“Um, my parents don’t exactly approve of us trespassing up there,” Lupine confessed. “I sort of got in trouble when they figured it out.”
“So what are we supposed to do now?” I griped.
“Take the back trail,” Lupine said, undaunted.
Lupine’s back trail was an exercise in bushwhacking. Before long, the meager path disappeared, leaving us to make our way through woods that hid a minefield of holes and dips and foot-catching roots.
“This is why I never go this way,” Lupine called from the lead, untangling her braid from some prickles.
At the top of a knoll, we discovered that we could see the roof of the homestead and began to descend toward smoother terrain. Surprisingly, the forest cleared and Lupine stopped short. I banged into her, and then Frederick bumped into me. “Ouch!” we all said, reminding me of the Three Stooges.
Lupine, who’d caused the collision, was standing dramatically still. “Look at that,” she said, tilting her head like a curious terrier.
The only thing worth her remark was a patch of salal bushes in a clearing ahead.
“There’s something unnatural about the way they’re growing,” Lupine muttered. “They’re too tall, and the patch is too square.”
To prove it, she darted ahead and ran around the salal bushes.
“They’re growing in a big rectangle,” she said, panting, as she rounded the corner. “Let’s get a bird’s-eye view.” Immediately, she began climbing the nearest Doug fir until she was ten feet up.
“You guys need to come up here!” she called.
Frederick rolled his eyes but took the challenge, and I followed him. We had to squeeze through a tangle of branches but finally got high enough to see the lay of the land.
I was stunned by the sight below. It was not a patch of salal bushes, but a hedgerow encircling a beautiful garden. The rows of flourishing fall crops were straight and weeded—acorn squash, orange pumpkins, lacy carrottops, purple cabbages, and some kind of bean. Many rows were bare, resting under layers of leafy mulch. Put to bed for the winter, Grammy would have said.
“Who did all this?” I asked in amazement.
“I have no idea,” Lupine answered, equally baffled. “I didn’t know this garden was here.”
Frederick aimed his camera and noted the image on the screen. “We’re all seeing the same thing, right?”
I nodded. “It’s like the Secret Garden,” I whispered, “only after the kids fixed it up.”
“It’s perfect,” Lupine agreed, “and in just the right spot to get lots of sunlight but still remain hidden.”
“Look at how neat the rows are,” I observed, “and there are, like, zero weeds.”
“Someone’s taking care of it,” Frederick reasoned.
Immediately I thought of Whistle’s diary. Although old Hazel had passed, we were confident that her good daughter would come tend the garden.
“It could be a neighbor using the land without permission,” Frederick suggested.
“People around here have property,” Lupine said doubtfully. “It doesn’t make sense for someone to sneak into the woods to raise vegetables.”
My eyes scanned the hedge and followed the line of foliage around all four sides, and I realized that there was something very odd indeed about that garden.
“Did you guys notice that there’s no way in?”
CHAPTER 19
Trespassers
AFTER WALKING AROUND the hedgerow a second time, we confirmed that there was no door or gate, and, in fact, there wasn’t even a gap big enough to put your arm through.
“There’s no denying how weird this is,” I said gravely. “Maybe now you’ll believe that I really talked to that kid.”
Lupine nodded thoughtfully. “I believe you, Zelly.”
“Well, I’ll believe it when I see leprechauns,” Frederick muttered as we reached the top of the knoll.
Autumn had transformed the old house, coloring the wisteria a cinnamon shade and the leaves on the maple a bright yellow. In the yard, the overgrown shrubs had gone fiery red, looking like flames arising from the yellow grass. High above, a clear sun and sapphire sky amped up the colors in everything.
“Wow,” I said, clicking the picture in my brain for safekeeping.
Following Lupine, we descended to the front yard and began to cross to the back when our leader raised her arm to halt.
“Tire tracks,” she whispered, examining the ground. A vehicle had driven through, pressing two tracks into the lawn.
