Corby stopped next to the hedge and stared. The front door opened before the men reached it. His mother let them inside, then stood in the doorway looking out at the garden.
He wanted to call to her, but his voice wouldn’t work. Soon the uniformed men returned, carrying Grandma’s tiny form on the stretcher. Grandpa was right behind them. They put the stretcher into the ambulance, and one of the men helped Grandpa inside. The other hurried around to the driver’s seat. The ambulance swung into Grandpa’s driveway and came back, passing so close to Corby that he could have touched its gleaming side.
“Corby?” His mother had seen him. She came out to the road and waited for him to join her.
“We think Grandma may be having another heart attack,” she said softly. “She started having chest pains about a half hour ago.”
Terrible thoughts churned through Corby’s head. “It’ll be my fault if she dies,” he whispered.
“Oh, no!” His mother put her arm around his shoulders and hugged him. “Of course it isn’t your fault. Grandma doesn’t know anything about what happened to the garden. She’s been in bed all day.”
Corby shivered. He was glad Grandma didn’t know about the roses, but that wasn’t the worst thing he’d done to her. All of a sudden she was sicker than she’d been since they came to Berry Hill. She might even die. And if she died, he and his mother wouldn’t have to stay there any longer.
The Wish Master was letting him have two wishes at the same time after all.
“Corby, what’s the matter with you? Stop looking like that.” His mother pulled him gently into the yard. “You ran off without any lunch this noon—how about some pancakes while we wait to hear from Grandpa?”
“I’m not hungry,” Corby said. “I just wish—”
“I know. You wish we’d get good news right away,” his mother said. “So do I, dear.”
Corby finished his wish silently as they walked up the path. I just wish I’d never heard of the Wish Master.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Corby Takes a Chance
“Why do I have to go to the Millers’?” Corby hunched in the passenger seat and scowled at the headlight beams tunneling through the dark. “Why can’t I stay by myself?”
“Because you can’t, that’s all,” his mother said. “Please don’t whine, Corby.”
He sank deeper into the seat. Grandpa had called to say he was going to spend the night at the hospital, and his mother had decided she should be there with him. By the time Corby returned from checking on Aggie, it had been all settled. Buck’s mother had said she’d be glad to have Corby stay with them overnight.
“Buck won’t be glad.” Corby tried once more. “He’s mad because I spoiled the parade.”
“You didn’t spoil the parade,” his mother said impatiently. “I’m sure they all had a fine time, once they got past our house.”
If she was trying to cheer him up, it wasn’t working. Corby knew he was going to be awake all night, wherever he stayed. The parade was only a part of what wouldn’t let him sleep—the smallest part. What was much worse was the terrible thing he had done to Grandma with his second wish. If she died, he wanted to die, too.
When they pulled up in front of the Millers’ farmhouse, Buck’s mother was waiting on the porch. Two big dogs rushed to meet them.
“Buck went off to bed an hour ago,” Mrs. Miller told them. “So did his dad. They just plain wore themselves out at the Campbells’ this evening. Seems as if everyone for miles around came for the food and the fireworks. I’m sorry you missed it, Corby.” She patted his shoulder and then started talking to his mother about Grandma. Corby sat on a step and waited.
“Do you want a glass of milk and some cookies before you go up to bed?” Mrs. Miller asked when his mother had driven away. “Buck usually has to have a snack at bedtime, only not tonight. I hate to think how many hamburgers that boy must have eaten.”
Corby said he wasn’t hungry, and together they went upstairs. “The bathroom’s here, and that’s Buck’s room back there.” Mrs. Miller pointed. “There’s twin beds, so you just make yourself comfortable, Corby. And don’t worry about waking Buck. He’s a sound sleeper.”
When she’d said good night and gone back downstairs, Corby went to the door of Buck’s room and looked in. There was a faint sound of snoring from the bed near the open window.
He took off his sneakers and lay down on the other bed. It would help if he could talk, but he didn’t want anyone to know what he had done. The thought was like a heavy weight pressing on his chest.
