now that they were on the other side of the barn, they could see more of the farm. Ahead of them were rows of what looked like lettuce, and a couple of women in long sleeves and big sun hats were walking the rows. Zinnie waved to them. One of them waved back as though Zinnie belonged here.

  “There are all the animals,” Lily said, pointing to a large pasture at the top of a gentle slope. Sure enough, as they wandered up the hill, the girls encountered some wonderful animals. There was a family of peacocks, a couple of goats, and an enormous pig. In front of each animal’s area was a sign with a little information about it. They were all fenced off, but certainly had plenty of room to roam around. Lily greeted them all like old friends. Zinnie took pictures as they walked along and learned about the animals. This was so different from any zoo or petting farm she’d been to—partly because the animals seemed so happy and at ease, and partly because there was hardly anyone else here. She had never been so almost-alone with so many animals before.