by Amy Ephron
It had been an extraordinary afternoon.
~ CHAPTER NINE ~
a visit to the sculpture garden
here’s what happened
or what they think happened, anyway
William wasn’t alone in the garden. There was a young woman in the garden sitting in a wicker chair, wearing an old-fashioned straw hat to protect her face from the sun. “Hello, I’m Marie,” she said. She had a slight French accent and she extended her hand out first to Tess and then to Max as a formal hello.
Marie was either William’s nanny or his governess or both. She reminded Tess of a princess in a fairy tale, but Tess couldn’t quite put her finger on which fairy tale it was. Marie had blonde hair, almost the color of gold, pinned up in back but falling in front in soft curls that framed her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were blue. She had the longest lashes, even though they were also blonde, that perfectly accented her eyes. Her voice was soft and clear and she had a laugh that sounded like a bell. Her skin was pale, almost as pale as William’s. She spoke three languages: French, English, and German.
She told them that she, too, had gone to a boarding school in Switzerland. “But,” she laughed, “that was a long time ago.” Tess didn’t think it could have been too long ago—Marie didn’t look that old to her, maybe 30 . . . In general, Tess thought grown-ups made way too much of their age, whatever age it was. Marie was wearing a shimmery long silvery-gray skirt, a white blouse that looked French because it had no collar, and shoes that looked like ballerina slippers. She had on very little jewelry, except Tess noticed she was wearing an antique pendant on a gold chain that curiously resembled the symbol on the skeleton key. She also had a pale, delicate sapphire ring on her left ring finger. Tess wondered if that meant she was engaged.
“I told you she’d come today,” said William. “Can we show them the surprise?” he asked Marie.
Max couldn’t imagine what a surprise would be, since the whole thing was so astonishing . . .
Max had his eye on the pond. But Marie, as if she’d read his mind, said, “Oh, no. We’re not allowed to catch the frogs.”
Max wondered whether she was some kind of eco-freak like his mom’s friend Franny. He didn’t really want to catch a frog—he just wanted to hold one, see it up close. Well, actually, he wouldn’t mind bringing one home and convincing Aunt Evie he needed a terrarium. But he understood he had to observe “house rules,” and William was already running up ahead of them.
Suddenly, they were out of the yard and in a paved area where there were ornate sculptures. Tess saw a statue of Athena, the goddess of wisdom. She knew it was Athena because there was a plaque on the face of the statue that identified her. It was a very modest sculpture garden in the sense that none of the statues were nude, no private parts visible. There were draped gowns and pantaloons carved onto the statues, some of which also had stone headdresses as if they were kings or, like Athena, gods or goddesses. Tess wanted to linger in the sculpture garden, the centerpiece of which was a fountain. She wondered if that was Neptune, then she corrected herself, probably Poseidon, as he was the Greek one, the god of the sea, holding the sceptre in the middle of the fountain.
Marie was beside her. “I’m happy you like them,” she said, “but we’ll save our mythology lesson for another day.”
“Okay,” Tess told her. And then Tess yelled out to William, who had all but disappeared, “Wait up!”
William didn’t have any siblings, so he wasn’t accustomed to being yelled at. So, instead of being obstinate, he just obeyed instantly, stopped in his tracks, and waited for them.
Off to the left was a row of hedges. Not hawthorn, some other kind of bush. Not a row exactly, more like a construction of hedges. It did remind Tess of the maze at Hampton Court.
“It is a maze,” said Marie, verifying Tess’s thought before she could even voice it. And as she said it, Tess realized there was a connection between the word amaze and “a maze.” Her mother always told her to look for the roots of words and this one made sense. She stopped for a minute in amazement. And then tackled Max as he was on his way toward the hedges. She could only imagine trying to explain to Aunt Evie that she had lost Max in a maze. And William had already run on ahead, and they had no choice but to follow him.
~ CHAPTER TEN ~
the first wish: a wild ride on a carousel
When they finally caught up to William, it was as if they were in an amusement park, or an old-fashioned version of a carnival. There was a stand painted with red-and-white stripes that looked a lot like a popcorn machine except it made doughnuts. It was automated and you could watch it through the glass as the dough puffed up and fried and became a doughnut.
A short, pleasant-looking woman with round cheeks and absolutely no neck, wearing a white apron and a funny chef’s cap, was sprinkling powdered sugar on the doughnuts the moment they came out of the chute, then carefully sliding each into a wax paper bag. Next to her was a funny lemon tree that looked as if it had been constructed from papier-mâché. There was a faucet on its trunk that gave out fresh lemonade. Max made a dash for the doughnuts as Tess took a sip of the lemonade, but her eye was caught by what lay beyond . . .
There was a carousel, intricately carved, covered with an elaborate canopy, that had beautiful pictures painted on it, inset with tiny octagonal mirrors on its exterior that sparkled, reflecting the sun, and made it seem as if the merry-go-round itself was bathed in rainbows. Tess was utterly charmed by it. Breathless almost. There were four horses, a white one, a gray one, a brown one, and a black one that were oddly life-sized, not the usual size of a horse on a merry-go-round.
