Mama turned around and patted Boone’s knee. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” She said it the same way she talks to us when we’re hurt or sick or sad.
Aunt Cleo wasn’t quite as comforting as Mama.
“Boone!” Cleo hollered. “Stop being so dramatic. Holly, don’t baby him. If he’s a real musician, then he’ll find a new song. A better song. It’s time to face the world again! Ain’t that right, girls?”
“Cleo’s right,” I said quietly. I patted his shoulder. “You’ll find a better song.”
Frannie Jo lifted her arms up toward heaven, like she was about to shout “Hallelujah.” “Felicity can help you! She catches poems for me! She sees words on people sometimes.”
I shook my head at Frannie Jo and tapped my finger against my lips. Shhhh. I didn’t want Boone to know about my word-collecting ability because I didn’t want him to think I was a freak.
“Is that right?” Boone turned around to look at me. I felt my cheeks go red, every freckle on the bridge of my nose tingling like a little lava drop.
Boone smiled. “Do you see any words hovering around me right now?”
I nodded. I definitely saw some words:
Regret
Has-Been
Idiot
Deadbeat
“Well?” Boone blinked at me. “What words do you see? Can I use them in a new song?” Boone had the same blue eyes as Mama and Frannie and Cleo. My eyes are a different color from theirs. I wonder if my eyes look as sad as theirs, though. I wonder if I see things the same as they do.
I know I see words they can’t see.
I wonder if I can see other things they can’t. Jonah can read a sad story in the newspaper and find a way to help somebody. I’d like to do that, too, see things better than they are.
“New beginning,” my voice crackled. “Those are your words: new beginning.” I didn’t make eye contact with Mama. She’d know it was a fib. And anyhow, I wasn’t lying, not exactly. I might not have seen those exact words sitting on my uncle’s shoulders, but they were still true words. They could be, at least.
“Yeah?” Boone’s cheek dimpled like he was about to smile at me. “New beginning?”
I nodded. “Your words are shaped like sparrows. They’re perched right on your shoulders.”
“Ain’t that something,” Boone said softly, like he was amazed by my skills.
Frannie Jo smiled back at me as if I was the coolest girl who ever lived. Someday she’ll probably stop looking at me that way, but I hope it’s not for a long time. Mama wasn’t looking at me. She had her face turned toward the light of the window. The sun was doing its best to shine on her, to warm up all the cold places down in her heart.
Aunt Cleo caught my eye in the rearview mirror, though. She winked at me. I winked back.
“New beginning,” Cleo drawled. “You heard it, Boone. Today’s your day for starting over.”
A smile stretched full and easy across Boone’s face. He sat up taller in his seat and nodded, just once. Affirmative. He believed me.
Craziest thing happened then:
Regret, Has-Been, Idiot, Deadbeat …
I watched every last one of those words pop like bath bubbles and disappear.
My heart kicked hard against me: Yes. Yes. Yes.
Maybe sometimes the words I say are as magical as the words I see.
“I used to be that way,” Boone said. He looked out the window, at Midnight Gulch blurring past us. But I knew he was talking to me. “When I was a kid, I could see things, too. Not words, like you see. But when somebody played a piano, I saw the notes like colors. It’s a hard thing to explain. But if somebody played C-sharp, I’d see purple. They’d play A-flat and I’d see yellow, and on and on. Same thing happened when I heard somebody play a guitar or a violin. Or a banjo.” He grinned. “Music notes looked like colors to me. That’s why I started playing, because it was like painting with no paintbrush. I learned to paint songs. Seemed as cool as any magic I’d heard of in Midnight Gulch.”
I propped my arms on the middle seat and rested my chin on my wrist. “Do you still see colors when you play?”
I’ve wondered if words will be harder to collect as I get older. I wonder if, someday, they’ll just become flat letters in books. I’d like to keep seeing words the way I do now, if I can, but there’s a chance they could disappear someday. There’s a chance they could disappear tomorrow.
“Sometimes I still see colors.” Boone glanced back at me. “When I’m playing my best, I still see colors.”
