“Excuse me,” Day said to the Smith family on the middle aisle. “Are those seats down there taken?”
But then Cleo pushed him out of the way and said, “Make room, y’all! Scoot!”
Uncle Boone filed in behind Aunt Cleo, carrying his banjo around his back. He wore faded jeans, but he’d pulled a snazzy blazer on over his old T-shirt. And he’d traded his cowboy boots for a pair of Converse. Boone looked different from the first day he wandered into Midnight Gulch, but I’d never seen him look more like himself. Miss Lawson had asked me for Boone’s contact information a few days ago. She said she was hoping he’d consider playing at the end of the Duel. Truly, I think Miss Divinity Lawson just wanted Boone’s phone number. I was happy to oblige regardless.
The Pickles came last. Mama carried Frannie Jo, of course. She still had paint splatters on her arms and had braided a feather into her hair.
I watched my whole family, all except Roger Pickle, lodge themselves in the middle row, where they could see me and cheer for me when I took the stage.
I could duel if they were with me. I could do anything if they were with me. My fears were monster big. But their love for me was bigger. Fear seems like all the world when it takes hold of me; it’s all I dream about, think about, and see. But it was love taking hold of me right then. And love is the whole universe — so wide I can’t even see the edges of it.
Love is wild and wonderful.
Love is blue skies and stardust.
I reached for my blue book so I could collect those sentences.
… And then I realized I didn’t bring my blue book. Which meant that I didn’t bring my poems.
Cold sweat trickled down the side of my face. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember the poems I’d written last night. Nothing. I opened my eyes and looked at the gym floor, hoping for a few words, any words. But I only saw letters, as scattered and sparkly as stars in a kaleidoscope.
My locket warmed up against my chest. At exactly the same time, Toast Terry plopped down in the seat beside me and said, “What’s wrong, Pickle?”
But I couldn’t answer him. First, I was afraid I’d upchuck if I opened my mouth to say anything, on account of my frazzled nerves.
But second, and most important, I couldn’t focus on Toast long enough to answer. All I could see was the guitar he was holding. “Is that …”
“Ramblin’ Rose’s guitar,” his voice crackled happily. “Miss Lawson asked her to bring it, said maybe she could play sometime today. But Miss Rose says she just got acrylics and doesn’t want to mess them up, so she asked me if I’d play it instead. Can you believe it? Ramblin’ Rose asked me to play her guitar! This guitar is better than grilled cheese sandwiches.”
Miss Divinity Lawson stepped to the podium and tapped the microphone. It squealed as she said, “Welcome to the Stoneberry Duel! I have a few announcements to make and then we’ll get started….”
The guitar.
The banjo.
The locket.
My sweet amends.
They were all connected. I was connected to all of them.
“Did you forget to eat breakfast?” Toast asked. “You look pale.”
As I concentrated on Ramblin’ Rose’s guitar, words slid down the taut strings and curled around the frets:
September
Sorrow
Surrender
Mistake
Memory
THREADBARE
I swallowed hard against the sudden, burning tingle in the back of my throat. “Toast, do you realize this is the first time in a hundred years that both of the Brothers Threadbares’ instruments have been in the same room?”
“Awesome!”
“Felicity Pickle?” Miss Divinity Lawson said. Her voice echoed across the auditorium. “C’mon up. You can start us off.”
“My name is Felicity Juniper Pickle.” The microphone squealed so loud that I shrugged away. “I came to say that … I came to tell … I came to read my …”
How could I have forgotten the blue book? I stepped back from the microphone and breathed in deep, until my lungs felt like birthday balloons. I glanced toward the middle row and made eye contact with my mama. She looked so sad for me that I looked at Boone instead. As soon as our eyes met, he shot up out of his seat, still holding his banjo tight. He ran down the aisle toward me.
His Converse stomped out such pretty words:
Violet
Star singer
Moonlight
Primrose
Miss Divinity Lawson nearly fell out of her chair when Boone walked past her.
