Marshall nodded and shrugged off his backpack, then sat down, leaning against the trunk of one of the pines. He rummaged in his pack, then withdrew a canteen, which he offered to Mayberry.
Mayberry unscrewed the silver cap and took a few deep gulps. “That’s better,” she said, handing it back to Marshall.
He rested his head against the tree, enjoying the moment. He wasn’t that accomplished of an outdoorsman, but at least he’d packed well enough to make himself seem a little experienced.
He took a swig from the canteen and rose, then extended a hand to Mayberry. “Ready?”
She grabbed his hand and allowed him to haul her up, then held out both arms and arched her back. “Ready.”
CHAPTER 11
FOR A WHILE all the trees they hiked through were evergreens. It seemed like an eternity before they crossed into the aspen grove. There, the tree trunks were tall, slender, and as graceful as the legs of a thousand ballerinas. The leaves were every shade of yellow and gold, and the slightest breeze set them flashing in the sunlight. They stretched for acres and acres, without any other tree species mixed in. Mayberry had seen groves of aspens changing color during road trips with her parents along the coastline of New England, but the sight of so many bunched close together was breathtaking. Trespassing or no, she couldn’t wait to tell her mother.
Marshall looked around. “So this is it. The famous Mystery Forest. I can’t believe I’ve never been here before. These aspen trees are cool, but I thought once we got here they would be . . . I don’t know, spookier or something. Are these the quaking kind?”
She peered carefully at the trees around them. They might be quaking aspens. “We’ll take some samples, and I’ll check them when I get home. Break off little branches here and there, and stick them in your backpack.”
“No problem. I don’t even have to break them,” he said pulling off his backpack. He swung it around, dug into the front pocket, and flashed a Swiss Army knife, then flicked out its serrated blade.
Her mom believed that breaking or cutting branches was a huge no-no. To ensure she didn’t harm the trees, she used a sterilized micro core-borer to take samples. Mayberry would eventually have to come up with a rational explanation for how she happened to get the samples from the protected forest, but that was tomorrow’s problem.
“Let’s keep going,” Mayberry said, acknowledging the knife with a conspiratorial smile. “We didn't see the Wishing Tree on my mom’s satellite maps. So how do we find the center of the forest?”
“We use this,” Marshall said, pulling the GPS unit from the backpack and pressing a green button on its side. While it booted up, he passed her a crinkled bag of M&M’s.
“With a grove this dense, it’s easy to get lost. This GPS unit is the best in its class—even better since I modified it last night. It’s got super-fast satellite acquisition, a screen you can read in daylight or pitch-darkness, three hundred thousand preprogrammed waypoints, and batteries that last for two weeks. I downloaded the satellite photo from Google Earth and laid an electronic grid over it, so it should be able to plot the fastest route to the center waypoint. All we have to do is follow the path it calculates. Simple.”
“That’s amazing,” she said, shaking her head in wonder and a bit taken aback that he had gone to all that trouble for her. Whether they found the tree or not, this trip was turning out better than she’d expected.
“Look, if we get lost using this, I’ll . . . well, I don’t know. I’ll eat a caterpillar. Or whatever kind of bug we can find.”
“If we get lost while using that thing, I’ll be too busy laughing to watch you eat the caterpillar.”
“Trust me,” he said with a Cheshire cat grin. “Just trust me.”
Seconds after he turned it on, the GPS’s screen started scrolling through random maps, its waypoints indicating they were in Siberia, then the Gobi Desert, then Ashland, Kansas. Finally it let out a defeated whine and powered itself off.
Marshall’s eyes bulged while Mayberry shrieked with laughter.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “This was working perfectly last night.”
He checked the batteries, then rebooted the unit. The machine hummed as it turned on, then began flipping through maps again.
“Marshall, you should shut that thing off before it gives us seizures,” Mayberry said with a smirk.
With a final shake of his head, Marshall removed the battery pack, closed the cover, and stuffed the device into his backpack. He pulled his blue baseball cap off with one hand and scratched the back of his head with the other. Then he whipped out his cell phone. The screen flashed, then went dark. The same thing happened when Mayberry tried hers.
“It’s like we’re in a technological black hole,” Marshall said. “Finding out why should be your mother’s research project.”
Mayberry laughed. “No kidding. In the meantime, I’ll start looking for your caterpillar. The M&M’s can be just for me.”
“Hilarious.” He tilted his head back and looked up at the pine trees, and the cool blue sky peeking around them.
“Let’s start walking,” Mayberry said. “If we keep the sun at our backs, we’ll find the center eventually. This grove can’t be that big.”
CHAPTER 12
TIME SEEMED TO SLOW while they walked through the aspen grove. After ten or fifteen yards, the trees formed an impenetrable wall that seemed to go on forever. No wonder casual hikers weren’t allowed in.
After a while, the aspens’ trunks were bunched so close that their branches interlaced overhead in a tangled mass that shut out more and more sunlight. It had become impossible to tell which way they were going. The trunks were getting thicker too, and more gnarled. Did some of the folds, knots, and markings on them vaguely resemble grimacing faces? No. Of course not.
