Evergreen

by Marissa Doyle

  I know I just sent you a letter a few days ago, but I had to write again.

  You will have already heard, but the news about President McKinley has only reached us here via telegram from Colonel Roosevelt, who was supposed to have arrived today but has instead gone to Buffalo to be with him.

  I’ve never met President McKinley, or even seen him. But the idea that someone walked up to him and shot him simply because he disagrees with the government he represented—I can’t understand it. I can sort of understand (if not condone) a man who robs another because his family is hungry or even kills him for personal revenge. But this doesn’t make any sense, and that makes me afraid. How is it possible to live in a world where such horrible, senseless things happen?

  Something else bothers me that I thought of when Mrs. Roosevelt said that Colonel Roosevelt was going to see if he could be of any help. I desperately wanted to go too, but what good would I be? Of what use are dryads, really, wandering around and talking to trees, when there are real problems in the world that need fixing? Maybe it would be better after all if we stopped worrying so much about keeping our lines pure and thinking we’re so special, and just blended into humanity. Who would miss us, apart from the trees, maybe? And it’s not like they particularly need us or anything, even if we heal them when they’re sick and talk to them. There are so few of us, and so many trees. I’ve learned how many trees there really are, here in the Adirondacks.

  I am sorry if this is upsetting to you, but I had to say it. I miss having anyone with whom I can really talk. This has been a long summer.

  Grace stared down at what she’d written. Perhaps she’d better put a note at the top not to show this letter to Grand-mère.

  We had a new arrival today, though not as exciting as the advent of the Robinsons whom I told you about. I don’t believe I’ve mentioned my friends the Rookwoods, have I? (She certainly hadn’t, lest the mention by name of a human boy make Grand-mère worry.) We met in Newport and they came up here as well. Mr. Rookwood has been very kind to me in particular—he says he is acquainted with you, Papa, and that he feels he owes it to you to watch over me. His brother, John Rookwood, arrived to join them today, and though he does not seem quite as pleasant as the other Rookwoods, I’m sure the addition of a new face will enliven things.

  Alice’s ankle continues to mend, no doubt helped by frequent doses of Robinson. She and her brother Ted are excited at the possibility that they might find themselves the children of the president of the United States, and while I understand their excitement, I hope it doesn’t come true, because that will mean that Senselessness won.

  Please give my love to Dorothy and Grand-mère and Sandy—I assume he’s finally home for the start of school?

  Love,

  Grace

  Chapter Fifteen

  The telegram that arrived from Colonel Roosevelt at the camp the next day after lunch contained rather more encouraging news.

  “The president’s surgery was successful,” Mrs. Roosevelt told them. “After the bullet was removed from his abdomen—”

  “His stomach,” Archie said. “An abdomen is just a stomach. One of the Porch Ladies told me so.”

  “You know better than to interrupt,” Mrs. Roosevelt said sternly. “And abdomen and stomach are not truly interchangeable. As I started to say”—she frowned at Archie— “if the president continues to mend, then we may hope to see your father soon.”

  Alice leaned toward Ted. “Not if I can help it,” she muttered. “I made some magics last night. We’ll see how long he lasts.”

  Grace glanced at them, then got up quickly and went outside.

  A tension had settled on the camp. It was clear to Grace that Mrs. Roosevelt had no wish to see her husband become president and be subject to the same danger that had nearly killed Mr. McKinley. Though the younger children didn’t quite understand that, they were anxious to have the colonel, their favorite playmate, join them. And Alice…though outwardly she seemed herself, she was like a string stretched far too tight across a violin. Last night while they’d gotten ready for bed she had asked Alice what was troubling her, hoping that she’d break down and talk about Kit and the Robinson boys and what she was truly feeling. Alice hadn’t answered, but had blown out her lamp and gotten into bed. They had both lain awake a long time, not speaking, which had never happened before in all the years of sleepovers at each others’ houses. The silence had hurt.