Boone came to stand right at the edge of the stage. He looked up at me with a smile on his face and said softly, “I’ll play for you, like I did when you practiced. I’ll strum a song and help you get the words where they need to go.”
“That’d be spindiddly,” I whispered back.
Boone nodded, pressed his fingertips against the neck of the banjo, and started strumming.
QUIT
The word chugged along the back of the room, leading a long, silent train of more words.
GIVE UP
MOVE ON
WANDER
But I concentrated on Boone’s music. Because the music was bright, and happy, and it reminded me of a songbird. I looked at the words Jonah’d scrawled on my arm. He believed I was those things.
I looked at Mama. And I smiled.
I’m okay, I mouthed.
She nodded.
And then, for the first time in the history of my word-collecting existence, words appeared over Mama’s hair:
Love you
“Love you,” I whispered.
And my fear simmered down, just barely.
I concentrated on the rest of my crazy family — Uncle Boone, Aunt Cleo, Frannie Jo, and Biscuit. And Roger Pickle, too, wherever he was. And as I thought about them, the love I felt crowded out all the fear in me. There was no room for fear after that. Frannie Jo gave me a thumbs-up like I was doing a great job, even though I hadn’t even started. Day Grissom draped his arm around Cleo’s shoulders and they both leaned in closer, watching me without blinking. Boone was jamming close to the stage, proud to be standing beside me.
There was no magic in the world more powerful than that kind of love.
And suddenly I knew what Isabella Thistle’s memory meant:
If you’re brave enough to love, and forgive, and call up the factofabulous memories … there’s no curse in the world that has any power over you.
“Love you.” I believed the words; they tasted sweet on my tongue. I savored them. I said them.
No windows were open in the Stoneberry auditorium, but suddenly the wind-chime wind was there, rolling softly down the aisles. I felt it blow against my face. The hair on my arms tingled. The locket warmed against my skin.
And a glittery rope of letters appeared over my family:
C H O R D S
Chords
Chords align. Of course, I realized, Isabella’s curse had to do with music….
I leaned down and whispered to Boone, “Do you remember how to play the song ‘Fair and Tender Ladies’?”
“Sure I remember.” Boone nodded.
“When I finish talking,” I breathed, “will you play that song in time with Toast’s guitar?”
Boone nodded again. I hopped off the stage, breathless with excitement, and ran toward Toast Terry. Miss Lawson reached out to stop me, but I assured her that I had no plans to run away. I whispered my same plan to Toast, and he said, “Sure, I’ll play the song. Just tell me when.”
I ran back up on the stage and pulled the crackly microphone toward me.
“Once upon a time,” I said, because every story should have such a spindiddly beginning. “Here on this hillside, here in this place where I’m talking, two magicians met up and made a mess of things. People say that when they left town, they took all the magic with them. There’s still a snicker of magic left, but that’s not much, not compared to what
it was before. There’s more sorrow, now, than joy. People leave here, and never come back. They don’t want to stay here. They don’t want to end up here, because this doesn’t feel like home anymore.”
Boone kept playing. He winked at me as I took another deep breath.
“Some people say the Threadbare magic had to do with music,” I said. “And maybe it did, a little bit. And some people say it had to do with luck — they knew how to make an opportunity work out exactly right. And maybe that had something to do with it, too.
“But their best magic didn’t have to do with any of that, not really. Because once the Threadbares parted ways, their magic wouldn’t work at all. It was plumb useless. And in the end, I don’t think they even cared about the magic. They didn’t figure out until it was too late, they should have made amends. Instead of being so hateful, instead of dooming each other to wander off alone … they should have said the words that mattered most of all. I think their words were more powerful than any magic trick they ever did.”
I pushed my hair away from my face and carried on boldly. “By the time the first Duel came around, I think the Brothers Threadbare had forgotten all about who they really were. Because, really, they were just farmers, just Stone and Berry. They wore shabby-looking suits and they played the kind of music that set hearts to spinning. Firstly, most importantly, they were family. And if they had it to do over, I don’t think they would have abandoned each other out here on the hillside. I think they would have said, ‘Sorry for what I did to you.’ And ‘I choose to remember the good.’ And they would have said, ‘I love you.’ Maybe if you say those words, maybe if you believe them, no curse in the world has any power over you.”