If he could take back that wish, he would gladly stay at Berry Hill all summer. He wouldn’t care what Grandpa said or did. If there were some way to take it back.…
He sat up. “Hey, Buck.”
The shape in the other bed didn’t move.
“Hey, are you awake?” His voice was a little louder this time. Buck snorted and sighed. Then he rolled over, and Corby saw his eyes open wide.
“It’s me, Corby. My folks are at the hospital with my grandma. I’m sorry about the parade. Aggie—”
“Don’t blame Aggie,” Buck said sourly. His voice was thick with sleep. “You lied! You said you could ride, but you couldn’t even handle old Josey. You told me you learned to ride at camp.”
“I didn’t say that exactly,” Corby protested, but he supposed Buck was right. Maybe he hadn’t said the words, but he’d let Buck think them.
“Anyway, I’m sorry,” he said again.
“So why did you wake me up?”
Corby took a deep breath. “I was wondering if you want to go to the Wish Master again tonight,” he said. “As long as I’m sleeping over and all.”
“No way!” Buck grunted disgustedly. “Pipe down, will you? You’ll wake up my dad, and he’s mad at you, too.”
Corby lay back and stared into the dark. If Buck wouldn’t go, he might as well forget about asking the Wish Master to take back his wish. Finding the way to the top of the cliff alone would be impossible. It would be a whole lot scarier than the plank bridge at Camp Macaho or the rock wall behind the mess hall. He couldn’t do it.
Could he?
A clock chimed eleven downstairs. Corby heard Mrs. Miller tell the dogs it was time for bed. He listened to the slap of her slippers and the clicking of the dogs’ toenails on the stairs and in the front bedroom. The dogs flopped down, sighing. A moment later the bedroom door closed softly.
Corby dangled his feet over the side of the bed and reached for the clock on the table between the beds. He’d have to feel his way down the hall and the curving flight of stairs. Mrs. Miller had probably locked the doors, but maybe she hung the key from a hinge, the way Grandpa did. He stood up.
One step into the hall told him he’d never get downstairs without being caught. The floor squeaked, even worse than the floor at Grandpa’s house. He hadn’t noticed it when the lights were on and Mrs. Miller was beside him, but now the squeak seemed as loud as a siren. One of the dogs in the front bedroom grumbled sleepily.
How did Buck get past the squeaks and the dogs when he wanted to visit the Wish Master? Corby stepped back into the bedroom. There was another way, of course. He just hadn’t wanted to think about it. When Buck sneaked out, he left through the window. Corby tiptoed across the room and looked out. There was a shed just below, with a long sloping roof that began about three feet below the windowsill. Buck would slide down the roof—on his seat? On his stomach? There was nothing to hang on to, nothing to do but jump when you reached the edge, but Buck wouldn’t care about that. He’d call it fun.
Buck would have been the first kid at Camp Macaho to run across the plank bridge.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Finding the Wish Master
It wasn’t fun, but it was fast. Corby skidded down the roof on his seat, starting slowly and gaining speed as he went. Near the bottom, he flopped backward and pressed his heels hard against the shingles.
A cloud with silvery edges covered the moon. He wa
ited, his heart thudding, until the cloud drifted off. Then he shifted Buck’s little clock from his front pocket to a back one, turned over, and dangled his legs in space. To his surprise, his toes brushed something hard. He slid down an inch, then another, until he stood on a bumpy surface.
It was a woodpile. He turned around, and the chunks of wood moved under his feet. There was nothing to do but jump. He landed hard but didn’t fall. As he raced around the side of the house he heard logs tumbling over each other.
Could the Millers sleep through that much noise? He reached the road and glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see lights upstairs. Maybe Mr. Miller had a gun next to his bed to scare off prowlers. That thought made him run even faster, until he could no longer make out the dark hulk of the farmhouse. Then he slowed to a walk, straining to see what lay ahead as another cloud hid the moon.
Nothing to be afraid of around here, he reminded himself. Just corn and beans. But his footsteps seemed louder than they did in the daylight. And he hadn’t noticed before that wind blowing through cornstalks sounded like whispers.