  Grace knew that she herself was making her own contribution to the tense atmosphere. John Rookwood had twice invited her to go walking with him. There was something repellent about him—something in the way he looked at her that made her want to cringe away from him. Both times she’d been saved by the children, who’d already claimed her for tennis practice or fishing, but she wouldn’t always have an excuse to avoid him.

  Except that morning. The only sign of life around Tahawus was the swaying of the Porch Ladies’ rocking chairs across the road at the clubhouse. There was no sign of the Rookwoods either—not even Kit, who took seriously his father’s behest not to let her wander alone in the woods. There would be no better time than now to slip away for an hour or two of solitude.

  It was a dull, cloudy day, and the woods were shadowed and still. When she reached her hollow, she paused, but it, too, was deserted. She went to the balsam tree and touched a branch tentatively, remembering the last time they’d spoken. “Hello, friend.”

  Tree-cousin Grace. You have not been here for some days.

  “I’ve not been alone long enough to come and see you.” And she hadn’t wanted to—to force herself on the trees here, as much as she’d longed to visit them.

  Perhaps that is a good thing.

  A lump rose in her throat. “I’m sorry. I should not have come—”

  Listen. Can you not feel it?

  A prickly feeling ran across the back of her neck. “It feels…quiet in here today. Quieter than usual. Is that what you mean? I thought it was because of the weather. I can feel that rain is coming—”

  A loud flapping made her look up. A crow landed on her rock and looked at her. “Sandwich?” it croaked.

  Crow! “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan on coming here today, or I would have brought you one.”

  “A likely story.” Crow cocked his head to one side. “You’re brave to come here alone.”

  “Brave?” An uneasy sensation prickled between her shoulder blades.

  “They’re about.” Crow said. “And they’re restless.”

  They could only mean one thing. She looked quickly from side to side, waiting for a blast of cold wind. “Are you sure? It seemed awfully quiet—”

  Crow let out a harsh caw. “Not quiet. Silent. I think it would be best if you left, dryad.”

  Grace began to think he was right. Thank goodness the children were all at the camp; not even Ted was out fishing today. But others might be.

  “Crow, will you do something for me?” she said.

  “I might.”

  “Will you fly to the lake and come back and tell me if there are any humans near it?” If Mr. Rookwood was fishing there, he should be warned.

  “What’s it worth to you?”

  “I promise that I’ll bring you a sandwich tomorrow.”

  “Done,” he said promptly. And didn’t move.

  “Well?” she asked after a moment had passed.

  “There’s a pair of humans on the shore. I saw them on my way here. Only the two, though there are others farther away in the woods, hunting.”

  Grace sighed and began to climb up the side of the hollow. “You couldn’t have just told me, could you?”

  “I wanted the sandwich.” Crow laughed and took off in a flurry of feathers.

  As she moved through the woods toward the lake, she listened more carefully and understood what Crow had meant about the silence. The usual hum of the trees talking with each other was almost nonexistent. A breeze fluttered past her. She tensed, but it died away—a true wind and nothing else
.

  She was halfway to the lake when the crunch of footfalls on leaves made her halt. John Rookwood appeared on the path before her, fly rod-less and smiling to himself like a cat that had noticed the dairy door had been left ajar. “Miss Boisvert!” he exclaimed, doffing his hat. “Are you out for a walk? I’m returning from one myself, but I’d be happy to accompany you farther.”

  “Is Mr. Rookwood still at the lake?” she asked breathlessly.

  “How did you know he was there?” For a fleeting second, she thought he frowned. “But yes, he is. I can take you to him.” He crooked his arm to her. “Or perhaps it’s something I might help you with. I’m always happy to be of service to charming young women.”

  Grace tried not to wrinkle her nose in repugnance. “N-no, but thank you.” She took a deep breath. “And really, if you were on your way back to the club, you need not accompany me. I’m sure I can find Mr. Rookwood—”

  “Grace!”

  She turned. Kit was running up the trail toward them. As he came closer she saw that his expression was tight and angry.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded when he’d reached them.

  John Rookwood looked at him with a faint air of amusement. “Miss Boisvert wishes to find your father. I was taking her to him.”