“We should get out of here,” Frederick said.
“Let’s just peek around back and make sure no one is breaking in,” Lupine proposed.
“You mean like criminals?” Frederick looked stricken by this awful possibility.
“Come on, let’s be good neighbors,” she cajoled.
Once again, Lupine’s nerve surprised me. She was so skinny and pale that I didn’t expect her to be brave—or was she just being foolish?
“Let’s take a look,” I decided.
Swallowing a dry gulp, Frederick shook his head in silent disapproval, but he was outvoted.
From the back of the house, we could see that the tracks continued from the yard and into the field, where apple trees dotted the wide-open pasture. In the farthest corner, parked under a tree, was a junky black pickup truck.
“What right does that person have to be here?” I challenged. “I mean, unless he’s a Wicket, he’s trespassing, too!”
Lupine nodded. “True, but—”
At that moment, something growled in the tall grass, and to my horror, the biggest dog I’d ever seen stepped out of the field. Approaching us stealthily, like a wolf on the prowl, was a Great Dane the size of a pony. He curled his lip into a snarl, as his rumbling growl shifted from neutral to warning.
Frederick and I turned to Lupine, seeking instruction. Our fearless leader said one word: “Run!”
Lupine was fast, with me a close second, but Frederick lagged behind. Just as I was cursing his dumpy slowness, my foot caught a mole hole, and I slammed down onto the ground. The smell of earth and grass was strong in my nose as I gritted my teeth and tried to get back up.
Frederick was suddenly above me, grabbing my arm and jerking me off the ground. “Run,” he ordered. “I’ll distract him.”
The dog loped around the corner of the house, growling like he meant business. I’d already reached the trees when I checked back to witness Frederick waving his arms.
“Over here, ya dumb dog!” he cried. Throwing himself on the ground, Frederick rolled into a ball like a potato bug. He’d distracted him all right!
The monster barked from deep in his throat as he walked stiff-legged toward Frederick. I could see the fur on the back of the animal rise, and with every step, he growled louder. Tightening the grip on his knees, Frederick braced for the end.
I couldn’t leave him to be mauled, so I started limping back to the scene. All of a sudden, Lupine sprinted ahead with a big stick in her hand.
“Back off!” she yelled, waving her weapon like a baseball bat.
Amazingly, the beast changed his mind, his body language altering from predator to pet. He sat amiably next to Frederick, his tongue sprawled out in a bored pant.
Astonished that Lupine’s order had been so quickly obeyed, I hobbled forward and held out my nervous fingers. “Good doggie, nice doggie,” I coaxed with high-pitched, phony friendliness.
He wagged his tail and rewarded me with a slobbery lick to my palm.
“Frederick,” I said softly, “you can get up.”
Opening one eye, he seemed pleased and surprised to discover he still had all his body parts. Wary of the gigantic canine, Frederick moved cautiously and sat up cross-legged, just as the dog apologized by licking one side of his face and depositing drool all over his glasses.
“Good doggie,” I said again, scratching him under his chin. “He doesn’t seem mean now,” I observed.
“I think we startled him,
” Frederick theorized, “and he reacted.”
“You were really brave,” Lupine said with a dawning expression of respect on her face. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “you were like some kind of hero.” I stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. I realized the immensity of what Frederick had done, putting himself in harm’s way to save me. “Wow, Frederick, that was the bravest thing I ever saw.”
Unwilling to bask in our praise, Frederick changed the subject. “We better get out of here before the dog’s owner comes looking for him. Can you walk?”
I nodded, and then realized I’d forgotten about my ankle, which now was beginning to throb. As I limped into the woods, supported by Frederick and Lupine on either side, I couldn’t get over the admirable traits of my new friends. Lupine’s exterior was girly and prim, but she had been ready to club that big dog with a stick. And Frederick, the chubby coward, had been willing to sacrifice life and limb . . . for me.
A shrill whistle cut the air. “Eddie!” a deep voice bellowed.
