by Mary Knight
“I’m thinking of a word and it begins with y,” Papaw says as he wraps one of his favorite mugs in newspaper and hands it to Aunt Gertie to pack in a box. We’re leaving for Cincinnati in the morning.
I’m slumped over the kitchen table, taking a break from packing up my room. That’s all I’ve been doing all day and I’m sick of it. “Papaw, can’t we do this later?” I groan.
“Well, that most certainly is not the spirit of the word I have in mind.” Papaw chuckles, as if anything could be funny right now.
I want to spit. I want to moan. I want to whine. Anything but work on this dang word he wants me to see. But, as you know by now, Papaw never gives up. The clues just keep on coming.
“I guarantee you, Curley, this word would make your life a whole lot easier, if only you’d choose to accept it.”
Aunt Gertie looks over at me and then up into Papaw’s face, real earnest-like. “Oh, John, why don’t you let the boy be? Can’t you see he’s got a lot on his mind?”
Papaw gives her one of those warning looks that says, Back off.
That’s what it’s been like around here lately, and I have no reason to believe Cincinnati will be any different. It’s obvious the two of them love each other, but Aunt Gertie has this way of stepping into places she doesn’t belong. You’d think I’d like her taking my side, which is where she steps most of the time, but I’m used to fighting my own battles with Papaw and I’d like it to stay that way.
“That’s okay, Aunt Gertie,” I say, “I know what the word is, anyway.”
“Is that a fact?” she says, flicking the end of a dish towel at Papaw’s bottom.
“As a matter of fact … yes.” I grin.
Papaw’s beaming at me, like we’ve got our very own communication highway that nobody else can ride.
“Yes?” she asks, playing along.
“Yes!” Papaw and I shout as we exchange a high five.
And that’s how I get this week’s word, a short little number for an awfully big week.
Later, after Aunt Gertie has gone to bed, Papaw and I head for the living room, where I wrap myself up in one of Mama’s crazy quilts, and Papaw builds a fire in the woodstove one last time, even though the night barely has a chill. I can’t tell you how many “last times” I’ve counted over the course of the day, and now this. Our last night home.
“Why yes, Papaw?”
“I was hoping you’d ask.” He pokes at the fire and it snaps to life. “Because yes is the most powerful word in the English language.”
“But what about no, like what they’re always telling us in health class?”
“Doesn’t even come close.”
“But, Papaw, we said no to Tiverton Coal, and that worked out pretty good.”
“You’re right, son. That no was powerful. But it was the yes that followed the no that really saved our mountain—the yes to Red Hawk, the yes to Ol’ Charley, the yes to the life you and Jules love. Those two million viewers and counting were drawn like magnets to your resounding, heart-pounding yes.”
So why don’t I feel happy about it? Is there something wrong with me? Two million viewers, for crying out loud. Why do I feel so empty? I pull Ma’s quilt up over my head, wishing the world away.
After a few minutes like that in the soft, sad dark, I feel the couch sink under the weight of Papaw by my side. I feel his broad hand press across my rounded back from shoulder wing to shoulder wing.
“Curley, my son,” I hear his muffled voice say as he leans in close. “I know you don’t want to leave, and I’m sorry.”
Well, that does it. The floodgates break and my tears burst forth like a pent-up river, and no, I’m not too shy to admit it, and yes, I’ve got a powerful hurt. I throw the quilt off my head and wail, “I never said yes to leaving Wonder Gap, Papaw. I never said yes.”
Papaw holds me as I cry. “I know, dear boy. I know. Just because you said no to losing your mountain doesn’t mean you said yes to losing your way of life.”
When my tears finally ease, he gets up and pokes the fire with a vengeance. It’s as if he needs every burning ember to fuel his next words.
“Leaving all this?” He looks around. “I know it’s not easy, Curley. Believe me, I know, it’s tougher than dirt.” At first I think he’s gazing off into space, but then I realize he’s staring at a picture of Ma and little Zeb on the mantel. He picks it up and studies it. “This needs to go with us,” he says. He’s been telling me all day we can bring anything we want. Aunt Gertie says we’ll find room.
“Curley, I want you to know, I don’t see us leaving Wonder Gap for good. I don’t know how long it’s going to take or how much it’s going to take, but we’re going to find a way to come back. I swear to God, Curley, I can feel it in my bones. These mountains aren’t done with us yet.”
“But how do you know, Papaw?”