He hurried along the road, running when there was enough light, slowing down when clouds closed in. There was a rain smell in the air. Just this morning he’d been hoping rain would stop the parade, but he didn’t want it now. Finding the way to the Wish Master was going to be hard enough without a storm to make it worse.
He had stopped to tie a sneaker when he heard someone, or something, running toward him. Seconds later Aggie leaped against his chest and covered his face with sloppy kisses.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice shaky with relief. “You’re supposed to be asleep in the garage!”
Aggie planted her forepaws on his shoulders and talked. It made Corby feel about ten thousand times better, just listening to her.
He walked faster. Fields gave way to lawns and gardens, and then they reached Grandpa’s house. Corby shivered. A few hours ago he’d stood here, at the end of the hedge, watching as Grandma was carried to the ambulance. My fault! he thought again. It’s all my fault. He touched Aggie’s shaggy head and walked on, past the Kellers’ place and the two cottages beyond it. Now the road was lined with meadows.
“Keep watching for the start of the path,” he told Aggie. “On this side of the road, dopey!”
Aggie was having a great time, dashing from one side of the road to the other, with her nose close to the ground. She acted as if—as if she explored this road every night. Maybe she does, he thought. Maybe she’s been coming and going through the hole in the corner of the garage whenever she feels like it.
Twice he thought he saw the start of the path through the tall meadow grass, but each time he turned back. When he hesitated a third time, Aggie kept going. She plunged deep into the meadow and disappeared from sight, except for her tail.
Desperate, Corby followed the tail. The direction felt right, but he couldn’t be sure. He hoped Aggie’s smart nose had found the path he and Buck had used on their visits to the Wish Master.
Thunder growled in the distance like an angry bear. “Gotta hurry!” he mumbled, and Aggie bounded to his side. She danced on her hind legs, talking her weird Aggie talk, and then she tried to return the way they had come.
“No!” Corby grabbed her rope collar and held on. “Find the woods,” he ordered. “Let’s go!”
A few more steps showed him that Aggie had already found the woods. That was why she had turned back. Pine needles scraped his forehead, and he realized that the darker than dark in front of him was the wall of trees.
Aggie liked open fields. She let Corby drag her along until he found Buck’s marker, but she yelped when he swept aside the nearest branch and pulled her through the opening.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “We can still see the path. Sort of. I know there’s a log we have to get over, and then there’s a low place, and after that we start climbing. We’ll be at the top of the cliff before you know it.”
Aggie groaned. “It’s okay,” Corby said again. “Nothing to worry about.”
He moved slowly, one arm outstretched to push aside low branches, and the fingers of the other hand hooked firmly through Aggie’s collar. “Nothing to it, see? Just keep moving—”
There was a rustling sound off to the left. “That’s a rabbit,” Corby whispered hoarsely. “I can tell. Or it might be a raccoon. He won’t bother us if we don’t bother him.”
Aggie quivered and pressed against his knee. She was letting him know she didn’t believe a word of it.
“Listen,” Corby said, “pretend we’re hiking down the road and the sun is shining and you’re chasing butterflies and”—thunder rumbled again, much closer this time—“and anyway, we’re nearly there. See how steep it’s getting. Pretty soon we’ll hear the river, and that’ll mean we’re almost to the top of the cliff.”
He stopped to catch his breath and study the face of Buck’s little clock. It was too dark to read the numbers, but the glowing hands told him the time. Ten minutes before twelve.
Ten minutes! Were they really close to the top of the cliff? He climbed faster, stumbling over roots, with Aggie whimpering and tugging him backward. The moon was hidden completely by clouds.
“There! Can you hear the water?” Corby pictured the river rushing along below them. He tightened his grip on Aggie’s collar and with his right hand clutched at branches, underbrush, anything to keep from slipping toward the cliff’s edge. Raindrops splattered his face.
“Just a little bit farther,” he panted. He stumbled again, and when he scrambled to his feet he was standing on the rocky platform he remembered.