I sat back and smiled. Maybe I’d see my words forever, too. Maybe I could paint pictures with my stories someday. And if not, maybe an even better magic would find me.
That’s a wonderful word: maybe. I watched maybe stretch out, long and starry. The letter y looked as fiery as the tail of a comet; it looped around our shoulders, connecting us all together.
“Welcome to Snapdragon Pond, girls!” Cleo swerved the van into a gravel parking lot and stomped the brakes so hard I heard all of our seat belts catch. There were no other cars in the lot. As far as I could see, there was no water, either.
“Aunt Cleo,” I asked, “is Snapdragon Pond … made of rocks?”
Boone chuckled. “Pretty much.”
“Pond’s a short walk that way.” Cleo pointed to a path swirling into the woods. “Everybody grab a camping chair out of the back. Boone, you can carry the snack bag, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Boone saluted.
“Also,” Cleo said, “I brought us a box of wings.”
Frannie gasped.
Boone’s whole body went still. “A box of what?”
“Wings,” Cleo said louder. “Frannie Jo wanted to play fairy kingdom, so I made everybody their own pair of wings. Y’all strap on a pair of wings, grab a camping chair, and then we’ll walk to the pond.”
Frannie Jo was so excited that she started bouncing in the seat, fluttering her hands together.
Boone remained perfectly still. He seemed to be pondering the situation carefully. “Think I’ll wait here in the van.”
“Boone! It won’t kill you to have fun!” Cleo’s holler was persuasive. But it wasn’t Cleo’s hollering that melted Boone’s broken heart. It was my little sister.
“Boone.” Frannie said his name like a heartbeat, the same way Mama did. She twisted her hands together and shrugged her shoulders. “Is it a stupid game? Is that why you won’t play?”
“No! It’s not stupid!” Boone tried to smile at Frannie, but I could see the panic in his eyes. “Fairy kingdom …” he sighed. “It’s … an awesome game.”
Frannie stared at her lap and smoothed the fluffs of her yellow tutu. “But you won’t play?”
Mama raised an eyebrow at Boone, an I-dare-you smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Cleo slid out of the van and heaved open Boone’s door, holding out a pair of grown-up-size wings. The wings were made of wire and gauzy camouflage. I didn’t even know gauzy camouflage existed, but it looked so tough and pretty. I hoped Cleo made mine the same way.
Frannie Jo tapped Boone’s leg and smiled up at him. “I have a fake sword in my suitcase. You can be the fairy prince! I’ll be the princess.”
Boone nodded toward my aunt. “Is Cleo the wicked witch?”
Cleo narrowed her eyes. “I’m the Boss Fairy.”
“Obviously,” Boone sighed. He zipped his hoodie with one quick zrrrrrp. He reached for his wings. “Lead the way, Boss Fairy.”
I sat on the banks of Snapdragon Pond and freewrote. The grass was cool and prickly against my legs. The shadow of my gauzy-camouflage wings made pretty patterns on the page of my blue book.
“There’s my word collector.” Mama kneeled down beside me and tugged at my wings. “I hate to interrupt, but will you come with me? There’s a place near here I’d love to show you.”
The way Mama’s eyes sparkled gave me reason enough to tuck the book carefully into my backpack. Mama grabbed my hand and pulled me up tall.
“Hey,
Boone,” Mama said, as she slid her thin arms out of her wings. “I want to show Felicity something. Keep an eye on Frannie?”
Boone still had his wings on over his hoodie. He and Frannie looked like thieving fairies, rummaging through Cleo’s snack bag. Cleo was asleep in one of the camping chairs, her feet propped up on a red cooler, her wings pressed sideways and flat behind her. Boone gave Mama a thumbs-up.
Mama helped me shrug out of my wings. Then she winked and said, “Follow me.” She was using her story voice now. I’d follow that voice anywhere.
Mama clutched my hand tightly in hers and we took off in a run. We ran along the shore of Snapdragon Pond, down the hill, and into the woods. Mama didn’t trip or stumble, not even when the ground was covered with moss and brambles. Because I was holding her hand, I didn’t trip, either. Twigs made pop-snip-snap sounds underneath the weight of our shoes.