“Well, I don’t know, not really.” He sits down in his favorite overstuffed chair across from me and peers into the picture he still holds in his hand as if he’s searching for the answer.
“Curley, you know I’m not a churchgoing man, but I do believe in something. That something—call it God, call it Love, call it the Great Cosmic Glue for all I care—that something is always saying yes to our dreams, even when it looks like everything’s falling apart. The secret to finding our way to those dreams is in saying yes back.
“When we lost your ma and little Zeb, there was no way I could have said yes to that loss. I just couldn’t accept it. No way. But I did find the way to say yes to you. And you have made all the difference in my life.” He sets the photo down gently on the table next to him.
“So you see, Curley, if you can’t say yes to our leaving—and that’s more than anyone should ask—then try to find a way to say yes to something else. I guarantee you it will ease your pain, and who knows? It might even give you something to smile about.”
Papaw tries to smile at me as if to drive his point home, but it comes out looking pretty sad. Leaving can’t be easy for him, either.
“Thanks, Papaw. You’re the best,” I say. We’re always saying that to each other.
It’s 1:00 in the morning, and the moon is two slivers shy of full. The path up to Ol’ Charley is bathed in an eerie, blue-shadowed light. After Papaw went to bed, I snuck over to Jules’s house and asked her to meet me. My heart is racing. I’ve come to say yes to her, but will she be there?
I search the open space around my family’s grave site. Jules and I cut down the tall grass around Ol’ Charley a few days ago, so I can see his outline clearly, his trunk lying long on the ground. My family’s headstones are glowing like a row of dimly lit mirrors. I peer and peer at each and every shape in the night, but not one of them is Jules.
I settle into my favorite spot on Ol’ Charley, near the wound where our special branch used to be. The moist mountain air settles on my skin. I pull the collar of my jacket up and clap my hands to warm them. Critters scatter in the brush.
“There you are!” I hear her voice before I see her. She emerges from the woods, breathless from her climb.
“Jules,” I say as she plops down beside me. Something says yes in me and I open my arms.
There’s something about a yes that’s been a long time in coming. It falls all over itself to get where it wants to go. That’s what’s happening now, up here at the Church of Ol’ Charley. Instead of one kiss, like I’ve always pictured it, there are many. And not just on the lips, but all over her face.
At some point, I stop to make sure she’s okay with all the kissing, but she just pulls me closer and nuzzles my neck.
“I brought you something,” I whisper. “I found it when I was packing.” I pull the dream catcher out of my jacket and finger its slackening web. “I don’t know how you feel about it anymore, since I stole it from you and all, but I wondered if you might consider taking it back.”
Jules puts her hand over mine and nods. We hold the dream catcher between us.
“Curley, I’
ve been thinking,” she says as she touches the hoop’s tiny black feathers. “You know that journal I gave you for your birthday?”
“Yeah, you mean that homework that never ends? That was the best gift ever, Jules,” I tease, even though it really was. She ignores me, as usual.
“Well, in addition to keeping your dictionary while you’re up in Cincinnati, I was wondering if you’d write me your word every week … you know, so I can keep up with you. And then, I’ll use your words to write you back.”
“Gosh, Jules, a one-word letter? I guess I could do that.”
She hits me on the arm, as if nothing’s changed between us. “You know what I mean.”
I do know what she means, and it sounds like more homework, but I decide to keep that to myself. Besides, she’s letting me trace the contours of her face in the moonlight … and she’s just about to smile.
Yes—adverb
: a word which expresses affirmation or consent
Synonyms: okay, all right, truly, indeed, no doubt, you bet, so be it, amen
Papaw (Pá-paw)
Tsiwodi (Jee-woh-dee)
Cherokee for: “hawk.”
Hoyana osda Unetlana wado (Hoh-yah-nah oh-s-dah Oo-nay-tlah-nah wah-doh)
Cherokee for: “We honor our good Creator, thank you.”
Aho (Ah-hoh)
This word originates with the Lakota, but has been adopted by many American Indians, meaning “I agree.”
In that the publication of this novel is a dream come true, my gratitude is as big as a mountain. First and foremost, I’d like to thank my agent, Brenda Bowen, for her wisdom and guidance, and for finding Saving Wonder the very best home. And to my gracious editor at Scholastic, Lisa Ann Sandell: Thank you for your discernment, your honoring ways, and for adding wonder, not only to the title, but to my first publication experience as well. A big thank-you also to Jim Tierney for the jacket art and chapter headings—and to all the people at Scholastic for their brilliant contributions.
