The Wish Stealers

by Trivas, Tracy

  Griffin couldn’t move. Her grandma and Libby watched until the witches had moved far down the road.

  “Weird,” said Libby.

  “Those actors certainly are committed to their roles,” said Grandma Penshine, shutting her door and locking it. “Can anyone believe this heavenly weather! The sky has shifted and is wild with joy!”

  “Should we paint outside now?” asked Libby.

  “On days like this the sky demands to be painted!” said Grandma, setting up an easel on the back porch. “If this were my last hour on earth, I could think of no better way to spend it than with you two wonderful girls, feeling the sun on my face, painting my flowers, and cherishing each and every whirl of color.”

  Tears sprung to Griffin’s eyes. She watched as her grandma mixed paints as if mixing sacred medicine. She realized how much she’d miss her grandma if anything happened to her. Her voice always felt like a giant hug.

  “We must paint the sun breaking through the cotton clouds just like Giorgione,” said Grandma.

  Griffin looked up at the sky and imagined she could jump into the clouds, float away on sunshine, forget witches, forget wishes, and forget all things gray and black.

  “Grandma, were people nice to Giorgione?” asked Griffin.

  “That’s hard to say since he lived in the late 1400s, but I do know at first that people laughed at him. They said he didn’t know the rules, his work was strange—too much color, too much magical light. Clouds were not supposed to be painted that way.” Her grandma swirled some sapphire and crystal blues together on the canvas.

  “Did he give up?” asked Libby.

  “Certainly not!” she said. “How do you think I even know the name Giorgione more than five hundred years later? Personally, I think I know his secret.”

  “What?” asked Libby.

  “I think he took some of those beautiful clouds he painted and stuffed them right into his ears. Then he couldn’t listen to all the doubters who told him his stuff was too strange.”

  “Cool,” said Libby.

  “Griff, can you do me a favor?” called Grandma Penshine. “Could you please get my shawl in my bedroom? I just caught a chill.”

  “Sure,” said Griffin, leaping up and going into her grandma’s lavender bedroom. On the bureau, lilacs tucked in white porcelain vases swept perfumed shadows through the room. A blushing pink orchid rested languidly in a pot. The soft bed looked like a velvet pincushion. Grandma’s shawl was flung over the rocking chair in the corner of her room. Suddenly Griffin noticed a wooden box inlaid with mother-of-pearl on her grandmother’s dresser. Sticking out of the box was a skein of yarn. It looked exactly like the yarn in Mariah’s box. Griffin froze.

  White cotton curtains rustled in the breeze. Through the blinds, across the street, Griffin saw the witches holding hands in a circle.

  “Griffin!” called Grandma Penshine. “Libby!”

  Grabbing the shawl, Griffin dashed out of the room back to the kitchen patio. “Here, Grandma,” she said.

  “Girls, look!” said Grandma Penshine, pointing above her.

  A dark cloud was marching head-on into the blue sky. “The sky is shifting! Right before our eyes. Quick!” Sinister, dark, heavy clouds were smothering the light. Libby and Griffin helped Grandma Penshine carry the canvases and tubes of paint inside. In one instant everything had shifted to gray. “Quick, girls! Please, shut my windows!” said Grandma. Griffin and Libby dashed through the house closing windows as rain pelted the house.

  “What is with this weather?” said Grandma. “Downright mystifying. One minute the most glorious sun, the next minute as gray as the storm’s evil eye.”

  Lying in her bed Sunday night, Griffin thought about the phrase “as gray as the storm’s evil eye.” All weekend it rolled through her head. Even at Libby’s superfun sleepover party the night before, she couldn’t help thinking that those gray clouds had brought something strange to town. Something wicked. Why did those actors come to my grandma’s house? In the rush of shutting all the windows, Griffin had forgotten to ask her grandma about the yarn. Why does she have the same yarn as Mariah? The sky is shifting. Griffin thought of Stanley. Was he out there in the rain with his violin? When would the witches leave town and go far, far away? Then she thought about Giorgione staring at the clouds five hundred years ago.