“Good girl!” His knees were shaking, but that didn’t matter. He’d made it. Aggie pressed close and sat on his foot.
A flash of lightning gave Corby a glimpse of the Wish Master. He looked even bigger and uglier than the last time. Greedy kid was what the Wish Master had called him in his dream. You’re a scrawny little nothing!
Corby took out the clock and waited for another lightning bolt. It was two minutes to twelve. He started to count, “One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand.…”
He was soaked, and so was Aggie. It had probably been dumb to think the Wish Master would grant him another wish, no matter how important it was. But he kept counting, anyway. He had reached forty-five seconds of the second minute when the lightning flashed again, followed by a roar of thunder. This time Aggie saw the Wish Master, too. She gave a terrified yelp and leaped backward, pulling Corby off his feet.
“Sixty!” He struggled to get up and shouted his wish into the wind:
“I’M SORRY I TOLD YOU I WANTED TO GO HOME. I DON’T! I JUST WISH MY GRANDMA WOULD GET BETTER. PLEASE!”
The world seemed to fly apart as he said it. Lightning crisscrossed the sky and thunder crashed right overhead.
“Why didn’t you wish for that in the first place, pea brain?” a voice jeered from the darkness.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“She’s Going to Fall!”
“Get away from there, dopey,” the voice yelled. “You want to be hit by lightning?”
Speechless, Corby followed the beam of a flashlight to where it began at the top of the path.
“I knew you were up here,” Buck said accusingly. “Soon as I saw the bed was empty and my clock was gone. How come you didn’t steal my flashlight, too?”
“I didn’t know where it was,” Corby admitted. “Why did you follow me? I was going to come back before anyone woke up.”
“Oh, sure,” Buck said sarcastically. His cowboy hat sagged in the rain. “How’d you think you were going to get back in?”
Corby shrugged. He hadn’t planned that far ahead.
“There’s a ladder behind the toolshed,” Buck said. “What you do is, you jump down from the edge of the roof—it isn’t that high—and you use the ladder to get back in. Then you have to be the first person outside in the morning so you can put the ladder away. You made a real mess of our woodpile, did y
ou know that?”
He started down the path without waiting for an answer, and Corby followed.
“Well, anyway, we got here,” Corby said. “And we didn’t need a flashlight either!”
The light swung around. “What do you mean, we?” Buck demanded. “You and who else?”
“Me and—” Corby stopped. “Me and my dog!” he said, feeling around frantically in the dark for rough, wet fur. “Where’d she go?”
“How should I know?” Buck asked disgustedly. “That dumb dog could be anywhere.”
“She’s not dumb,” Corby said. When had Aggie disappeared? He remembered the moment just before midnight when she had pulled so hard that he’d lost his balance. That must have been when she took off. He’d been thinking about making his wish and hadn’t noticed her go.
“Well, I have to find her,” he said. “She didn’t want to come up here—I made her do it. It’s my fault if she’s lost.”
“Dogs don’t get lost,” Buck retorted. “She’ll sniff around till she finds the path, and then she’ll go down the same way you came up.”
Corby wasn’t sure. “She’s afraid of the woods. What if she runs into a bear? What if she can’t find the path in the rain?”
“Listen,” Buck said, “we have to go back right now. I sneaked out a couple of times last summer, and my dad said if I did it again I’d be in big trouble. If he finds out, he probably won’t even let me order my bike—and that’ll be your fault, too! You keep making wishes, and I haven’t gotten my first one!”
Corby called “Aggie!” a couple of times and strained to hear an answering bark. Then, unhappily, he followed the bobbing flashlight down the path. Aggie had a way of appearing where he didn’t expect her, he reminded himself. Maybe this would be one of those times.
Going downhill turned out to be even harder than going up. The path was muddy and littered with wet leaves. Once, Buck dropped the flashlight when he fell, and they watched helplessly as it rolled ahead of them. When it stopped against the root of a tree, Buck crawled on hands and knees to get it.
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