“My grandfather gave this to me on my eighth birthday.” William laughed because even he knew that was ridiculous. “On special occasions, and I think this is one,” he said, sort of humbly for someone who’d been given a carousel, “I’m allowed to use it.”
Max put his hands on his hips and said, somewhat tauntingly, “And what special occasion is it?” sounding a lot like Tess when he said it, Tess with an edge, a nastier version of Tess, if you will.
“Well,” William answered sort of shyly, “I guess the two of you would be it,” looking at Max and Tess as he said it. “I don’t have company very often.”
There was something about the way he said it that was sort of disarming, and even Max, who was generally protective of his older sister and understandably cautious about her new friend, would have to admit that he was starting to like William, too.
But there was still one obstacle to get past.
“Y’can’t get on without a ticket.” The carousel barker had a thick Irish accent. His outfit bore more resemblance to a gardener’s uniform than to a carnival worker’s, which made sense since his name was Barnaby, and he was actually the groundskeeper for the property. The only concession he’d made to his present assignment was a red-and-white striped ribbon he’d tied around his gardener’s cap. He was a tough-looking character, his skin was weathered from days in the sun, and he looked as if he would be as much at home on the sea as he was on land, which was a good call because he had been a sailor in his youth. Max realized he wasn’t someone you wanted to pick a fight with. Not that Max wanted to pick a fight. He was just a bit unsure about the carousel ride. Max thought he might be a little bit too old for merry-go-rounds but his sister, who was a year older, seemed so excited by the prospect that he had to go along.
“What do I have to do to get a ticket?” asked Max, reaching into his pocket to see if he had any coins.
“Your money’s no good here, m’boy,” said Barnaby. “It’s your wishes I want. One wish per ride.”
“You want my wish?!”
“No, m’boy. I want you to make a wish.”
“I thought you wanted my wish,” said Max in a somewhat softer tone of voice.
“No,” Barnaby repeated. “I want you to make a wish!”
“
Is that one wish per person or one for all of us to ride?” asked Max, his mathematical mind at work.
“Hmm, funny y’should ask that. We accept one wish for everyone to ride,” he answered.
“Well, then,” he said immediately, “I think I’ll give the wish to my sister. Tess . . .” he called out to her. “She’s the one who brought me here!” It didn’t even occur to him to wonder, at first, what his wish would’ve been . . . and then he decided. Tess would probably wish for the same thing he would—there was only one thing they wanted.
The rules were explained. Tess was as skeptical as Max was and almost as hard on Barnaby. But he insisted, it was her wish to make. And hers to come true. She wondered if she ought to give it to William, but as if he’d anticipated the question, William said, “No, it’s yours—I already got my wish today.”
Tess started to say, “I wish . . .” but Barnaby stopped her.
“Oh, no,” he said, practically bellowing at her. “Wishes should never be said out loud. You have to keep them a secret, otherwise they don’t come true. Now close your eyes, m’girl, and make a wish.”
Tess didn’t think about it, certainly not as hard as Max had. She just closed her eyes and made a wish.
When she opened them, the turnstile was spinning, sort of like the revolving doors they had at that department store in New York City, slowly, so that each of them had a chance to step in and enter the carousel ride.
Tess needed a little help, which Barnaby gave her, to get her foot into the stirrup and hoist herself up onto the horse. She chose the gray horse. It was dappled and it looked as if it could use a friend. William said the black one was his. Max navigated his way onto the brown horse.
William called out, “There’s four horses, Marie, come with us.”
She laughed, that funny laugh she had that sounded like a bell, and said, “Okay. I will.” She stepped onto the carousel, daintily picked up an edge of her flowy gray skirt, and, as if she really was a dancer, put her ballet slipper into the stirrup and hoisted herself up in one incredibly graceful move.
The music started. And that was startling, too. It was some British rock band. Tess caught some lyric about “Sailing away on a cloud in the dark of night . . .” She didn’t know who the band was. She had expected oom pah pah oom pah pah or something that one would hear at a normal carnival, and instead it was British hard rock and completely surprising. Or as Max would say, “Totally disruptive but in a good way.” Tess didn’t really understand how disruptive could be a good thing, but in this case she almost understood.
Max was smiling again as the carousel started to turn. It was the fourth time she’d seen him smile. She looked across the carousel at William and she smiled, too. It started slowly. Round and round. It wasn’t set up like a regular merry-go-round. It was as if the horses were all on separate tracks. So, as the merry-go-round began to spin faster, the horses seemed to race one another. Tess was in the lead. Now, it was going faster still.
It was going so fast, she shut her eyes for a moment. And when she opened them . . . The horses were real, at least hers and William’s were no longer the wooden version on the carousel. She and William were riding across a meadow, the two horses, the gray one and the black one, running side by side, their gaits perfectly in step. Tess could hear the sound of their hoofbeats and their breath, exactly in sync with one another, as if the horses were trained to run this way, as if they were part of a funny charge across the moors. A gallop, no, something faster than that. A canter? She couldn’t remember if that was faster or slower. No, a gallop, a race, except they weren’t racing with each other, they were just riding side-by-side. Smoothly, almost as if they were flying, each secure in their saddle as if there was no chance of either of them falling off. William reached out to take her hand, and as their fingers touched, the horses seemed to run even faster, as if there was an electric current fueling them on. The horses were running so quickly, the landscape around them seemed almost a blur. Up ahead, Tess noticed a hedge off to the right.
