Keeping Holiday

by Starr Meade

  Finding Where to Start

  Just as Dylan had expected, Clare said nothing when he finished telling her his story. She certainly did not say (as several had), “Are you sure you weren’t imagining things? Or maybe you dreamed it.” Nor did she say (as most did), “Hmm. Interesting. Wanna go play ball?” She said nothing. She sat on the step of Dylan’s front porch, thinking about what she had heard. Dylan could tell she was thinking by the faraway look in her brown eyes and by the absentminded way she twirled a lock of her sandy blonde hair around and around with her fingers.

  When Dylan had first returned from the vacation during which he had found a greater Holiday beyond Holiday, he had tried to tell people about it. For the most part, no one cared. His parents had listened to his story attentively and certainly acted as if they believed him. But they had exchanged those glances with each other that drove Dylan crazy. They had not said much about his discovery. No one else had seemed at all interested. So Dylan had said no more about it, although he had never stopped wondering.

  Today, however, Clare had said, “Too bad for my parents that they have to be gone at Holiday time! But I’m going to have fun, going with you guys instead. Aren’t you excited about Holiday, Dylan?” Even as she was asking the question, the thought had flashed through Dylan’s mind, Clare! I can tell Clare. She’ll understand. Dylan had always preferred Clare to all his other cousins. There was more to her. She’s different from other people, Dylan had said to himself, more thought-y. So Dylan had told Clare the whole story.

  Now Clare finally spoke. “What happened when you went back?” she asked. Just like Clare! Everyone else, when they said anything at all, said, “Did you ever go back?” Clare knew Dylan would have gone back to look at the bigger Holiday again. It was what she would have done herself.

  “We’ve been back on vacation three times since then,” Dylan answered. “And each year, I’ve gone to that church every day, and out into that garden—but the weird thing is, there’s never been a gate in the garden fence. And it’s not just that someone has reworked the fence—the path that led on, away from the gate, isn’t there either. Just woods and nothing more. But I know I went through a gate and down a path. And the gate’s on the flyer.”

  Clare’s face lit up. “You still have the flyer? Could I see it?” She scooted over on the step so Dylan could get past her and in his front door. In a moment, he returned with the red flyer, now worn with repeated folding and unfolding. Clare took it and read it. Sure enough, there it was.

  “Would you like to KEEP Holiday? Pass through the Church Garden Gate for More.”

  Clare’s eyes glowed. “How exciting—a real mystery! Trying to solve this will make going to Holiday even better than ever.”

  “Well, yes and no,” Dylan answered, although he did feel better already, now that he had someone who would help him try to solve the puzzle Holiday presented. “It’s much more than just a mystery. It’s much more than just wanting to know what happened to that door. You know how we’ve always loved Holiday—everyone loves Holiday.” Clare nodded. “But the Holiday we’ve always known is nothing compared to the other one I found. I could tell that just by standing there, even though I didn’t get to go in. And now I want to get into the real Holiday so much that I’m not very interested in the old one anymore.”

  Clare nodded. She could see how that would be. “It must be kind of like the difference between a picture of something and the real thing—like this orange,” she added, holding up the one she had just finished peeling. “Somebody could be a great painter, but he can only paint what an orange looks like. It’s just a picture. You can’t smell it or taste it or feel the bumps on the peeling, because it’s not a real orange.” She paused, then added, “And I guess that if you’re really hungry for an orange, looking at a picture of one just makes it worse.”

  “That’s exactly how it feels,” Dylan said, and once again, he was pleased with how well Clare always understood things.

  “It seems to me,” Clare continued, “that what we really need to do is figure out some way to find the Founder—­whoever he is. He could authorize us to get in and tell us where the entrance is.”

  “But that’s just it,” Dylan pointed out. “That guard told me you can’t find the Founder. So if I can’t find the Founder and I can’t find that door again—it seems hopeless!”

  “What about the requirements for being authorized?” Clare asked. “Do you know what they are? What kinds of people get authorized?”

  Dylan shook his head. “I have no idea,” he said. “I’m a little worried about that—maybe I won’t meet the requirements. But I really want to get into Holiday, more than I want anything in the world. So whatever it takes to get authorized, I think I’d do it. Anyway,” he concluded, “two heads are better than one. Maybe with both of us working on it this year, we’ll figure something out. I’m glad I told you. And I’m glad you’re going with us.”

  Traffic jams being worse than ever, it was quite late by the time the family car pulled into the hotel parking lot in Holiday. Clare, Dylan, and his parents got nothing done before bedtime except for unloading the car and partially unpacking their bags. Their first stretch of free time in the morning found Dylan and Clare entering the front door of the old stone church, empty in the middle of a weekday.

  They went straight to the garden to examine the fence. They went all the way around it twice, looking very carefully and even feeling every inch with their hands to be sure. With their careful searching finished and with nothing to show for it, Dylan and Clare stepped back inside the building and dropped into a pew. “Now what?” Dylan wondered out loud.