I feel deep appreciation for all of my writing teachers, mentors, and colleagues throughout the years—particularly Judy Dekraker, Paul Bennett, Richard Kraus, Dom Consolo, Ethel Seese, Lisa Dale Norton, my friends from SCBWI Midsouth, and my Whidbey Island writing buddies, Theo Wells and Garr Kuhl. This novel was greatly enhanced by the insights of readers Tay Berryhill, Erin Barnhill, and Margo Buchanan, as well as by Carnegie Center for Literacy and Learning instructor Marcia Thornton Jones.
I began this novel as a graduate student in Spalding University’s MFA in Writing program and would not be the writer I am today without the brilliant mentorship and instruction of Joyce McDonald, Lesléa Newman, Rachel Harper, Julie Brickman, John Pipkin, David-Matthew Barnes, Ellie Bryant, Luke Wallin, and Susan Bartoletti, among so many others, including all of my Spalding peers. My heartfelt thanks go to Sena Jeter Naslund and Karen Mann for designing such an inspiring program, and to the MFA staff who make it all happen—Kathleen, Katy, Ellyn, and Gayle.
Research is the soil out of which a story grows, and to this end, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my researcher, Carol Bischoff, and her contacts in the mining and archeological fields. I also appreciate Kaz of Kaz Woodcraft for teaching me about woodworking, and Scott Teodorski, a park ranger from Cumberland Gap National Historical Park, for his knowledge of the region. A very special thank-you to Kenneth Barnett Tankersley, PhD, for sharing his vast expertise in geology, archeology, and the Cherokee culture. You and the rest of my friends in the Cherokee and American Indian communities have helped me tell a better story.
My heart is full of gratitude for my Kali sisters, my e-circle sisters, and my soul friends—Kate, Nancy, Patricia, Terri, Cilla, Tamra, Liz, Anna, Christie, Linda, Susan A., Susan D., and Soni—as well as all of my friends in the Ahava community, who love and support me no matter what. Love and gratitude for my son, Zach, who is an unending source of inspiration, and for the rest of my beautiful family—Jennifer, Milo, Cassandra, Lou, Trey, Jason and family, Tiffany (I know you’re there), Michael, and Rose—who have nurtured my dream in so many ways.
Finally, to my husband, live-in coach, and best friend for life, Richard: Thank you for being my yes.
Mary Knight has lived in many awe-inspiring places—Traverse City, Michigan, and Whidbey Island in Washington State among them. She and her husband now reside in Lexington, Kentucky, where she loves the rolling green hills of horse country, exploring the Appalachian Mountains to the east, and watching University of Kentucky basketball. Most of all, she cherishes time with friends and family, who add great wonder to her life. Saving Wonder is her debut novel.
Copyright © 2016 by Mary Knight
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Knight, Mary, (E. Mary), author.
Saving Wonder / Mary Knight. — First edition.
pages cm
Summary: Curley Hines has lost his father, mother, and brother to coal mining, and now he lives with his grandfather in the Appalachian mountains of Wonder Gap, Kentucky—but when the mining company prepares to destroy their mountain he must use the words his grandfather has taught him to save Red Hawk Mountain, even if it means losing the life he loves.
ISBN 978-0-545-82893-2 (jacketed hardcover) 1. Coal mines and mining—Kentucky—Juvenile fiction. 2. Grandfathers—Juvenile fiction. 3. Environmentalism—Kentucky—Juvenile fiction. 4. Appalachian Region—Juvenile fiction. 5. Kentucky—Juvenile fiction. [1. Coal mines and mining—Fiction. 2. Grandfathers—Fiction. 3. Environmental protection—Fiction. 4. Appalachian Region—Fiction. 5. Kentucky—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.1.K66Sav 2016
[Fic]—dc23
2015015918
First edition, March 2016
Cover art © 2016 by Jim Tierney
Cover design by Ellen Duda
Author photo by Lee Thomas
Dictionary definitions at the end of chapters C, D, E, F, I, K, L (first entry), P, Q, V, W, X, and Y were taken from Webster’s Revised Unabridged Dictionary (1913 edition); the definition at the end of chapter U was taken from An American Dictionary of the English Language (1828 edition). All other definitions were written by the author.
e-ISBN 978-0-545-82895-6
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