Silver Meadows Summer

by Emma Otheguy

  When Mami had been silent for a few moments, Carolina called out tentatively, “Mami? Ma?”

  Mami appeared at the bottom of the landing and rested one foot on the second step. She shook her head. “No news yet, Caro.”

  “What are you waiting—”

  “Oh nothing, Jennifer,” Mami said in a pathetic imitation of a light and airy voice.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Carolina mumbled to Jennifer. “Okay, thanks for letting me know, Mami.”

  Back in her bedroom, Carolina filled in Jennifer while Gabriela went to get her laptop.

  “My dad’s been applying for jobs, and he had an interview that he’s supposed to hear back from soon. I don’t think my mom likes talking about it outside of the family—she thinks it’s embarrassing or something.” Carolina shrugged. “But I don’t mind you knowing. You’re my best friend.”

  “I’ve never had a best friend.”

  “Me neither,” said Carolina. Then she added quickly, “If you don’t want—”

  “No. It’s awesome.” All three rubber-band colors and every square of metal in Jennifer’s mouth shone.

  Gabriela came back with her laptop and started looking things up furiously, hitting the keys with gusto.

  “Umm, Gabs?” Carolina asked.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Your idea is great and all, but have you thought about why Lydia wouldn’t have already done that? There must be a reason.”

  “See!” Gabriela ignored Carolina’s question and motioned for them all to gather around her. “There are lots of websites about how to protect the land for farming.”

  Carolina looked over Gabriela’s head at Jennifer, who said, “Send me that page, Gabriela. I’ll look at it when I get home.”

  Gabriela slammed her laptop shut. “When you get home? We don’t have that kind of time. You need to do something now. Lydia wants to sell the farm right after camp ends; I asked my dad.”

  “But that doesn’t give us any time—”

  “Which is why I’m telling you now. I can’t do anything,” Gabriela went on. “My dad works for Rogan Realty—but you two can do whatever you want. You can convince Lydia.”

  “But how?” Carolina asked.

  Gabriela tucked her laptop under her arm. “I don’t know, but you didn’t get the idea from me, remember? Ta-ta!” She waved, and shut the door behind her with a thud.

  Carolina and Jennifer kept talking and debating what they could do to influence Lydia while the evening sunlight turned to blazing orange. It was almost dinnertime when Papi knocked on the door. His face was unreadable.

  “Did you hear?” Carolina asked eagerly.

  “Well, all your prayers must have helped, because I got the job!” He spread his arms wide, and Carolina leapt to him.

  “Congratulations!” Jennifer shrieked, thumping Carolina on the back, as if it had been Carolina’s own achievement and not Papi’s.

  Gabriela appeared in the doorway and hugged Papi congratulations too. “My mom wants you to come down for a drink before dinner,” she told him, and let herself back into Carolina’s room.

  “This means you’re a real Larksviller now!” Jennifer said to Carolina. “Are you excited?”

  “I guess so. I mean, I’m really happy for my dad.” Carolina bit her nail. “I just wish I had my sketchbook.” It was hard to process anything without it; everything was rushing by.

  Gabriela looked toward the desk, as if Carolina might have just overlooked the sketchbook, hiding in plain sight.

  “It’s in the cottage,” Carolina explained. “I left it there that day when we got lost, and now I can’t go back for it.”

  “But you need that sketchbook,” Gabriela said. “It has all of those drawings of Puerto Rico, you can’t just leave it. What if an animal gets in there? Or it rains?”

  “Well, it’s in a backpack,” Carolina said defensively.

  “Is that why you haven’t had a backpack all week?” Jennifer asked. “I thought it was because you were trying to be like Gabriela and Alyssa.”

  Gabriela snorted. “By not carrying a backpack? Is that what you think we’re like?”

  Jennifer pointed to Gabriela’s tote bag, which was slung over her shoulder. “You and Alyssa and Jamie always wear tote bags, not backpacks. I figured it was because you thought backpacks were uncool.”

  “Yeah, because they make you hunch over.”

