by Amy Ephron
~ CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ~
strange things happen when there’s a blood moon
As they entered the garden, the full moon was rising to the east just above the hedge of hawthorn trees. It was so bright that the remnant of white flowers seemed to glisten as if they were backlit or the tree had tiny sparkly lights. Chinese lanterns hung from the white birch trees, further illuminating the garden with a soft glow. The sky wasn’t quite dark yet and there was just a hint of stars to come.
There was a picnic table covered with a white lace tablecloth and decked out with an overabundance of sweets. Home-made truffles, what their mother would call “a multitude of pies”—cherry, apple, peach—a splendid ginger cake dusted in powdered sugar, and a leather suitcase that held an insane assortment of teas.
But Barnaby suggested they go into the sculpture garden.
“I know Missy wanted to see it,” he said. “Let’s give them a tour, Marie.” He winked at Marie as if he had a secret of his own.
Against the night sky, which now had darkened, and the reflection of the moon, the white marble of the statues seemed to glisten, too, the gods and goddesses carved in such a life-like fashion, they seemed to have powers of their own. Tess’s favorite was Athena, the Goddess of Knowledge. There were dark blue sapphires set into her eyes that made her seem even more life-like, her eyes, intelligent and piercing. Tess resisted the impulse to try to have a conversation with her.
“Rumor is, they talk to each other when there’s a full moon,” said Barnaby.
“Barnaby, stop it,” said Marie. “Stop making things up. They’re probably frightened enough with you as their tour guide.”
Tess was surprised Marie talked to Barnaby that way.
But Barnaby came right back at her. “They know I’m their biggest defender.”
“Whose? The gods or the children?” asked Marie.
“Well, I guess both of ’em,” said Barnaby. “Sometimes when we were at sea, we used to pray to Poseidon to guide us when there wasn’t a moon or the stars to tell direction from. That wouldn’t be the case tonight,” he added, pointing up to the stars.
“Just to the north of the Big Dipper,” said Barnaby, “is the North Star. The North Star is due north,” he added, pointing to the North Star. “So, that way,” he gestured behind him, “would be south, and that way,” he threw his arm out to the right, “would be east. And that way,” he threw his left arm out to the left, “would be west.” Tess had to resist the impulse to giggle.
“And that’s, also, my impersonation of a compass,” said Barnaby, just to prove he had a sense of humor, too.
The statue of Poseidon was in the middle of the fountain, holding a trident that seemed to be painted gold or else it was real gold. The tips of the prongs were almost red, as if lightning could come out of them. Tess realized she was letting her imagination run away with her again.
But then, Athena’s eyes seemed to glisten and throw off blue sparks, and Barnaby pointed to the sky. “That there’s the Pleiades,” he said, pointing to the seven-star constellation, “the seven stars. The Seven Sisters.”
The moon had risen higher in the sky, casting an even brighter glow. In the sculpture garden, Athena’s eyes turned a darker blue, the sapphires seemed to sparkle and then shot out sparks. The blue sparks turned to beams, almost like lasers, shooting straight up directly to the sky.
Poseidon’s trident turned a brighter red and threw off three golden rays that also shot directly toward the stars.
The yellow rays and blue rays criss-crossed as they raced at rocket speed. Their color changing, so at times it seemed as if they were the entire color spectrum, a light show in the night, red, blue, purple, yellow, green, white, bright white, lighting the sky like an explosion. The beams of light raced toward the stars, with clear direction, straight for the constellation of the Pleiades. The Seven Sisters.
The Pleiades were bathed in a blue and orange glow that turned to purple, setting them off from the other stars as if there was a spotlight on them and they were onstage.
“That there’s Maia,” said Barnaby, pointing to one of the seven stars, “the oldest sister. Watch ’er take the lead.”
It was as if there was a giant flashlight blazing on the stars, almost a telescopic view of the one constellation. And in return, the stars of the Pleiades themselves sparkled brightly and seemed to take the shape of young girls or ballerinas.
At the same time, Tess felt as if she, too, were bathed in light. She looked down and she was wearing a strangely flowy costume, in muted colors of pink and beige, panels of silk and chiffon at the skirt, so that her legs could poke through, as if she were dressed like a ballerina or a fairy. There was a spotlight all around her and the light felt like a pathway to the stars.
Tess watched as, led by the oldest sister Maia, the stars in the shape of young girls now seemed to break into a dance, as Barnaby had predicted.
And then she watched as the bright light that enclosed her became a straight chute up to the stars and she felt herself lifted, as if by invisible strings, and she danced onto the night sky and took Maia’s place on the line. She led them, the other stars in the shape of sprite-like spirited ballerinas, faster, as if they were nymphs, dancing, twirling, the panels of their skirts like ribbons in the sky, each glissade, each entrechat, each jump, leaving stardust in its wake, like a synchronized display of lights, or sparkles from a fairy’s wand. And there was music, the lightest music in the world, flute music, or was it coming from a high-pitched keyboard, with the accompaniment of a harp, melodic, with sharp bells instead of a rhythm base. And then it was silent and the girls changed back to their star-like form and returned silently to their original constellation, as Tess stared up at them and wondered if she’d ever left the ground at all.