Mayberry thought some of the branches seemed to be waving at her in the wind, greeting her like they did in the fairy tales about magic forests she’d read as a child.
Marshall, who was walking a few feet to her left, pointed to the ground. “Check this out. I think it’s another trail.”
Whether humans or animals had scraped this faint path, Mayberry couldn’t tell, but it wound conveniently through the underbrush.
Moments later, something in her gut confirmed that they were getting closer to the center. She couldn’t explain why, but she just knew.
And then they were there. Facing them was an open clearing covered with leaves, with one humongous tree anchoring its center. Mayberry had seen pictures of ancient redwoods and giant sequoias, and this tree seemed to have as much or more girth but possibly less height. But its total mass, with all the giant limbs blasting skyward, seemed to be even bigger. She couldn’t even see its top through all the limbs and branches, so it appeared to stretch to the moon or the sun or beyond.
Marshall craned his neck, looking up, “Wow, look at the size of that mother.”
Wild giggles bubbled from Mayberry, and soon, both of them were doubled over, clutching their sides, their laughter way out of proportion to his comment.
“That . . .” she said, addressing the tree as she struggled to catch her breath, “that really is a big mother, isn’t it? It’s weird that we didn’t see it while we were walking this way.”
They sat down under the shade of the giant tree. Mayberry couldn’t stop thinking about how there was something unique about this aspen, standing alone like—well, as Marshall said, a mother, a matriarch, surrounded by a clan of worshipful offspring who stayed at a respectful distance. Mayberry got up and strolled toward its trunk, reaching out to touch the smooth bark. Despite the chilly autumn air, an inexplicable warmth pulsed through her fingertips and deep into the rest of her body. She’d have sworn she could feel a faint beat under its bark. She watched Marshall walk up and place his hands next to hers on the trunk. His jaw dropped in wonder.
“Wha
t now?” Marshall asked in a low voice. “If there is a Wishing Tree, this is it.” He looked at Mayberry appraisingly. “Are we going to make a wish? Should we make one together?”
“Absolutely. But I have to warn you, wishes don’t usually come true for me,” she said, scooting away and flipping onto her back so that her head nestled in the base of the trunk. She stretched out her hands behind her and ran her fingers along the bark. Over her head, its branches bobbed and weaved in the breeze.
Marshall snickered, then mirrored her position, resting his head close to hers. “They never come true for me either. But we’re here, so we have to do it.”
Mayberry turned to him. His brown eyes had little flecks of amber that she’d never noticed before. She ducked her head back down.
“So what do you want to wish for?”
“I don’t know,” he said pensively. “A lot of money, I guess.”
Mayberry looked at the branches above her and sighed. “Money is useful, and I get why you want it, but it definitely doesn’t make you happy. Your family used to have a lot of it, and your life isn’t so great right now because of it, you know? Anything else you can think of?”
“Maybe we should ask to go on an amazing voyage,” Marshall said with a laugh. “Like a Star Trek trip: we could go to an alien world, but a world where humans can live without space suits.”
“Ha! That would be awesome,” Mayberry said. “Okay, I’ve got one. Everything you asked for, plus we can do magic.”
“Magic?” Marshall said, turning to give her a quizzical look.
“Sure,” Mayberry said, fiddling with the zipper on her vest. “Like Harry Potter.”
“Fine,” he said, grinning. “We can use our magic to help people and be, like, superheroes. Okay, close your eyes and focus on our wish.”
Mayberry closed her eyes, then reached out and clasped Marshall’s hand.
Mayberry focused and focused, and it turned out that thinking about her wishes was sort of like meditating. It was still early in the morning, but she started drifting off to sleep. Her hand released Marshall’s and dropped to the forest floor. She half opened her eyes and saw that Marshall was already asleep. The last thing she glimpsed, as her eyelids closed, was a cascade of leaves whirling down from the tree, like handfuls of golden feathers.
CHAPTER 13
MAYBERRY GRADUALLY WOKE UP and opened her eyes. Marshall was still sleeping beside her. She groaned a little and rolled awkwardly to her knees, then used her hands to push against the Wishing Tree’s trunk and get to her feet. Marshall, sensing her movement, blinked and rose up on his elbows. The shape of an aspen leaf was imprinted in dirt on his right cheek.
“We fell asleep,” she said, stating the obvious, then tilting her head to look up at the Tree.
“Yeah we did. Let’s go. I don’t know how long we slept, and we don’t want to be caught in here after dark.” He took a step, then stopped. “Wait a minute. Is it hot?”
“It is hot,” she said, eyes widening. “Sort of humid, too.”
He turned in a slow circle. “I think we came from that way,” he said, pointing to a patch of aspens that looked exactly like every other patch. “Maybe.”
She peered in the direction he’d pointed, trying to spot the trail or anything familiar. “This is crazy. I really wish your GPS worked.”
Marshall nodded. “Let’s just go. We know we’re in the center of the grove, so any direction will take us out of the forest eventually, and then we can circle around to the bikes.”
She started walking into the aspens, and he fell in step behind her.
After a short while, they exited the grove, but instead of coming to the border of evergreens, they emerged at the edge of a field of tall green grass. It was chest-high on Marshall and nearly reached Mayberry’s chin.