  “See? I told you.”

  “Whatever you say, Jenn. See you later.” Laughing to herself and shaking her head, Gabriela closed the door.

  “I actually agree with her,” Jennifer said. “You were going to make a painting from that sketch of the tree, remember? For decoration.”

  “But now…”

  “We’ll have to find a way to get that sketchbook back,” Jennifer said simply.

  * * *

  —

  Mami was so overjoyed by Papi’s news that she forgot altogether about taking Jennifer home, and Jennifer stayed for dinner. She and Daniel had a long conversation about the differences between elves and fairies, Daniel’s eyes growing wider with every word Jennifer spoke. Across the table, Carolina noticed Mami listening in.

  “Elves have curly toes,” Jennifer said seriously.

  Mami’s brow wrinkled with worry. Then Jennifer wiggled Daniel’s sandal. “They’re curly like this!” she joked.

  Daniel burst into peals of laughter, and Mami half smiled. She leaned back in her chair and watched them a little longer before turning to Papi. “Felicidades,” Mami said to him. “Felicidades.”

  Contentment washed over Carolina.

  * * *

  —

  The last day of camp was hot but dry. When Carolina’s group went out to feed the pigs, they kicked up puffs of dirt as they worked, and Carolina felt tiny prickles all over her skin in the barn, where dust seemed to be rising off of the hay bales. After lunch, the counselors took them on one final tour of the farm, to say good-bye to all their favorite spots. Some of the animals had already been sold, and Carolina marveled that she hadn’t noticed before how the herd had thinned out these last two weeks.

  Lydia made a speech back at the camp center, wishing them well, and then it was all over. The campers hugged and said their good-byes, some of them making plans to meet by the lockers when school started, or visit the lake one last time before summer’s end.

  Carolina dragged her feet on her way to the car, where Tía Cuca and Mami were waiting. She lifted her eyes slightly, just enough to see Gabriela and Dani climb in the car, then lowered them again and drooped her shoulders. With her right hand, she gave Jennifer the signal.

  “Caro! Caro!” Jennifer came running up. Her face was red, and she held her side in a remarkably good imitation of being out of breath. “I was just in the camp center and Lydia is crying. She’s so sad about camp ending!”

  “What’s this?” Tía Cuca rolled down the window and leaned over Mami. “Something’s wrong with Lydia?”

  “She’s really upset,” Jennifer said.

  Tía Cuca reached for a package in the back seat, in between Daniel and Gabriela. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I have a little gift for her, but we were going to wait until next week to give it to her.”

  Mami propped her chin up on the dashboard. “It’s lovely here at Silver Meadows,” she said. “It’s so peaceful.”

  Carolina and Jennifer looked nervously at each other. After all summer, now Mami decided to notice how beautiful Silver Meadows was?

  “It is peaceful,” Caro said. “That’s why Lydia’s so upset.” Suddenly their story sounded silly, and Caro tried to telepathically communicate to Jennifer that they should abandon the plan, but Jennifer plowed full steam ahead.

  “I was going to pick Lydia some wildflowers,” Jennifer said. “Do you think she’d like t
hat?”

  “Oh, that’s a wonderful idea!” Tía Cuca gushed.

  Mami nodded her head slowly. “You know, Jennifer, you’re very thoughtful.”

  Caro squeezed Jenn’s hand. She could hardly believe that Mami was buying it.

  “It was so hard to sell the house in Puerto Rico,” Mami went on, “and we hadn’t lived there our whole lives. It must be terrible for Lydia.”

  “That’s why we want to help,” Jennifer said. “Maybe—maybe Carolina could help me with the flowers?”

  Mami pursed her lips. “I just don’t want you girls wandering off again.”

  Gabriela leaned forward from the back seat. “There are a lot of flowers right on the path by the camp center, Tía Ana. Lydia loves those flowers too. I think it’s a great idea.”

  Mami leaned back and considered Gabriela. Carolina held her breath. Mami wasn’t like Tía Cuca; you couldn’t just pull anything over on her—

  “Should we wait here?” Mami asked.