William’s response was cryptic and difficult to interpret. “Impressive,” he said, just that one word.
Tess looked at Max to see if he had seen it, too. “Wow,” said Max, another one-word response, which didn’t really answer her question either . . .
“Strange things happen,” said Barnaby, “when there’s a blue moon.”
As they walked back to the garden, Tess said to Max, under her breath, “Logical explanation?”
“High-tech fireworks display,” he answered. But it sounded more like a question than an answer . . .
Tess was too afraid to ask the real question. Had Max seen her dancing, too?
She looked down and she was wearing a white blouse, a black pencil skirt, no dance costume at all. But when she took a step, she saw just a trace of something that looked like white sparkles or stardust, glancing off the heel of her black suede lace-up boot, leaving a slight glittery trail behind her. Or else, she’d just been staring at the stars too long.
~ CHAPTER NINETEEN ~
the rules of the game
There was another surprise waiting for them in the garden. Set up on the lawn was the funniest version of a miniature golf game, well, sort of a miniature golf game. There was a miniature of the castle gates, and then a drawbridge, a funny facade of the castle itself and an entrance to the castle, a hallway to the conservatory, a miniature of the backyard, including a miniature pond with papier-mâché swans and frogs on lily pads. There were four mallets painted with barber-pole swirls of color on them, one red, one blue, one purple, one green, and matching balls that were absolutely round, more like billiard balls than golf balls.
“I always play the blue,” said William, “is that okay?”
“I’ll take the red,” said Max.
“Excellent,” said Tess. “I want the purple. But first, I want some ginger cake.”
Tess had a theory about competitive sports and psyching out your opponents. But first you had to size up your opponents. Rule one: Make them feel as if you’re in command. Hence the ginger cake demand. Her timing. Her rules. It was a ridiculous theory. Ev
en she realized that. But it might be the only advantage she had. She was good at soccer, not bad at paddle tennis, and pretty much unskilled at golf. She’d never even been on a real golf course.
She hated to lose though. Tess realized her dad was right and William had already busted her on it, too—she was really competitive.
“Marie, do you want to play, too?” asked William. “There’s an extra mallet.” He called it a mallet, not a club, but it did look more like a mallet.
“No,” said Marie, “I’ll sit this one out. You three go ahead.”
“I’ll be umpeer,” said Barnaby. He meant to say umpire, but his accent mangled it and Tess and William and Max all started laughing.
“It is not smart,” said Barnaby, “to laugh at the umpeer!”
Barnaby put a helmet on but didn’t put the face guard down, so now he looked like a weird auto mechanic or an inventor, which caused Max and Tess to start to laugh again.
“I’m sorry,” said Tess. “I’m really sorry.” She did not want the umpeer to be mad at her!
“What are the rules?” asked Max.
“We don’t play the way other people do,” said William.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” said Tess.
William smiled at her. It was one of the things she liked about him. She could say something terrible or caustic, and he wasn’t ever mad at her. He got the joke. It was nice to have friends who understood you, didn’t think you were being rude just because you were forthright. It was nice to have friends who liked you.
“When one person clears a hurdle,” William went on to explain, “everyone moves ahead. But only the person who cleared the hurdle gets the point. It’s more fun to stay together. You get three balls, so, if you knock one into the water under the drawbridge or something else happens”—he exchanged a pointed look with Barnaby—“you still have two balls to go. If you run out of balls, you’re out. And at the end of the game, whoever has the most points wins.”
“What if there’s a tie?” Max asked.
“Huh,” said William, “not sure. Never happened. Does everyone understand the rules?”
“Of course,” said Max, who probably did. Tess wasn’t sure she understood, but she had a plan.
“Who wants to go first?” asked William. “Max?”
“No.”
“Tess?”
“No. I want to go last.” That was her plan. She figured she’d get in a little learning time if she went last.
They each had their own tee stand, color-coded to match their ball and their mallet. William set his into the ground at the starting line about twenty feet from the gate. He carefully placed his ball down on the center of it.
“Umpeer,” he said.
Barnaby announced that the first hurdle would be cleared when somebody hit the bell. “When ya ring the bell, the gates’ll open and we’ll all move on to the second hole.”
“Hit the rope cord, you mean?” asked Max.
“Something like that,” said Barnaby, “although it’s not quite that simple. Y’have to hit it in exactly the right place.”
Barnaby smiled and put his face guard down.
“What’s the face guard for?” asked Max.
Barnaby lifted it up to answer. “In case a ball goes haywire,” he said. “You never know.” He put his face guard down again.
Marie blew three notes into a flute, signifying that the game had begun.
~ CHAPTER TWENTY ~
the dangers of staring directly at the moon
Definitely an unfair advantage,” said Max to William. “I mean, you’ve played before. You know where the right place is.”
This wasn’t starting well.
Tess thought back to how it all began a week ago, when Max had thrown the Monopoly game at her. She wondered what the equivalent of throwing a Monopoly board was in miniature golf . . . ?
William gave Max a dirty look even though he had to admit it was true—he did have an unfair advantage.