  Stuff your ears with clouds.

  Chapter

  33

  Monday afternoon at school, Samantha and her friends had slipped notes into Griffin’s locker. In Samantha’s curly cursive writing the notes said: Hi, Griff. I think I love you. From your new boyfriend, Garrett.

  Griffin stuffed these at the bottom of her backpack to dump into the garbage. Only one thing could make Griffin forget Samantha—a letter, which arrived in the mail after school. It was addressed to G. Penshine, and the return address read:

  Mrs. Florence L. Daniellson Busby c/o Sunflower Assisted Living Home

  572 Myrtle Drive

  Topeka, Kansas 66603

  “Hi, Griff,” called her mom from upstairs. She was decorating the nursery. “I’ll be down in a minute. There’s a letter for you on the table.”

  Griffin grabbed the letter and leapt up the stairs two at a time. After locking her door, she threw her backpack down and carefully opened the letter. Shaky words appeared on blue-lined notebook paper:

  Dear G.,

  I don’t know who you are, but you must know me because I once threw a penny in the Topeka Inn fountain when I was an eleven-year-old girl. I held my penny so high and shouted with all my breath, “I wish for a puppy!” I still remember that summer day like it was yesterday, the warm Kansas sun on my face. It’s funny, I can hardly remember what I ate for breakfast today, but I remember that day as clearly as church bells chime on Easter Sunday. I never did get a puppy. My little brother was allergic to dogs, and then I married a wonderful man, but he was allergic to dog hair too. I wonder what in the world you could have of mine all these years later? Please contact me at my return address.

  Sincerely,

  Florence Lorraine Daniellson Busby

  “Griffin?” called her mom through her bedroom door.

  “I’ll be right out,” she answered.

  “Who’s the letter from?”

  Griffin hesitated. She never lied to her mom, but she couldn’t risk having her hurt by Mariah’s curse. Griffin crossed her fingers and said, “An old lady. Part of a community service pen pal thing.” She tucked the letter back into the envelope and slid it under her bed before she opened her door.

  “I’m going to the store,” said her mom. “Do you want to come? I’m having serious pregnancy cravings for mustard, orange juice, avocado, and barbeque potato chips!”

  “Sounds really gross, Mom!” Griffin laughed.

  “Doesn’t it?” Her mom smiled and rubbed her big belly.

  “I’m okay. I’m just gonna start my homework,” said Griffin.

  When Griffin heard the front door close behind her mother, she grabbed the phone and dialed information.

  “City and state, please,” said an operator.

  “Topeka, Kansas. The Sunflower Assisted Living Home, please,” said Griffin. She copied down the number and dialed.

  “Hello, Sunflower. How may I help you?”

  “Hello, my name is Griffin Penshine and uh … I’m a friend of Mrs. Florence Daniellson Busby. I’m thinking of getting her a top secret present, and I was wondering if your home allows pets.”

  “Yes, we do. Cats, small dogs, and certain kinds of birds are allowed. What kind of pet were you thinking of?”

  “A small puppy.”

  “That sounds very nice.”

  “Thank you,” said Griffin, and she hung up the phone.

  “Griffin?” said her mom in her bedroom doorway.

  “HUH!” Griffin jumped. She hadn’t even heard her mom come in.

  “What are you doing?” asked her mom with her hands on her hips.

  “You’re back alread
y!” said Griffin.

  “I forgot my wallet,” said her mom. “Now, who in the world are you calling? Who is Mrs. Busby? What’s this about a puppy?”

  “Well, see …” Griffin just stopped. “Mom, before I tell you, I have two questions: How far is Dadesville to Topeka? And how much would a puppy cost?”

  “It is a twenty-minute drive to Topeka from here, and a puppy rescued from the pound would probably be about seventy-five dollars.”

  “Mom, you know how you asked if I wanted a puppy a week ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I get one and then give it as a present to someone?”

  “Griffin, what is going on?” said her mom.

  She crossed her fingers behind her back again. “Mom, I was just trying to make an old lady’s wish for a puppy come true. Kinda like a service project. Is that okay?” Griffin began to sweat.