  Tía Cuca suddenly punched the dashboard to see the light-up clock. “I have to stop at the pharmacy before they close! We have to go now. Girls, we’ll come right back and pick you up.” She started the car, then seemed to remember Mami in the passenger seat.

  “Is that okay, Ana?”

  “I guess so,” Mami said. “But, girls, if I hear anything about you in the woods—”

  “We’ll be good!” Jennifer promised, and waved wildly.

  They watched the car roll away.

  “We did it!” Jennifer gave Carolina a high five.

  “But if we get in trouble today—we really can’t get lost—my mom will never let me out of the house again.”

  “We won’t, we’re just going to get that sketchbook and come right back.”

  “Let’s move fast.”

  “Don’t worry,” Jennifer said. “I know the pharmacist. They’ll be in line forever.”

  All the same, they ran down the path, grateful for the dry day; it was impossible to move quickly when it was muddy. They crossed the stream in a rush, their feet pounding against the wooden planks of the bridge, making a racket as they raced up the trail, stepping on twigs and crunching leaves left and right. As they veered off the trail and turned toward the cottage, Carolina could almost feel the weight of her sketchbook filling her hands. Each time her feet hit the dirt, she thought, I’m coming, I’m coming.

  The cottage came into sight, and Carolina’s heart leapt. She wished she could fly the rest of the way. They hurried toward it, and pulled open the door as Jennifer called, “Helllooo, house—”

  Jennifer stopped, still hanging on to the doorknob, and Carolina nearly ran into her. It was the second time they had been surprised in the cottage, and this time it wasn’t Gabriela’s silhouette but a bright yellow cushion that took them aback.

  The cushion was fluffed and perched on the right-hand chair, giving the cottage a cozy, overstuffed look. There was a box of crackers in between the two chairs. The flaps of the box were open, and the plastic bag poked out from within.

  Carolina remembered all at once the first day she’d seen the cottage, how she’d envisioned the elves playing in the fireplace at night, or dancing to the rhythm of the wind chimes. She remembered the old woman in her rocking chair on the terraza, looking out at the pond, where goldfish maybe swam. The dream was coming true. Carolina saw that woman in the form of the gray-haired person who was sitting and staring into the unlit fireplace.

  “Lydia?” Jennifer’s voice was barely at a whisper.

  Lydia’s smile was soft; it welcomed them in. Jennifer sat on the free chair, and Carolina perched on its arm. The metal vines dug into the back of her thigh, but she paid them no mind.

  “So it was you two,” Lydia said, unsurprised. “The new paint looks wonderful, I must say.”

  “We were going to do more,” Jennifer said. “Hang paintings and stuff. But now—”

  “I didn’t give you the time,” Lydia finished for her.

  “Lydia?” Carolina asked timidly. “How did you find out?”

  “George was going to tear the cabin down this week. They’d asked us to do it before the sale—it’s falling apart, you see.” Lydia pointed to the ceiling, where a patch of dry leaves poked through from the roof.

  Jennifer grabbed Carolina’s hand and squeezed it. Everywhere, everything was being torn down.

  “Imagine my surprise when I discovered that old Cooke’s cabin, long since empty, had been tidied and furnished, a little jewel of a home.”

  Carolina hung her head. “We’re sorry, Lydia. We just—we got carried away.”

  Lydia looked around at the cottage. “This cabin’s been here since my parents bought the farm. It was Old Man Cooke’s, you know. The one for whom the hill is named. I used to come often, but I’ve been so busy lately—keeping things up by myself, you know. I haven’t been by in months, and then I find…” She motioned to the curtains, and the scene in the fireplace, then smiled to herself. “I used to play here as a child. For us kids, this was quite the clubhouse.”

  “Artists’ house,” Jennifer said automatically.

  “Oh yes.” Lydia leaned forward and picked out an elf from the figures in the fireplace. “You make such beautiful things, Jenn. And, Carolina, I’ve noticed you’re an artist too.”