  “Look, over by the front door,” Clare pointed. “An information rack. Maybe it tells something about the church or shows a map of it or something. Let’s go see.” They hurried over and looked through the few different papers in the rack. They found a schedule of services, a list of telephone numbers for the minister and for others who worked with the church, and an advertisement for a book. They did not find any information about the church building or its layout, nor did they find anything that mentioned a garden gate or a real town of Holiday.

  “How frustrating!” Clare complained.

  “It’s always like this,” Dylan said. “I know there’s more to Holiday than what we see. I know what the flyer says. I know what I’ve seen. But I can never get anywhere at trying to find out more!” He shook his head. “And the more I can’t get into Holiday, the more I feel like I just have to!” He sighed. “Anyway, for now, we’re supposed to join Mom and Dad for a shopping trip. We’d better get going.”

  Back at the hotel, Mom and Dad said they would be ready soon. Dylan and Clare went to their rooms to change clothes. A little later, as they walked out the door of the hotel and headed for the first store, Clare whispered to Dylan, “I found something in my room I’ve got to show you later.”

  Dylan enjoyed shopping with Clare and his parents. No one could have a bad time shopping in Holiday. The best of moods always prevailed in the stores. No one ever seemed impatient or cross. And the shopkeepers, as always, had done such a good job of making their stores attractive—almost as though they meant to entertain guests rather than sell merchandise. Nonetheless, Dylan could not shake off the certainty that there was something else—something bigger and much more important than buying things—just under the surface waiting for him to discover it. He felt sure that whatever Clare had found in her hotel room had something to do with it.

  When they finished their shopping, it was time for lunch. Then the dishes needed to be washed and put away. Finally, Mom went to lie down for a short nap, and Dad settled back with a newspaper. Dylan turned to Clare. “So what did you find?” he asked.

  “I’ll go get it,” she answered and ran upstairs. She came right back carrying a hardbound black book. There were no pictures on the front or anything to make the book appear at all interesting.

  “A book,” Dylan said. “Doesn’t look like much to
me.”

  “No, it doesn’t look like much,” Clare agreed. “But don’t you recognize it?”

  Dylan looked again. “We saw an advertisement for that book somewhere,” he said. “In one of the stores, I guess.”

  “No,” Clare said, “we saw the ad in the information rack at the church. That’s why, when I found the book in the back of one of my dresser drawers, I wanted to see what it was.” She turned the book so that she could read the title on the side. “A Guide to Holiday for Visitors and Residents,” she read. “That sounded like it might be helpful, so I started flipping through the pages. I couldn’t understand most of it. There were a lot of rules and explanations of things and some history stuff. I’d just about decided it wouldn’t help us when I turned to the very front and found this.” Clare handed the black book to Dylan, with the page opened to the section she meant. Dylan took it and read.

  “The Holiday we see today is very old, having existed for centuries. It was, however, originally built upon the ruins of a city even older. Cruel and powerful tyrants ruled the ancient city. When a strong, kind king rescued the townspeople by overthrowing the evil tyrants, the joyous citizens wanted to raise a monument to honor their liberator and his overwhelming victory. What better monument could they erect, they thought, than to transform the city, built to honor tyrants and enslave multitudes, into a world-renowned center of beauty and joy in honor of their savior? The people had to tear down much of the old city, but they used what they could to build the new one. Thus Holiday was established and quickly became the favorite resort of millions. Every year, in all the centuries since its founding, people have flocked from all over the world to visit Holiday.

  “Most visitors to Holiday, however, never get any farther than the Visitors’ Center. Official authorization is required to enter the real city of Holiday, authorization that only the Founder can grant. Persons who hold this official authorization may come and go in Holiday at all times. Persons who would like more of Holiday but who have not received authorization may find a temporary visitor’s permit helpful. Visitors’ permits are available in the information rack of the church located in the Holiday Visitors’ Center.”

  “But we looked in the information rack in the church,” Dylan protested, when he had finished reading. “There were no visitors’ permits. We would have seen them.”

  “We’ll just have to look again,” Clare answered. “We’re going to church for a service tonight. We’ll look then.”

  Dylan and his family slipped into a pew in the crowded church just as the choir began to sing. In front of them, a man whose hair was going gray and getting thin, especially in the center, turned to welcome them. He grinned and waved a small, discrete wave. Then, pushing his glasses back up on his nose, he turned back around. Dylan leaned over and whispered to Clare, “No matter where we sit, we always end up sitting by that guy! His name’s Mr. Smith.”

  As soon as the service was over, Dylan and Clare left Dylan’s parents talking with the man in the pew in front of them while they headed back to the information rack. “Look! I’ll bet those are the visitor’s passes!” Clare pointed at a stack of bright green cards in the rack.

  “That’s really strange!” Dylan said. “You saw—they weren’t there yesterday!” Clare took a green card from the rack. Sure enough, across the top in large letters were the words, “Visitor’s Pass.”

  Dylan took one too. He turned his over and saw a list in fine print, under the words, “Terms of Use.” He began to read out loud.

  “This pass entitles the bearer to enter Holiday, on a temporary basis only, without securing official authorization.