As I jumped to flatten myself behind a tree, I glimpsed the owner jogging toward his dog. I took a mental snapshot of a tall man with a black jacket, baseball cap, messy hair, a beard, and a scowl. He was just as scary as his dog.
The monstrous Great Dane, Eddie, now sat perfectly content, with Ronald Whistle Bright hanging onto his neck and whispering something in his ear.
CHAPTER 20
That Crazy Feeling
AFTER SCHOOL ON Friday, we took the bus to Frederick’s house in the Highlands, where Lupine and I had been invited to try out his hot tub.
Rumbling up the other side of the valley, the bus came to a stop at an electronic gate, where the bus driver had to lean out the window to type in a code.
“She hates this run,” Frederick said, snickering, “because she has to open the window and get all cold and wet.”
The black metal gates opened smoothly, and we proceeded down a lane of large and beautiful homes where everything seemed orderly, tasteful, and quiet. Turning backward, I watched the gates close and lock.
“This is my stop!” Frederick called.
We shuffled out the door with a crowd of kids. “Just up here,” Frederick directed as we approached a stately home.
It seemed like acres of roof covered the brick and cedar chalet, with ample room for cars, boats, an RV, and a nanny if they wanted one. I entered a grand hall and was struck by how elegant everything was. Lupine, on the other hand, clearly disapproved of the excess.
“Frederick, you guys are making a huge impact on the environment,” she scolded. “Why do you need such a big house for the three of you?”
“I don’t know.” Frederick shrugged. “Why don’t you ask my parents?” he said slyly.
Marla had bustled into the hall to greet us, along with Frederick’s dad, who I learned was named Stewart. I could tell by Lupine’s hands-on-hips body language that she wanted to lecture the Witherspoons on thrift and the environment, but her code of courtesy prevented it. Besides, Marla was warm and friendly, and Frederick’s dad had ordered pizza.
The Witherspoons’ spa was sunken into a back deck overlooking a vast yard and greenbelt. Despite the chilly twilight, we sat immersed in the steaming water, stewing like chickens in a pot.
When Frederick turned off the noisy Jacuzzi, the deck became quiet, and as darkness settled on the landscape, some twinkly patio lights blinked on.
Now and then, scraps of autumn leaves drifted down from the tall trees, dawdling as if they were enjoying the trip. When a sudden gust of wind whipped through, the dead leaves scurried across the lawn in mini twisters, and the bare branches waved their bony fingers.
“Ooh, it feels like Halloween.” Lupine shuddered.
“How’s the trick-or-treating around here?” I asked.
“My neighborhood is the best,” Frederick replied, not bragging, just confident. “People compete with decorations and sound effects and give out full-sized candy bars!” His face was shiny with moisture as he looked up at the stars, recalling past candy triumphs. “It’s really great.” He sighed.
“We usually go to a potluck at my nana’s,” Lupine volunteered. “My parents don’t approve of all the candy.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Frederick replied, heavy on the sarcasm.
“We are pretty different, aren’t we?” I mused. “I mean, look at where we live: Frederick here in this big house, and Lupine in a little trailer in the woods, and me with my mom in an apartment above a bookstore.”
“But we all get along okay,” Frederick added like a diplomat.
Lupine refused to get sentimental. She just said, “I guess.”
“So, does your dad live around here?” Frederick asked nonchalantly.
“Frederick!” Lupine pitched him a withering glare. “We weren’t going to ask, remember?” she enunciated between gritted teeth.
“I was just wondering.” Frederick’s voice cracked defensively. “I mean, lots of kids live with one parent,” he sputtered.
Glancing from Lupine to Frederick, I realized that they’d been discussing me.
“It’s okay,” I assured Lupine. “The truth is, I don’t know where he is. He had, you know, alcohol problems and left when I was small.”
“Oh.” They both nodded.
“Was that who carved the Vin and Wil heart?” Lupine asked.