  “I’ll do it,” Kit said flatly. “No need to trouble yourself, Uncle John.”

  “No trouble at all, as I was saying to Miss Boisvert.”

  They stood glaring at each other. Grace felt frozen in the face of their silent struggle.

  Then John Rookwood laughed. “Very well, Kit. I shall relinquish the pleasure of aiding Miss Boisvert this time. Your servant, madam.” He captured her hand and bowed over it in a courtly way that made Kit grind his teeth (she could hear him), then left, not looking back.

  Kit scowled after him; Grace guessed he was trying to master his temper. “So…have you and your uncle always been so close?” she asked.

  He was startled into a short laugh. “It’s gotten worse in the last few years. I don’t think he likes the idea of my joining the family firm. Grace—” He caught her hands in his. “Keep away from him. He’s…he’s not to be trusted,” he finished, though she was sure he’d been about to say something else.

  “Don’t worry. I’d already decided I didn’t much care for him— Oh!” She gulped. “All this drove it out of my head—we’ve got to get to your father. The Shadows are out again—they’re near the lake—”

  He let go of her hands and began to propel her down the path back toward the club. “In that case, you’re going home.”

  “But Kit—your father!”

  “I’ll go warn him. If those things are around, I don’t want you anywhere near them,” he said sternly.

  “Kit—”

  “Grace.” There it was again—the look she’d caught a glimpse of as they danced the other night…but this time it was more than a glimpse. “Please go,” he added quietly.

  She went.

  * * *

  Colonel Roosevelt finally arrived on Wednesday evening. The children were practically exploding with excitement, particularly Ted, who had brought down his first deer a few days before. As the buckboard pulled up, they went tumbling out of the house to greet him.

  “What? Where did all these bunnies come from?” Grace heard a raspy baritone voice call amid the happy shouts. She followed Alice out onto the porch. It had rained heavily earlier in the day and a drizzle still fell, dripping from the eaves. The colonel could barely be seen among the children hugging him and tugging on his arms. But even in the growing dusk the famous gold pince-nez was visible, and the large, white teeth, displayed now in a delighted grin.

  “Hello, Father,” Alice called above the din. “Welcome to Cocktail Hall!”

  The colonel’s eyebrows rose. “What did you call it?”

  “Oh, didn’t you know? That’s the camp’s nickname. Someone told me at the dance last week.” She smiled sweetly at them all.

  Her father sighed. “Leave it to you to discover that, Sister.” Then he caught sight of Grace, hanging back behind Alice. “Ah, your friend from Boston. How do you do, Miss Boisvert? How is your family? Your father was a few years my senior and already through Harvard, but we knew each other.”

  “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. My father asked to be remembered to you.”

  “Why don’t we let your father come in out of the rain?” Mrs. Roosevelt said. “Theodore, dinner is in less than half an hour, and we need to change.”

  “So we do, Mother. All right, you little ruffians, begone!” he said with mock ferocity but caught Ted’s arm to hold him back while the others scattered. “I’m proud of you, son, getting your first deer. A clean shot, Mother tells me.”

  Ted gulped and nodded. “It was. They took a photograph—”

  “Did they? We’ll have to send copies to your aunts and—”

  “Theodore,” Mrs. Roosevelt said.

  It was only one word, quietly spoken, but Colonel Roosevelt jumped guiltily. “Sorry, Mother. I’m coming.” He darted up the stairs, flicked Alice’s cheek with one finger as he passed, smiled at Grace, and went inside.

  Grace took a deep breath after he’d gone inside. “He sort of drags all the air after him, doesn’t he?” she commented.

  Alice bristled. “He does not! He’s—” Then she smiled sheepishly. “All right, he does. But no one’s allowed to say things like that about him except me.” Her mouth turned down. “I should have gone and shot a deer too. Then he might have been glad to see me.”

  Grace sighed. “Maybe ‘Welcome to Cocktail Hall’ wasn’t the best way to greet him.”

  “Oh? Since when do you know my father so well?”