But Tess smiled, as Max was doing exactly what she wanted—rattling William so hopefully his concentration was off and, in the process, probably rattling himself, as well.
William swung his mallet back and took a swing, stopping a half an inch away from the ball. He swung back again. And once again stopped his mallet a half an inch away from the ball. He swung his mallet again and hit the ball up too high, straight towards the top of the gate cord. He must’ve put some English on it as, just as it was about to hit, it made a slight right turn and dinged right into the gate itself. There was the most amazing noise when it hit—sort of metallic but a lot like a TV quiz show when someone gets the wrong answer. The noise seemed to echo across the moors, bouncing back and echoing again. Tess took it as a wake-up call. Focus.
Max was next. He placed his red ball on the tee. No hesitation, perfect swing, the crack of the ball going straight for the golden bell cord and hitting with precision right in the center. Weirdly, there was silence. No bells went off. The cord itself barely swayed.
“Foul!” cried Max, looking pleadingly at Barnaby.
Barnaby lifted his face mask up. “No. You have to hit it in exactly the right place.”
Max puffed his cheeks out, which is what he did when he was frustrated. He reminded Tess of a little dog. Sometimes he’d scrape his foot on the ground, too, but he didn’t do that this time.
“It’s okay, Max. It’s your first shot,” said Marie. “And you hit exactly where you aimed. It was excellent.” Tess loved the way Marie said excellent, her French accent sort of sneaked through. “You just don’t know the trick yet.”
Max nodded. He knew Marie was right. And he had hit it exactly where he’d aimed. He wondered if he’d hit it harder if it would’ve worked. But he hadn’t lost his ball. Almost magically, it had rolled right back to him.
It was Tess’s turn. She studied the castle gate intently. Something about the word trick had given her an idea. She remembered something she’d seen when they’d come in, the dark old-fashioned bell at the top of the rope cord. Impossible to see in miniature. Or was it? She reached down to her boot, as if she had an itch, and touched the skeleton key that was hiding there. She kept her eyes on the gate the whole time, studying every aspect of it. And just at the top, very faintly, at the top of the rope cord, was a tiny glimmer of gold that seemed to be in the shape of a miniature bell . . . Now, the trick was to actually hit it. She wondered if it was cheating . . . But her dad always said, “In games and in life, take advantage of what you have.” Her dad hated to lose as much as she did. And as evidenced by Max’s throwing of the Monopoly board a few days before, it might be something that ran in the family.
Her father had also taught her a bit about aim, as well. “The trick to aiming,” he’d said, “is to keep your eye on the target. Yeah, yeah, you have to watch the ball. But imagine there’s a line,” he said, “between your eye, your shoulder, and your hand, and your eye is on the target. It works,” he’d said. “It works much better than keeping your eye on the ball.” And, Tess reasoned, at least she knew where the target was. Or, as her dad would say, “Advantage, Tess.”
She took a practice swing, the way that William had, stopping her mallet about an inch away from the ball. Then she took another practice swing. She focused her eyes on the top of the rope cord. She swung again and hit a clear shot right to the gatepost, hitting the bottom of the bell exactly where she wanted. Sparks flew as the purple ball landed perfectly. And there was the sound of church-like bells, curiously accompanied by a distinctly punk rock drumbeat, as the gate flew wide open! Her ball bounced off the gate and landed on the other side, directly in front of the drawbridge! Score one for Tess.
“There’s another rule I didn’t tell you,” said William. “Whoever clears a hurdle keeps their turn. You’re still up, Tess.”
They were at the drawbridge. This should be easy. It
was just a straight shot across and up to the door of the castle.
“Pay attention, Missy,” Barnaby mumbled under his face guard. But she didn’t even hear him. She was feeling a little cocky. She swung and hit the ball perfectly. But as the ball started to cross the drawbridge, two silver fish, almost like dolphins, breached the water from the moat, as if they were going to kiss in mid-air, and one of them swallowed her ball.
“That’s not fair,” said Tess.
Barnaby lifted his face guard up. “I tried to warn ya, Missy, but you were feelin’ a little overconfident.
“One point for Tess. And one ball down for Tess,” said Barnaby in his best official umpire voice. He ceremoniously handed her a replacement ball. And then, as if he were making an announcement to a crowd, “Lord William’s up,” he said, “and not quite on the green.” Barnaby put his face guard down again.
“Are you a lord?” asked Tess.
“Not quite, I think, but I will be some day,” said William.
A Lord and a Third, thought Tess. Wow. She and Max exchanged a look. Tess wondered if they were playing out of their league.
Tess knew William would make this next point. He knew this course like the back of his hand. And, if there were any timing to the jumping of the shimmery silver fish, for sure he had it down. She folded her arms and stood on the sidelines. Sure enough, he cleared it in one shot, straight across the drawbridge and right up to the front door, where it careened against the family crest and opened that as well.
“Oh my goodness,” said Barnaby, emerging from his face mask again. “I guess we’d call that a two-fer.”
Both Tess and Max were feeling out-gamed. It’s not that much fun to compete if you don’t have a chance.
But William’s ball had landed in a very inconvenient place, right up against a miniature table leg and next to a wall. There was no way to swing the mallet and get a clean shot.