  “I need to think about this one. Let me talk it over with your dad,” said her mother.

  Griffin uncrossed her fingers.

  At midnight Griffin jingled the last few pennies in her hand: “STOP,” “popular,” “world peace,” and the unlabeled penny were still complete mysteries. Clasping two pennies in one hand and two pennies in the other, Griffin paced around her dark bedroom. I’ve given away more than half the pennies, and I think a few wishes have come true, she thought. The night-light in her room cast strange shadows on the walls, mocking the faded stars on her ceiling. I need to put new stars up, Griffin thought. New sticker stars that glowed, shimmered, and shone to replace the dull ones. Her mom would help her with that; they’d probably replicate the real night sky. Griffin slowly parted her curtains, scanning the inky night roofs.

  Don’t let your stars fade.

  Chapter

  34

  If this isn’t a first!” called Dr. Penshine from the kitchen after school. “Mr. Castanara called from the music center and had to cancel your lesson. It seems he’s caught a terrible cold.”

  “Really?” said Griffin. My wish of becoming an amazing bass guitarist is definitely not coming true, she thought.

  “Since I thought you were going to be at your lesson, I made a doctor’s appointment, and Dad won’t be home until late tonight. Do you want to go over to Grandma’s and hang out with her so you’re not all alone in the house?” asked her mom.

  “Sure,” said Griffin. She wanted to ask her grandma about the yarn she’d seen in her box. After they played a few games of cards, she would ask her why it was just like Mariah’s yarn.

  Grandma Penshine was in her bed, covers tucked high all around her, when Griffin came over. “Hi, Grandma, how are you feeling?” asked Griffin. It didn’t seem possible that her grandma could look so tired. What had happened to Giorgione and his soft clouds?

  “Come here, my love.” Grandma Penshine clasped her warm hands around Griffin’s hand. “I’ve felt so tired the past few days. Like those dark clouds sapped some of my energy.”

  “Can I get you something, Grandma?”

  “A glass of water, please. Oh, and in the kitchen on the table is a FedEx package that came for you today,” said Grandma. “Why is it coming here for you, Griff?”

  “I’ll go get your water!” Griffin darted into the kitchen, where a thin FedEx envelope waited. Return address: Nome, Alaska. Griffin took a deep breath and pulled on the perforated cardboard strip.

  Dear G. Penshine,

  What do you have to tell me? I’m often on my boat, the Internet rarely works, and mail takes forever here. Please use the FedEx envelope and pre-addressed slip I enclosed in this package. Just seal it and drop the envelope in a FedEx bin.

  Thank you.

  Sincerely,

  Brian Patterson Forester

  Griffin’s stomach tightened. What do I have to tell Garrett’s dad about him? That Garrett used to wish for a dad, but he doesn’t wish for such “stupid things” anymore? What have I done? She slammed the letter down, filled a tall glass of water, and trudged toward her grandma’s room.

  “Why such the long face?” asked her grandma, sitting up in bed.

  “It’s nothing, Grandma.”

  “Really? In my experience ‘nothing’ doesn’t look like that on someone’s face, especially not on yours. Do you want to tell me about that FedEx package? Did you open it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “Well, see … Grandma, I’m not sure if I did something good or bad. I kinda wrote to someone and they wrote back,” said Griffin.

  “Maybe I can help?” said her grandma.

  Griffin slumped on the side of her grandma’s bed. “What if someone wished for something, and you wanted to help them get it. But then, when you thought about it, maybe they don’t really want that wish to come true, and you’ve just made things worse for them.”

  “That’s a tough one,” said her grandma. “You know, that makes me think of a story. Can you see that bush outside my window?”

  Griffin strained her neck to see out her grandma’s bedroom window.