  She met Alice’s eyes levelly. “I don’t. But you’ve told me how your uncle died.”

  Alice looked away. “I was only trying to be funny,” she muttered. “No one understands me.”

  “I do,” said Grace, holding out her hand. But Alice had already gone inside.

  The other guests of the club seemed to share her opinion of Colonel Roosevelt. When they sat down to supper that evening, conversation in the room became loud and general. The colonel seemed to enjoy the attention and answered questions about the president’s condition with such optimism that Grace felt better than she had for days. By the time the dishes had been cleared and coffee poured, the entire room was hanging on his words.

  All except one person. Kit hardly looked toward their table all evening. He’d even shifted his chair so that his back was to them, which struck her as odd. But the colonel’s conversation distracted her from pondering it for long.

  “It’s a shame that degenerate Czolgosz had to ruin the president’s visit to the Pan-American Exhibition,” he was saying. “Not to mention my vacation. I have lost time to make up here. What do you say to climbing a mountain, Mother? I’ve always wanted to go up to the top of old Cloud-splitter.”

  “A climb up Mount Marcy? That sounds like fun,” Jim McNaughton said wistfully.

  “Join us then! Anyone else?” The colonel’s grin flashed around the room.

  “If he’s going, we are too,” Beverley Robinson declared.

  Grace looked at Alice. A family outing might be a good thing for her right now…and having her trio of swains along would surely make the prospect more attractive. “I would like to go,” she said. “What do you think?”

  No. Don’t go, a small voice whispered. It made her start with surprise—who had said that? She glanced at Alice next to her, but it was clear she hadn’t spoken; on her other side, Kermit was drinking his milk. Had she imagined it?

  “Hmm,” Alice said. When everyone reluctantly began to leave their tables, all of them—at least it seemed like it—stopping to speak with the colonel on their way out, she made her way to the Rookwoods. Grace trailed after her, warily.

  “Kit,” she called. “I want to talk to you.”

  He turned and waited for them politely, but something about the set of his shoulde
rs told Grace that he wished he were anyplace but there. “Good evening,” he said as they came up to him. “You must be pleased to have your father here.”

  Alice ignored that. “Come with us, Kit. To Mount Marcy, I mean.”

  His eyes flickered to Grace’s, then fell again before she could read what was in them. “Thank you, but I don’t like to intrude on a family party.”

  “It’s no such thing. The Robinsons and Jim McNaughton are coming, and they’re not family.” She looked at him keenly from under lowered lashes.

  “Then it isn’t…but I’m afraid I still can’t go. We have an expedition of our own planned—”

  “Some fishing down on Schroon Lake.” John Rookwood, who had come up behind Kit, clapped him on the shoulder. “Though your trip sounds much more intriguing. I’m tempted myself to jump ship and join you.” He looked at Grace. She shivered.

  “What is it with men and fish?” Alice rolled her eyes, then gave Kit her most winning smile. “Oh, come with us. You know you want to.”

  Kit didn’t smile back. “Next time, maybe. Good evening.” Abruptly, he turned away, pulling his uncle with him.

  “Well!” Alice tossed her head. “Some gratitude. Anyone else would have been dying to go mountain climbing with the vice-president.”

  “That’s not fair,” Grace said. “If he’d already promised his father he’d go, he couldn’t really back out.”

  “Hmmph.” Then Alice smiled, unpleasantly echoing John Rookwood’s expression. “I’m astounded that Kit’s uncle didn’t throw them over after all to come with us. I think you’ve got an admirer—”

  “Don’t. Just don’t.” The very thought of such a thing made her feel ill.

  Alice sniffed. “Well, you’re in a mood tonight.” She turned and began to thread her way back to the knot of people around her father.

  “Grace?” Kit had reappeared next to her. He glanced quickly around, then spoke in a low, urgent voice. “Grace—do you have to go on this trip?”

  “What? Yes, of course I do. Why?” She looked at his bleak expression and remembered. “Oh, God—the Shadows. I nearly forgot.”