“‘Splinter,’ I say, my disbelief even stronger than it was during the head-chopper exchange. She’s worried about my hand while I’m worried about my life? ‘But really, Gram. We have more important things to think about.’ And I point, my arm straight out, at the door.
“‘A splinter can be quite dangerous.’
“‘Gram. It’s Eric Marston.’
“‘I know. Eric isn’t the nicest boy in the area. But I have to admit I’m baffled. When you saw Eric, why didn’t you just use your protection spell?’
“‘Rosey,’ says Eric. It’s a hoarse whisper that floats through the planks of the door like smoke from a fire. The kind of smoke that lets you know you do not want to open that door, because you can just tell there’s a raging inferno on the other side.
“‘Gram.’ I whisper, too, but it’s a much quieter whisper. ‘What are you talking about? What protection spell?’
“Gram sighs. ‘You don’t remember? “Far away, far from me…”’
“I stare at her, eyes wide, mouth open. ‘That’s a protection spell? I thought it was a jump-rope rhyme.’
“My gram looks at me with a why-do-I-bother expression on her face, and I have to agree. How could I not know I carry a protection spell? Just to make sure, I ask, ‘Umm, you told me it was a protection spell, right? When you gave it to me?’
“‘Yes.’ Her voice is clear and sharp to the point of being snappish.
“‘Oh.’
“‘Rosey.’ The door rattles on its hinges.
“‘Maybe I should try it.’
“‘Perhaps,’ Gram agrees.
“‘Far away, far from me…’
“‘Rosey.’ Angry. Mean.
“I close my eyes.
“‘Or I swear you’ll have to flee and you’ll
be gone.
One.
Two.
Three.
Never come to this place again.’
“And just like that, just like magic is supposed to work, the scratches and rattles and whispers stop. Like someone’s dropped a blanket over Eric, muffling him, and all the evil he stands for.
“Gram, calm as if she’s sitting on the back porch at the end of the world, says, ‘That seemed to work. Now let’s open the door and get some of that summer air in here. It feels a little stuffy. And then I’ll take a look at that splinter.’
“I think, What if Eric’s only playing sheep now, instead of wolf?
“‘Open the door? Are you sure?’ My voice sounds puny.
“When Gram looks at me now, her eyes are sharp as glass. ‘Yes. I’m quite sure,’ she says, and Samson whistles in agreement.
“I open the door.
“Eric is nowhere. It’s as if he’s never even been here. But he has, I know. My basket is there, on the stoop, leaking pickles and jam onto Gram’s petunias.
“Gram sighs when she sees the mess on her doorstep. ‘What a waste.’
“‘There was bread,’ I offer. ‘Cinnamon raisin, and it was wrapped in waxed paper. There were scones, too, and cookies. All of that might still be okay.’
“‘Lovely,’ says Gram, and now she sounds pleased. ‘Then I’ll just make a pot of tea. And while the water boils, I’ll look at your hand.’ She’s almost to the kitchen when she turns back to look at me. ‘And Rosey. You’ll remember that spell from now on, won’t you?’
“‘Oh, yeah. And—well, Gram—you couldn’t teach me any other kind of magic, could you?’
“‘I thought you’d never ask.’”
Mama Inez hugs Rosey again when she comes back to the waiting area, and Rosey beams at her. Toby comes over with Samson on his back. The bird settles on Rosey’s shoulder as she rubs the big dog’s head.
“Gram? Did I do all right?”
“Wonderful, Rosey. Perfect.”
Now that the stories are through, Franz and Roberto move their rings around with the speed of master chess players.
“I really think we need three rings for the flying-shoe people,” Roberto says, “and we only have the one.”
“We didn’t know we’d have a trio,” Franz agrees. “And even if we don’t have three for them, we truly need two for the elf twins.”
“We have those extras we made when we were experimenting with that new casting idea. It’s just that none of them seem to match up the way that they should.”
Franz jingles metal in his hands. Then he grins, a sharp, fast grin, and raises one eyebrow. “Shall we let pure luck decide?”
Roberto looks over his shoulder at Mama Inez. He looks at the tellers, clustered in groups. He checks the spin of the world. And he says simply, “The spin is smooth, the world feels right. Let’s give luck its chance.”
Franz juggles his handful of rings one more time, then tosses them into the air. As if it were meant to be, three rings fall to the table, two next to B.J.’s and one next to Maddie’s. Roberto looks at them with a critical eye and says, “Perfect. Luck must be on our side.” Franz matches and counts in his head, then nods in agreement.
Roberto asks, “Now?” and Franz says, “Absolutely now.” They walk among the tellers, giving them their memory pieces. The Lizard Man gets a plain, skinny band, something light and almost unnoticeable. Perfect for someone not used to wearing anything on his hands. Renata gets a thick band carved with waves. John is given a gold-and-silver band that tapers on the top and bottom to almost nothing. Earl and Maddie are given rings with carved hearts, Earl’s made of brushed silver with the heart on the inside of the ring, Maddie’s made of rose gold with delicate hearts circling the band. Rosey gets solid silver, devoid of decoration, that’s just big enough for her little finger.
B.J. has a slim band attached to either side of a crescent moon. Wink’s is square with rounded corners, and Nodia’s is gold with two cat eyes. Zola’s ring is thick and masculine, with one lightning bolt running sideways, all the way around. Sue is given a delicate thing that undulates around her finger like her bucking catfish. And Maisie? Maisie has a band connected by two tiny silver roses.