  “The butterflies like it there because it’s protected by the house, and the leaves give them lots of nourishing food to eat while they grow. Every spring I watch the butterflies struggle and struggle to break free from their caterpillar cocoons, and every spring I want to get my garden gloves and help them out of their cocoons, but that would be the wrong thing to do. Because if they don’t do it themselves, they won’t be strong butterflies. Actually, they might not even be able to fly if I help them. So, to answer your question, sometimes it’s wrong to help people do things. They might not want help or even be ready for new things to happen. But there are always exceptions.

  “One spring we had the oddest weather; one minute it was cool, the next minute hot as the desert, and this little half butterfly, half caterpillar didn’t know whether to come out or stay in. Then he was almost gobbled up by a crow, so I shooed the bird away, picked up the cocoon, and nestled the little guy in the shoulder of a tree. So I did help him. I interfered right down to jingling bells at the crow. But when he finally broke free, he was one of the most beautiful butterflies I’ve ever set my eyes on. All summer he kept me company, fluttering his rainbow wings and visiting my windowsill. So sometimes it’s best to leave things alone, and sometimes your heart tells you to jingle bells at the crows!”

  “I’m not quite sure which one this is.”

  “When in doubt, trust your heart. How about we take a break and play a game of pistachio poker?”

  They played eight games of pistachio poker until Grandma’s eyelids flickered like two falling stars, and Griffin knew it was time for her nap. She realized she’d forgotten to ask her about the yarn. Carefully she gathered the deck of cards and placed them in a neat stack. Then she returned to the kitchen to read Mr. Forester’s letter one more time.

  The heart has its reasons,

  of which reason knows nothing.

  —Blaise Pascal

  Chapter

  35

  Midnight again, and Griffin fiddled at her desk, her eyes glued on Garrett’s father’s handwriting. Dark bags hung under her eyes from staying up so late the past few nights. Slowly Griffin began to write to Mr. Forester.

  Dear Mr. Forester,

  My name is Griffin Penshine and I’m twelve. Garrett and I are in the same science class in Dadesville, Kansas. I’m very sorry to have bothered you with a letter. Garrett and I were assigned by our science teacher to do a huge project together for science night. When my mom took us out to dinner after working on our project, Garrett told us he used to wish on his birthday for a dad. So I gave him a lucky penny and secretly wrote to you for extra luck to happen. I think he would be mad if he knew I wrote to you. I’m very sorry to have touched a cocoon I shouldn’t have touched.

  Sincerely,

  Griffin Penshine

  Griffin slid her letter inside the FedEx envelope and zipped it inside her backpack. The only FedEx drop she knew of was at the front office at school by Mrs. Davis’s desk. D
uring lunch tomorrow she would quietly place the envelope in the bin.

  “Good morning, Miss Penshine,” said Mrs. Davis from behind the desk in the front office.

  “Hi, Mrs. Davis,” said Griffin.

  “What are you doing here? Certainly you can’t be in trouble?”

  “Can I put this in the FedEx bin?” she asked, holding the packet.

  “Sure. They pick up at three o’clock. Whatcha dropping off?” she said.

  “Just, uhh—a note,” Griffin said.

  Mrs. Davis swooped around her desk and peered into the FedEx bin. “‘Brian Patterson Forester,’” she read aloud. “‘Sender: G. Penshine.’ Hmmm. Forester? I remember that name from entering school records. Is that Garrett Forester’s dad?”

  “Uhh, maybe. I’m just dropping something off for my grandma.” Brrringggg, screeched the school bell.

  “Oh, that wonderful lady I met the first day of school? Why is your grandma writing to Garrett’s dad, sunshine? Are they acquainted?”

  “It’s about science night, that’s all,” said Griffin, through her clenched jaw.

  “Look here! On the address line! Nome, Alaska! Garrett’s dad lives in Nome, Alaska? Ain’t that a hoot! Bear country! You know what they say about Nome, don’t ya?”

  Griffin shook her head, now dizzy, as the floor became quicksand sucking her down.

  “They say,” Mrs. Davis said, and started choking on her laughter, “there’s no place like Nome!” Her laugh boomed all over the front office.

  Griffin left the office and hoped Mrs. Davis wouldn’t say anything.

  To keep your secret is wisdom;

  but to expect others to keep it is folly.