The air was much warmer—it felt almost like summer. Plus she felt . . . lighter now, as though moving her limbs took less effort. The dense grass smelled like cloves and moss mixed with tart lemon.
Mayberry paused while Marshall tried his GPS again, and then his phone. Neither device worked. Mayberry started thinking about all those lost hikers. Where had they ended up?
Marshall finally spoke. “Look, something is really wrong. It’s way too hot for an autumn day, and I have never seen grass this tall anywhere in Minnesota.”
“Chill, Marshall,” Mayberry said. “The temperature swing isn’t that crazy, and this field is probably buffalo grass. It used to cover the whole Midwest, and settlers talked about how it grew as high as a horse’s belly. The Forest Service must be preserving this patch, which is probably the real reason you need a permit.”
She could tell by the look on Marshall’s face that he wasn’t buying her answer, but she didn’t care. Negativity wasn’t going to get them back to the bikes. She plunged into the grass, and they waded through it together.
“If we keep the aspen grove on our right, we’ve got to find the other meadow sooner or later,” she said confidently.
“I guess,” Marshall said, frowning and hitching up his jeans.
They’d been walking for a few more minutes when he grabbed her arm. “Hey, did it rain while we were sleeping?”
Mayberry quirked her mouth and rolled her eyes a little. “I doubt it. We’re not wet, and neither is the ground. Why?”
“Because there’s a rainbow,” he said, pointing up at the sky.
Marshall was right. Brilliant ribbons of color arched across the clear blue sky. Something was off about it, though. Mayberry stared for a minute, then realized that the colors weren’t layered in the right positions. She looked down at the grass, then back up again. Now it seemed like the colors had shifted.
“It’s gorgeous,” she said. “But strange. Are the colors changing?”
Marshall and Mayberry kept their eyes on the rainbow, which was clearly moving now, coming toward them, floating across the sky like a Chinese dragon kite, coming closer and closer until it was right over their heads. Shocked, Mayberry grasped Marshall’s shoulder just as the rainbow burst like a supernova, breaking into thousands of smaller pieces that formed a V shape and sped away. They gaped in astonishment.
“They’re birds,” she cried gleefully. “I can’t believe that just happened. Where the hell are we?” She breathed hard and turned to Marshall. “Do you think it worked? Our wish?”
Marshall squeezed his eyes tight for a second, and when he opened them, Mayberry was still there, and they were still in the meadow, and delicate bits of rainbow-colored plumage floated down on their heads and shoulders.
“Maybe. Or we’re still dreaming. Let’s just keep trying to find a way back to the bikes.”
“Oh my God, look at this,” Mayberry said, pushing through the grass toward a foot-long feather, delicate as gossamer, clinging to a blade of grass. Its colors were as iridescent as those on a butterfly wing; the green of fresh mint, the aqua of the Caribbean sea, the dark blue of the sky just before sunset, and more—all in something barely twice as long as her hand. She plucked it from the grass, turning it over in her fingers. A burst of pleasant electric energy jolted her.
“Aah,” she gasped involuntarily.
“What?”
“Nothing bad. I touched a feather, and it gave me a little tingly shock.” She handed the feather over to Marshall as power prickled through her. She was energized—so energized she felt like she had to move. She leaped away and started running straight into the grassy meadow.
“Mayberry!” Marshall yelled at her retreating back. “What are you doing? Stop.”
“I’m just going,” she shouted back over her shoulder.
Overflowing with energy, Mayberry was able to run faster and jump higher than she ever had before. Her sneakers drummed the hard-packed earth as she tore through the thick grass that had slowed her passage just moments before. She heard Marshall’s voice in the bac
kground shouting for her to stop, but her pace left him farther and farther behind, and everything around her was a blur. Then she heard him racing up behind her with his long legs scissoring rapidly through the grass, moving even faster than she was. When he finally caught up, he tapped her lightly on the shoulder with the feather and smiled as he raced by.
She dug deep and came back with a burst of speed, getting close enough to return Marshall’s tap. They sprinted side by side for a few more yards. When they finally tumbled onto the grass, they were both panting, which soon turned into giddy laughter that made their sides ache.
This was becoming one of Mayberry’s favorite days ever.
CHAPTER 14
AFTER CATCHING HIS BREATH, Marshall looked around and tried to get his bearings. The aspen grove was now way behind them; their energetic run had carried them farther than he’d have thought possible. Thankfully, he could still make out the faint flash of gold leaves in the distance.
“All right,” he said, reaching out to tug down the zipper on Mayberry’s winter vest. “We should keep heading in this direction—the plan is still to double back to the bikes, right?” Now that the adrenaline rush was fading, he had an uneasy feeling that they were in danger, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
“Right,” Mayberry agreed. As they started getting up, a soft chuffing sound came from somewhere near them. She jumped back. “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” he said, swallowing an equal mixture of surprise and concern. “Maybe a deer or something? There are bears in these woods, too.”
The chuffing sounded again, followed by a sound that was similar, but with a higher pitch. There were more than one of whatever was out there.
“Let’s look,” said Mayberry.
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