I breathed deep, smiling at the feeling of boldness rising up in me. “I’ve collected whole constellations of words. But these words are my favorite: Mama, Cleo, Boone, Frannie, Roger, and Biscuit. I wouldn’t know anything about love if it weren’t for them. No matter what happens, or what I do, or how far apart we are, I know they love me. And if you say ‘I love you,’ and you mean it, then love makes up for a whole lifetime of mistakes. That’s some kind of magic.” I smiled.
I stepped back from the microphone. Boone played faster on his banjo, and people applauded. Mom was clapping so hard that the wind from her hands was blowing her hair back from her face. Cleo waved at me and I waved back. And then she pulled back her bathrobe and I saw Biscuit hiding inside. My dog gave me a big smile, too. Frannie Jo was bouncing happily in her seat.
And Jonah Pickett … well. He wasn’t clapping. But he was looking at me like I’d handed him a forty-gallon carton of Dr. Zook’s. Some things are better than applause.
Of course, none of them realized I wasn’t exactly done yet.
“Play the song now,” I said to Boone. And then I nodded toward Toast Terry. Toast nodded back to me and stood up from his seat. He tucked his pick between his teeth as he situated the guitar. Then he locked his hand around the fret board and strummed a first note, sad and pretty.
For the first time in over one hundred years, the instruments belonging to the Brothers Threadbare played in perfect unison.
“Chords align,” I whispered. “And all’s made right.”
“What in tarnation!” Day Grissom hollered out. He stood up and ran out in the aisle, shaking his pant leg.
“He’s got the Spirit!” hollered Elvis Phillips.
“He’s got chiggers!” yelled Harriet Bond.
Day kicked again and I realized what was happening: His shadow was pulling apart from his body. Day’s shadow was standing upright now, tall as Day, and I watched as the shadow leaned down and grabbed Day’s ankle and pushed itself on off. That shadow ran back down the aisle and pulled Aunt Cleo’s shadow off of her.
“Hey now!” Cleo hollered out.
And their shadows lit out down the aisle, dancing and spinning and jumping up and down. And they weren’t the only ones.
People screeched and screamed as their shadows jumped up off the floor and spun across the walls of the auditorium. Shadows danced down the aisles and across the stage; one passed right through me. It felt as sweet and peaceful as the springtime wind.
Boone was so busy playing his banjo, eyes shut tight, fingers fluttering across the strings, that he didn’t see his shadow take leave. Boone’s shadow ran for Divinity Lawson, who was sitting in her chair with her mouth open wide and her eyes open wider, glancing from side to side around the room without moving her pretty head.
Boone’s shadow bowed low and reached out its hand. Divinity Lawson’s shadow reached its hand out, too; it looked as if the shadow hand reached right out of her heart, in fact. And they slow-danced together, even though the music was fast.
Elvis Phillips was teaching his shadow some new moves. Ponder Waller was chasing her shadow around, yelling, “Get back here!”
“Well, I never!” Rosie Walker slapped her hands down on her lap and looked around. “Scoot back, y’all. I ain’t letting my shadow have all the fun!” And she stood up and spun around and I knew then why she was a country music star. Some people are born starry. Some people shine so bright you can’t help but sit back and stare. Some people can’t help but shine.
Frannie Jo was dancing in a circle with her shadow. Biscuit was chasing hers around the room.
And my shadow was standing still beside me. Shadow-me kept her head bowed, her shadow-sneakers turned in toward each other.
“You should dance, too …” I whispered.
My shadow made its way down the steps, down the aisle to where Jonah Pickett was sitting. I watched our shadows dance together for a time, not slow-dancing the way Boone and Divinity’s shadows were doing. We pumped our arms up and down and we spun in circles, dizzy, wild, wonderful circles. My shadow’s hair was flinging wild around its shoulders. Jonah’s shadow played an air guitar.