  “This pass is good for four days from the bearer’s first entrance into Holiday. It expires at sundown of the fourth day.

  “This pass is non-renewable.

  “Keep this pass on your person at all times and be ready to present it when called upon to do so at any time during your visit in Holiday.

  “Failure to present this pass when asked to do so will result in

  (1) a costly fine;

  (2) immediate expulsion from Holiday;

  (3) and the forfeiture of all right to ever return.”

  Beside them, someone chuckled pleasantly. Startled, Dylan and Clare looked up to see Mr. Smith. He looked over Clare’s shoulder at the pass she held. “Reading the rules for visiting Holiday, are you?” he asked, good-naturedly. “Did you get those passes in the children’s class?”

  “We didn’t go to a children’s class,” Clare answered. “We got them from right here in this rack,” and she pointed to the stack of green cards.

  “Well, what do you know,” Mr. Smith replied. “You usually only find those being given out in children’s classes.”

  Dylan turned the visitor’s pass over in his hand. Nothing on it said that it was for children only. “Can’t grown-ups have these?” he asked.

  “Oh, it’s not that they can’t have them,” the man said. “But what would they do with them now that they’re grown up? The passes say they’re for going into the real Holiday, right?” Dylan and Clare nodded. Mr. Smith nodded too. “Right. Back when we were little, we all believed in a bigger and better Holiday that would last all year. But . . . ” and he shrugged and made a sad face, “too bad for us, we grew up.”

  “But there is a bigger and better Holiday,” Clare protested. “Dylan’s seen it.”

  The man chuckled again and patted Dylan on the head with a soft, white hand. “Of course he has,” he said. “You children have a good evening. And don’t grow up too fast.” And Mr. Smith moved away and out of the church door.

  “Is it just me?” Clare asked. “Or is that guy a little strange?”

  Dylan waved his hand, as if to brush away her concern. “He’s okay. You know how grown-ups can be sometimes. I’m sure he means well. But Clare, look at this!” And Dylan pointed to a line on the front of the green pass. He read it out loud. “To find the visitors’ entrance into Holiday, exit from the gate in the church garden.” Dylan looked up. “You see! That’s what I remember! There was a gate in the garden—I first found the red flyer leaning against it. But I’ve been back to the garden many times since. The gate’s never been there. I’ve never again seen anything that looked like any kind of entrance into anywhere.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to come check it out tomorrow,” Clare said. “It’s too dark now. And your parents are ready to leave. Let’s go.”

  Dylan’s parents had planned a shopping day “for adults only,” as they said. Dylan and Clare understood that to mean that at least part of the shopping would include surprises for them. As his parents prepared to go, Dylan showed them the green visitor’s passes he and Clare had picked up. His mother examined one carefully, then handed it to Dylan’s father with a smile. “At last,” she said softly. “Of course, it’s all right if he goes?”

  Dylan’s father nodded and handed the pass back to Dylan. “This may be the most important trip you’ll ever make,” he told Dylan, surprising him with his serious tone. “Keep your eyes and ears open, and pay attention to everything. If you need to be gone the whole four days that the pass allows, do it. You’ll never do anything as important as getting authorized to keep holiday.”

  Dylan could not believe what he was hearing. “You sound like you’ve been there,” he said. “Have you?”

  Not just his father but Dylan’s mother also nodded solemnly. “Of course we have, and our dearest wish is for you be authorized to go as well,” his mother told him.

  “Why haven’t you ever taken me?” Dylan wanted to know.

  “We’ve taken you as close as we can,” she answered. “The rest of it is a trip you must make on your own. Like your father says, pay careful attention, and make every effort to find the Founder.”

  Dylan shook his head. “No, you can’t find the Founder,” he said. “I’ve already been told that.”

  “But he has a way of being found, nonetheless,” his mother answered. That was all she would
say, except for urging Dylan and Clare to be careful and to be sure to take water with them, as well as some fruit and sandwiches. As she kissed him goodbye before going out the door with her husband to do her shopping, Dylan thought her eyes looked a little teary.

  In a matter of minutes, the cousins had packed a few sandwiches and grabbed a few apples. Then they hurried to the church and through the front door (doors were never locked in Holiday). Dylan was heading single-mindedly for the door to the garden when Clare stopped him by calling, “Dylan! Look!” He stopped and looked where she pointed at the information rack. “It’s empty again. Just like it was when we were here the other day. That whole stack of visitor’s passes is gone.”

  Dylan saw that she was right. There was no sign of the green passes. “Maybe that man came back and got one after all,” he said.

  “Right,” Clare laughed. “And took them all to hand them out to his grown-up friends!” She stopped laughing and became thoughtful. “Maybe the passes are only available when the church is open for services.”

  Dylan was already moving ahead again. “Maybe,” he answered. “Come on.” And he opened the door to the small, enclosed garden. There was the gate, just as he remembered it. Today, however, the garden was not empty. A man sat on a folding chair next to the gate. Dylan thought he recognized the same man who had guarded the entrance to Holiday when Dylan had seen it three years ago.