“That’s right,” I muttered.
“I always wondered,” Lupine confessed. “I used to make up romantic stuff about that heart.”
“Well, desertion isn’t exactly romantic,” I pointed out. I suddenly felt overly warm, so I sprang up to sit on the edge of the hot tub. Even though I was self-conscious about being in my bathing suit, I had to get some air.
Why’d I have to get stuck with a loser dad who never bothered to visit or even send a birthday card? It was pitiful to know so little about him. But then it came to me—perhaps knowing the whole truth would be even worse!
“It’s just as well he stays away,” I mumbled, surprised to find myself repeating Mom and Grammy’s phrase—only I sounded ten times more bitter. And the same dread that pursued me at the funeral was threatening now—that crazy feeling that accompanied grief. I turned from Frederick to Lupine and felt almost sick to my stomach as they stared at me, shocked by what I had revealed—until I realized they were staring at something behind me!
“It’s him,” Frederick breathed. “It’s the boy you talked to, Zelly.” Turning my head, I saw Whistle peering out from behind the railing, no bigger than a toothbrush and glowing like a firefly.
Despite the melting heat of the spa, Lupine shivered and wriggled with excitement. “I see him, too!” she hissed.
Embarrassed by being found out, Whistle’s cheeks flushed red, and this time he disappeared with noisy feedback and static. Even after he vanished, the low buzz lingered, and the air continued to glow in the spot where he’d stood.
“Okay, I saw a leprechaun,” Frederick conceded.
CHAPTER 21
The Mood Catcher
“SOMETHING WEIRD IS going on,” Lupine declared on the phone.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“A real estate agent, that’s what.”
To annoy her inner drama queen, I yawned and said, “So?”
“So? A car from Hart’s Realty is parked in front of my house right now, and that obnoxious Jimi Hart is getting out. He’s with another guy. Ew, he’s got a really big butt, and the back of his jacket says GWD.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Glen Wood Development,” Lupine grimly informed me. “Maybe they’ve decided to buy.”
“Oh no,” I said weakly.
“‘Oh no’ is right,” she agreed.
That night, the boy materialized with a mild hum and stood on the edge of my desk.
“Hi,” I said. “You could knock, you know.”
“Knock what?” he asked, surveying my room.
“Never mind. I’m glad you dropped in. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Neither could I,” he admitted.
“Lupine said there were people snooping around Hazel’s old house—a real estate agent and some guy with a big butt from Glen Wood Development.”
“What’s a big butt?” Whistle asked, straying from the subject.
I pointed to my rear.
“Oh.” He nodded and smiled just a little. “And Mr. Glen Wood is the forest wrecker?”
“Yes. I hate to say it, but I think they’re considering buying that property. Your town, if they come in with the big equipment—Well, you saw what they did down the road.”
“Took every tree and mucked up the stream,” he said in disgust.
I nodded glumly as a snapshot of the devastated Glen Wood rose in my mind. I shuddered to think of what may be in store for the lonesome homestead with its rambling fields and natural dignity.
“If only someone nice would buy that property!” I wished out loud.
“Why don’t you buy it?” Whistle suggested. “Then a sympathetic human would be in control.”
For a second I thought he was joking, but then I realized I was the only human he knew.
“I’m a child,” I said, pointing out the obvious. “Children can’t buy land.”
“Children can’t do much, can we?” was his sour response.
“You’re able to do lots of stuff,” I argued. “You can turn invisible and zip around like magic.”
“We don’t zip,” he objected. “We surge.”
“Well, I wish I could do it.”
“We’re not so different, you and I,” he reflected. “That’s what I was thinking the night I caught your mood clear.”
“What do you mean ‘caught my mood’?” I asked, suddenly uncomfortable.
“That night you were in the hot pot, I caught the feelings that live in your mind.”
“You were reading my mind while I was sitting in the Jacuzzi?”
“Not exactly. It’s more like looking at a picture of your truth, that’s all.”
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