I’d done it. Surely, I’d done it. Amends were made. Chords aligned.
… But as I glanced frantically around the auditorium, I didn’t see Mama anywhere. If Mama wasn’t in the room when it happened, would it matter if I’d broken the curse?
… And why wouldn’t Mama be in the room?
I jumped off the stage and took off in a run, but somebody grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the aisle just before Elvis Phillips, who happened to be chasing his seriously speedy shadow, ran smack into me.
“Felicity!” Jonah yelled over the commotion. He loosened his grip on my arm. “What’d you do?”
“Chords,” I gasped. “Musical chords. That’s what Isabella Thistle meant. She wanted the Threadbares to apologize to each other and play again someday. That’s it! I think we broke her curse. But I’ve got to find Mama to make sure —”
Suddenly, Jonah grabbed my arm again. “The locket …” His face paled. “Felicity, the locket is open.”
My hand trembled as I reached to check the pendant. In all the commotion, I never heard it pop. I never even felt it click. “It must have opened when the chords aligned …” I said as I pulled it over my head.
I opened the locket wide, until it looked like a golden moth snuggled into the palm of my hand. Jonah wrapped his hand around my wrist and leaned in closer so we could both see what was inside.
The outside of Berry Weatherly’s locket still looked like a simple, solid piece of metal. But the inside looked like a window to another world. Through the locket, we saw a field at twilight; the sun had set, but the stars weren’t out yet. There were mountains in the distance. Leaves fluttered in a wind I couldn’t feel.
Suddenly, a woman ran onto the field. She wore a yellow flower tucked behind her ear. The wind rippled against her long skirt and blew her dark hair down over her face. She crossed her arms over her chest and spun around, looking for someone.
And then a tall, lanky man in a brown suit walked up behind her. He tapped her shoulder and she spun around and flung her arms around his neck.
I could tell by his build and by the dark hair falling around his face that he was one of the
Weatherly brothers. But which one, I wondered? Isabella Thistle had loved them both.
The couple in the locket danced around in the tall grasses while fireflies lit up the air around them. The scene faded for a moment, and then played again, from the beginning.
“This is Isabella Thistle’s perfect memory,” I whispered.
Jonah nodded. “We’ve got to find Florentine.”
I agreed. But first, I had to find Mama. I scanned the room, looking for the faces of the people I loved the most. Frannie was teaching her shadow how to do cartwheels now. Cleo was chasing her shadow around the room, stomping at it. Day Grissom didn’t seem to care where his shadow was. He laughed happily as he pushed a stepladder over to the entryway of the auditorium. He climbed to the top, pulled a fat black marker out of his pocket, and added one wonderful word to Divinity Lawson’s banner:
MAGIC STILL HAPPENS HERE
Jonah and I pushed our way through the dancing crowd until I found my aunt Cleo. I grabbed her arm and said the two words I hoped I’d never have to say: “Mama’s gone.”
“Maybe you should let me drive, Cleo,” Day Grissom said to my aunt as she swerved the Jalapeño out onto the main road. We were all packed in tight: Cleo, Day, Frannie, Boone, Jonah, Toast, and me. It was Jonah’s idea to bring the musicians along with us, just in case Mama’d left before the curse was broken.
Mama left. She really left. “What if she’s gone?” I asked as Cleo came to a screeching halt at Midnight Gulch’s only stoplight.
“We’ll find her,” Cleo said, clutching the steering wheel.
“I don’t have my suitcase!” Frannie rubbed her eyes. “I forgot to bring it.”
“You won’t need it,” Cleo said. But she wouldn’t look back at us.
Day Grissom said, “Cleo … let me drive.”
“Day!” Cleo hollered. “How long does this infernal red light last?”
“I’m gonna be carsick,” Toast groaned.
Jonah raised his hand. “We might need Le Barfbucket!”
“Why are you raising your hand?” I asked. “We’re not in class.”
Boone popped open the way-back window with his elbow so Toast could get some fresh air. “Holly walked, so she can’t be too far off, right, Cleo?”
A Snicker of Magic Page 20