Patches of sunshine streamed down through the forest canopy, falling over us in sudden waterfalls of light. I watched leaves twirl down from the high places. Words came twirling toward us, too:
Becoming
Unfurling
Bloom up
Bright and fine
Mama pulled me along behind her. Occasionally, she’d glance back, her blond hair swinging across her face, and yell, “You okay, June Bug?”
I nodded. I was breathless and happy. I was better than okay.
Mama slowed down to help me navigate a steep incline. We both laughed when my sneaker made a funny FWOP sound as it came down in a clump of mud. Finally, we walked into the shady grove of the tall trees. The shady trees were different from the pine trees; they had long, tangly limbs and thick trunks. They were connected together by strong roots and long shadows. Mama pointed at the tallest tree, the extra-leafy one. “Feel like climbing?”
The truth is that I’ve never cared anything about sports. In PE, I do my best to get hit with the dodgeball on the first throw so I can sit out and read instead of play. I’d rather eat a hot dog at a baseball game than play baseball. I’d rather paint a soccer ball than kick one. I don’t mind running, but only if I’m running toward something wonderful. I don’t see the point in running away from anything, ever. But tree climbing is different. Tree climbing is natural and easy and I’m pretty sure I could climb for hours and never get tired. Mama says it’s the mountain girl in me. She says mountain girls climb trees and fences and anything else that gets us closer to the stars.
I reached up for the thick, low limb, gripping the scratchy bark tightly between my hands. Mama gave me a boost and I swung my legs up, too. I found my footing, easy. Soon, I heard her climbing up behind me. Together, we made our way up through the limbs.
“How far can I climb?” I breathed. Because with the mountain wind in my lungs and the sun shining down on me, I felt like I could climb to infinity. I could climb past the clouds, to the place where Jack found the giant’s castle. I could climb to the prickliest star in the sky and scratch its back. I could climb past that even, all the way to heaven, and give God a high five for bringing my family together. I could climb to eternity. I could climb to forever.
“That’s far enough,” Mama said. She sounded like her breath was running out. When I looked back at her, her face was a pretty pink color. I steadied my feet and leaned back into the strong branches, reaching for Mama so she could take my hand and come up beside me. She nestled in against me, shoulder to shoulder. I was glad Mama had only brought me. Whenever Frannie Jo climbs a tree, she’ll curl up like a cat on one of the branches and start screeching until I get her down.
“This is the forest that surrounds Midnight Gulch,” Mama breathed. “Keeps the town secret from the rest of the world. Remember me telling you that story?”
I nodded.
“When I was a little girl, I used to play in these woods. This tree was my favorite place to climb. I’d climb as high in these branches as I could go, just so I could see that …”
Mama pointed to the tall mountains rippling against the sky, circling us.
“I like the mountains, too,” I said. “From up here, I feel like they’re hugging me.”
Mama smiled. “I’m not talking about the mountains. I never loved them the way you do. I always felt like they hemmed me in.”
Hemmed mountains made me think of Aunt Cleo’s words:
Patch it
Mend it
Stitch it back together
“Look closer.” Mama leaned her scrawny arm across me and pointed. The friendship bracelet I’d made her last summer was still tied to her wrist, barely a bundle of frays now. I’d made one for Frannie Jo, too, three strands for the three of us. “You see that little spark of silver out there on that mountain? If you keep watching, you’ll see another flash of light soon. Look closely.”
“I see it!” I saw lots of it, actually, flickers in a steady vertical line down the mountain.
“Those are cars.” Mama smiled. “That’s the interstate winding down the mountain. Isn’t that exciting? When I was a girl, I used to sit up here and dream about where those people were going. Every flash of light up there is a new adventure. I couldn’t wait to have an adventure of my own.”
My heart sank down into the vicinity of my sneakers. Mama was always thinking of going. Never staying put.
Stop settling in here, I told my heart. Because it didn’t matter if I bought us two more weeks of time or another month, even. Having extra time here would only make it harder when we finally left. And Pickles always leave. Soon enough, there’d be a new town. A new first day of school. A new cafeteria where apples tasted like sand and LONELY creepy-crawled all across the tables and wedged itself in all my books.