She loved to ride. She couldn’t help it. She let go of his hand and put both of hers on the reins. She jerked the reins just enough to steer her horse to the right, hold on, hold on, she couldn’t resist it. That extraordinary feeling of being one with the horse, that felt a lot like flying, as the horse artfully jumped the hedge and landed perfectly on the other side.
Her horse slowed and came to a stop. She looked behind her to see where William was, as she assumed he would have followed her. But there was no sign of him.
The meadow seemed to have ended. There were no houses on the hillside, nothing, no trees, no doves. No grass. There was just dirt below her horse’s hooves and nothing in the distance—just dirt and more dirt, as if she’d happened on a construction site where the owners hadn’t yet begun the job. That was it. That was the only logical explanation. There was no grass, not even weeds.
Her heart was beating faster now, or still beating quickly from the ride. And she was frightened. Had she not been supposed to jump the hedge? Had William seen her do it? Was she lost?
She waited for what seemed like the longest time and all she heard was silence. There was only one possible solution she could think of. If you get lost, retrace your steps. That was something her dad had taught them when they were little. “If you get lost, retrace your steps. Go back to somewhere where someone can find you . . . if you can.” He always added that part, if you can.
And if you can’t—she didn’t even want to think about that.
She laid her head down on the horse’s neck. “I think I’ll name you. I name you Sir—” she hesitated “—Sir Baldemare.” She leaned down and stroked his mane, and whispered in the horse’s ear again, “And I anoint you my knight.” They were in this together, she and Sir Baldemare, and together they would escape.
She gently tugged the reins, turning the horse around. The horse was well-trained. And, at the moment, she felt that he was hers. He was her Knight and she was his Lady and together they would succeed. She whispered into the horse’s ear, “Can we do it again? Can we go back where we were?”
It seemed to take the longest time. It was at least a mile, a mile of nothingness, the sky pale blue, almost as if it had no color, the absolutely flat landscape with no trace of green, until she saw the faintest speck of forest-green in the distance. She nudged the horse with her heels to make him go faster and finally saw the wall of green. She was right up against it. It was much taller than she remembered. She was somewhat surprised she’d been able to clear it before. And then she remembered something else her father had told her. “Don’t ever doubt yourself.” And at the same time he’d added, “But don’t be fearless either.” And then her dad had gone on to explain, “If you’re frightened of something, figure out why. Don’t be afraid to take a moment to assess the situation.” At the time it had seemed to Tess like a completely useless life lesson—preposterous to think that she would ever follow in his war reporter footsteps and intentionally put herself in danger—but at this very moment, it seemed like a valuable thing to know: take a moment to assess the situation.
She realized there wasn’t enough distance between her and the hedge. She was worried and rightly so that her horse, her knight, Sir Baldemare, might not be able to gather enough speed to jump high enough to clear the hedge. The only choice was to travel farther away again to give him more room to run . . . She was frightened to ride farther away. She realized she’d never been anywhere so desolate before. She heard her father’s voice in her head: Don’t ever doubt yourself.
There wasn’t any choice. She turned Sir Baldemare around and rode back 200 yards. She turned him round again and they were facing the hedge in the distance. She leaned in and whispered to him again, “We have to go home.”
She kicked him, not tentatively or randomly, a clear decisive command, as she leaned her body into his, whispering again, as she laid her head onto his neck,
“We have to go home.”
He started to run, then race, then cleared the hedge as artfully as he had done before.
She shut her eyes the moment he started to jump.
And when she opened them . . .
• • •
She was back on the moors, riding neck and neck with William, back the way they’d come, so quickly the landscape was a blur beside them. She shut her eyes again and Sir Baldemare seemed to slow his gait, and when she opened them, they were back on the carousel. The horses had returned to their wooden form, racing one another on the track, Sir Baldemare still in the lead, the rock song blaring in the background. As the merry-go-round slowed to a halt, the music stopped, almost as if it was cued to end, the way a music box does the moment it stops spinning.
William held his head up high as he dismounted.
Max looked a bit dizzy but Max couldn’t even ride in the front seat of a car without getting carsick. He had to be helped down by Barnaby.
Marie’s hair was falling, her face truly framed by golden curls. She looked like she’d stepped out of a painting as she artfully swung her left leg over her right and landed as if she’d done an entrechat, an antic dance move where you cross your feet twice before you land.
Tess, trying to slow her heartbeat, put her head down on Sir Baldemare’s neck, then proudly dismounted. She was the last to exit the turnstile. And as she did, Barnaby said to her, under his breath, “I thought we’d lost you there for a minute.”
Tess smiled at him and said, “I’m not that easy to lose.”
Barnaby tipped his gardener’s cap to her and said, “I can see that, M’Lady.”