The tellers are a group now, friends bound by the night’s sharing. They laugh and talk and show one another their rings.
But everything ends sometime. People begin to wander into the night. The Lizard Man comes up to Mama Inez and says, “Thank you. This feeling…I wish it could last forever,” and Mama Inez reaches out and gives him a hug. Zola gives a little bow and a huge grin as he passes them. The elf twins compare their rings and wave excited good-byes to everyone. Wink, B.J., and Nodia call out “Thank you” and leave, arguing amiably. Maisie and Renata leave together, and Maisie is carrying a clean white shell shaped like a trumpet. John spins one more gold coin that Mama Inez catches in midair, and then helps Sue saddle Lightning. Rosey sits in the corner, talking and laughing with Franz and Roberto while Samson does flips above her head. Mama Inez and Toby stand next to each other, holding on to remembered strands of stories and checking the web that holds the spin of the world on the right track.
The market moon begins to fade in the dawn light, and the Serendipity Market folds in on itself like an old, soft tent. Everything and everyone but Toby is gone by the time the sky is the furred pink of a ripe, perfect peach. Even Franz and Roberto have gone back to the house with the witch’s-hat roof, taking Rosey and Samson with them. Toby sits in front of the Indwelling, waiting for Mama Inez and watching the sun rise in the stream.
Mama Inez is outside, on the fringe of the entrance to the Indwelling. She looks one last time at the contents of this newest Storie Jar. She moves the bit of lace to the left, and decorates it with the strip of braided red wool. Then she shifts the slipper so it just rests on the river stone from the Mile River. She lifts and polishes the thick, rich gold coin and resettles it beneath the curved ribbon of green brocade, checks that the point of the whorled shell rests just against the lace. Lastly, she runs a gentle finger over the sharpness of the tiny star and settles the golden pea next to it.
When she is through, the jar holds a
stylized image of a person, face made of gold, body made of lace, arm of shell, hair of brocade. There is a necklace made of braided tomato-red wool. A foot walks on the world, a world made of stone. In the sky there is a single, sharp-edged star made of crystal, nestled close to a moon made of a smooth golden pea.
Mama Inez stretches, her arms reaching, one at a time, toward the early-morning sun balancing on the horizon. The Storie Jar switches hands twice. Then she crosses the stream and reaches again, this time toward the fading moon.
Her outside ritual complete, she goes into the cool, dim interior. She balances the Storie Jar on the flat black rock on her left, cups her hands, and takes water from the stream. She trickles water over the Storie Jar, one small stream of water for each cardinal direction. The wet jar takes on the color of purple mud and glitters with flecks of mica and gold. While the jar still glitters, Mama Inez again crosses the stream and lights the candle that waits on the white rock on her right. From a plain clay dish next to the candle, she picks an octagonal mirror that winks at her through a single, stray ray of barely-there sunlight. She drips wax from her candle on the top of the jar and gently places the tiny mirror in its wax nest. Then she calls Toby. He comes inside, stepping lightly, and breathes on the Storie Jar, sealing the magic inside.
This new Storie Jar takes its place on the top right-hand shelf, fourth from the left. The mirrors on the filled jars shimmer and shine. Mama Inez curls her fingers into Toby’s fur. Together, they walk the circle of the Indwelling. They stop, facing north, south, east, and west, much as they did the day they checked the world’s spin and decided they needed this gathering.
From the north they can feel cold, fresh breezes laced with ice. From the south come the scents of blush-pink peaches mixed with glaciers even farther away. Citrus floats in on the air from the west, and there’s a rich, salty ocean feel gliding in from the east. Mixed with all of this are the smells of cinnamon and clove, the warmth of new wool, and the rich heat of the rain forests.
Mama Inez and Toby circle again and again, until they’re positive that everything is where it’s meant to be. Then, each with a breath of ease, of tranquillity, they walk straight out of the Indwelling into the rising sun, and begin a slow climb up the hill to the house with the witch’s-hat roof.
Acknowledgments
For getting it started: Vermont College and the MFA in Writing for Children program
For editing that always made it better: Jill Santopolo and Melissa Lambrecht
For getting it sold: Erin Murphy
For extraordinary haikus: Leah Key-Ketter
For poetry: Chris Raschka
For the evening star: Maya Anderson
For family: Guy Shuman, Barbara Shuman, David Shuman, Amy Calkins, Eileen Johnson, Ruth Nichol, YY Anderson, Ellen Anderson
For encouragement: Sharon Ball, Joy Boysen, Jack Gantos, Jennette Gonzalez, Ashley Gronek, MaryBeth Gronek, Ewelina Lewandowski, Chris Lynch, Bruce Nelson, Melanie Zeck, and the YAs—Aileen, Anna, Katherine, Lucas, Naomi, Nicole, Scott, Tabitha
For everything else: Lance Anderson and Dewis, the best cat ever
About the Author
Penny Blubaugh is a writer, librarian, and former flight instructor. She received her MFA in writing for children and young adults from Vermont College of Fine Arts. She currently lives in Chicago with her husband and dreams of living at the End of the World in a house with a witch’s-hat roof. SERENDIPITY MARKET is her first novel.
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Credits
Jacket art © 2009 by Glowimages/Getty Images
Jacket design by Einav aviram
Copyright
SERENDIPITY MARKET. Copyright © 2009 by Penny Blubaugh. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition SEPTEMBER 2009 ISBN: 9780061971778
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