I managed to whisper a question I’d been wondering about for a while. “Do you drive sometimes when I’m in school? During the day, before you go to your shift at work, do you go drive around that mountain?”
Mama nodded. “Sometimes. You know how I am.”
I didn’t want my next words to come out, but they did anyway. They were wild words. I couldn’t control them. “You won’t ever drive away without me, will you?”
“Felicity,” Mama sighed. I cringed at the hurt in her voice. “I’d never do that. Look at me.”
Her face was still beautiful, even blurred through the tears I was trying not to cry.
“I won’t go anywhere without you,” she promised.
I asked, “Why did you hate it here so much?”
“I don’t hate it,” Mama said, staring down at her bracelet again. She picked at one of the frays. That bracelet was falling apart; it’d fall off her wrist someday and she wouldn’t even realize it. “But sometimes I feel like I’ll lose my mind if I don’t keep moving.”
I knew that already. I’ve always known it. When I was a baby, it was a car or a van rocking me to sleep at night, not a rocking chair. We stayed in towns a few months at a time, sometimes a whole year. When I was little bitty, Roger Pickle traveled with us, but I guess he got tired of always adventuring. Or maybe he just got tired of us.
Just thinking about Roger Pickle made my heart feel like somebody’d drop-kicked it. A whole stack of questions — mean questions — tried to work their way out of my mouth.
I wanted to ask Mama outright: Why don’t you ever talk about him?
Why don’t you paint anymore?
Why can’t you try to stay here?
Why won’t you try?
But I didn’t say those things. Instead, I threaded my fingers through hers. She traced an invisible heart on the back of my hand, connected the freckle-dots. “Life’s always an adventure for us, June Bug. We’ve got rambling hearts. We gotta keep moving, right?”
Mama had a rambling heart. But I wasn’t so sure I did.
My heart wanted to bloom up bright and fine here in Midnight Gulch. I wanted Mama to love it here like I did. I wanted Cleo and Boone and Jonah and Miss Lawson’s history lessons. I wanted a town that smelled like baking cookies all the time. I wanted mountains with magic caught
up inside them. I wanted that stupid Duel about as much as I wanted chicken pox, but I’d do that even, if it meant I could stay.
“June Bug?” Mama sighed.
“We’ve got rambling hearts.” I lied for the second time that day. Because the only thought worse than leaving Midnight Gulch was the thought of Mama leaving without me.
“That’s my girl.” Mama sounded relieved. She set her eyes on the sparkly interstate. I knew she was wishing us somewhere far away.
The words in the woods hung like fat apples from the branches:
Becoming
Unfurling
Bloom up
Bright and fine
I gathered those words in my heart. Then I set my eyes on the mountains and wished they’d never let us go. Keep us safe. Keep us here. Hold us tight.
Mama and I walked back out of the woods just in time to hear Frannie squeal, “I want to stay here forever!”
“Fine by me.” Cleo smiled. She opened up her little red cooler and sloshed through the ice. She pulled out an orange soda bottle and passed it to my sister. “We can stay here all day, at least.”
“Cleo Harness?” yelled a familiar, husky voice from the edge of the woods. “Is that you?”
“Pack up!” Cleo hollered. “We’re leaving!” She kicked the cooler lid shut and stood up so fast that her camping chair stayed stuck to her behind.
Boone lifted his plastic sword toward the sky and waved his other hand in greeting. “Day Grissom?” he yelled. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”
Aunt Cleo looped the cooler over her arm like a purse and said, “C’mon. We’re leaving. Now.”
Frannie’s smile fell into a frown. “You said we’d stay forever.”
“I changed my mind,” Cleo yelled as she stomped toward the path.
I ruffled Frannie’s hair and promised to catch her a poem on the way home and she sighed okay.
With our fairy wings secured, we grabbed our chairs, and Boone got the snack bag and we marched back toward the path.
“I can help y’all carry something,” Day said as he walked up beside Cleo.
“Don’t need help,” Cleo mumbled. She never looked at Day, just stomped on past him. He didn’t seem surprised.
A Snicker of Magic Page 9