  Carolina gathered herself, summoning her strength, and announced, “Yes—I am an artist.”

  “She draws,” Jennifer explained. “That’s why we came here today. Carolina left her sketchbook.”

  “Understandable.”

  Carolina picked up her backpack. The thick nylon had kept the inside mostly dry, but a few of the sketchbook pages were warped, where the dampness had gotten in. Carolina marveled at the dampness, how like the Caribbean this cottage could be in its own way: here as there, the damp could work its way into every little space. Before, Carolina had been obedient—starched and ironed and sprinkled with violet water like her old school uniform, but still the humidity had found her, and things changed.

  With the sketchbook clasped tightly to her chest, Carolina approached Lydia. “We wanted to ask you something.” She laid the book on Lydia’s lap. “See, when we moved here, someone bought our house in Puerto Rico, and they tore it down, and it broke my heart. It wasn’t just that the house was beautiful—it was beautiful—but it was also magical. I had my own drawing spot, my own place under the trees.” Carolina flipped to the drawing of the flamboyán. “It was where I listened to the birds and wind chimes, and even the traffic from the road. Now it’s not there anymore.” Carolina took a deep breath. “My mom and dad had to move, even though they didn’t really want to. But I think you have choices, and you should use them.”

  Carolina had talked so much that the quiet seemed odd in contrast, the way she could hear every breeze that hit the tarp. Someone was walking outside; their heavy steps punched down the soil. Before Lydia could speak, the sound drew closer, and George ducked through the door.

  “Ma, what are you doing here? I’ve got to get all this stuff out for the demolition, remember?”

  “Just chatting with some old friends, George.”

  George scratched his head. “What are you girls doing here?” He shook his head. “If camp weren’t over, you’d be in for a talking-to.”

  “I just wanted to say good-bye to the place one last time,” Lydia said.

  “But maybe you don’t have to say good-bye!” Jennifer protested. “You could keep it! Just don’t sign the contract, Lydia.”

  George threw up his hands in exasperation. “Really, girls, the nerve of you! It’s a done deal.”

  Lydia closed the sketchbook and handed it back to Carolina. “I wish we had a choice, girls. But it’s either sell or keep farming, you know that. I’m much too old to keep farming, and George has another life in Albany. There’s no one to take over
the farm.”

  “But what about the conservation people? They called you, didn’t they?”

  “How did you know that?” Lydia asked. Then she shook her head. “Someone could fall—be injured.”

  “Is that what you’ve been worried about, Ma?” George drummed his fingers on the windowpane. “I thought you—”

  “What?” Lydia asked, turning to face her son.

  “I thought you needed more money for it,” George mumbled. “But if it’s just that, we could fix that wall, keep people away from the ravine….”

  Lydia half smiled. “You don’t have time for that, George.”

  “What if it doesn’t have to be one or the other?” Carolina interrupted.

  “Carolina—”

  “You said that two roads were diverging. But what if there’s another road, one you didn’t even see? Or no road at all. My dad always says that we make our paths by walking.”

  Lydia fixed Carolina in her gaze. “I think your dad is very wise, honey, but in this case—”

  “What if you could sell the farm but keep some of it as farmland? Isn’t that like another road?” Jennifer dug in her pocket. “Here, we printed this out for you. Just read it.” She thrust the paper into Lydia’s hands.

  “When you’re in the woods,” Carolina said, “there are the trails, with markers that someone put up to guide the way. But there are so many trees and so many ways to get around them—just because you can’t see those paths doesn’t mean they’re not there.” She knelt down by Lydia’s chair. “There’s a poem in Spanish, and maybe you’ve never heard it. It’s about roads, but not about roads diverging. It’s about finding them.” Carolina began the best translation she could muster, the one that she had taught to Gabriela:

  Traveler, this path is a wave upon the sea,

  only your own wake, and nothing more;

  Traveler, there is no path,

  you make your path by walking.

  By walking you make your path

  and when looking back,

  you see the road