I shook my head, almost as dumbfounded as she was, and then grinned. “Your book!” I was almost laughing. “The Secret Power of Plants and Animals! The one under your pillow. It was the first entry.”
Witch Weatherly looked confused for a moment, and then she reached inside her jacket. “This one?”
“Yes!” I burst out as the slim volume appeared under Silver’s flashlight, the title words scrawled across the front.
Witch Weatherly opened the book and then shut it again, holding it in my direction. “Show me. Read it.”
Silver repositioned the flashlight over the witch’s shoulder as I read aloud:
“Hornet-head snakes: Members of the Elapidae family. Indigenous to northern North American territories. Possibly ticklish between the sixth and ninth vertebrae; have a hunch that holding them between loose, relaxed fingers and then moving fingers lightly along these regions may result in animals becoming more calm and easy to handle.”
She looked up at me. “You tried that after reading this?”
“You wrote it,” I whispered. “Didn’t you?”
“Well, yes,” she said. “But I just thought that was an old wives’ tale. I’ve never tried it. I wouldn’t dare get that close to a hornet-head snake. And I never actually thought it would work.”
I grinned. “Well, now we know it does.”
“Yes,” Witch Weatherly said. Her voice had changed. It was no longer raspy, or even old. She sounded relieved. And maybe even the tiniest bit grateful. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Here.” She thrust the envelope at me. “Give this to your mother along with the necklace. It might … help.”
I took the envelope from her slowly.
There on the front, in shaky letters, were the words:
From Bedelia, Upstairs.
Keep trying to be brave.
We could see the red flashing lights halfway down the mountain, and two policemen with their dogs met us another third of the way down. The policemen took over dragging the sled and called an ambulance, while I raced on ahead, hoping to see Russell. He was standing with Aunt Marianne at the base of the original trail we’d started out on, holding on to her leg.
“Wren!” He broke his hold on her all at once as he saw me and ran, throwing his arms around my neck. “I thought the witch ate you!”
“Oh, Russell.” He smelled like turpentine and peanut butter. “I’m so sorry if you were worried.”
He pulled away from me. “Did you the see the red raven? Did it peck at you? Did the witch make you paralyzed?”
“No.” I shook my head, smoothing his hair off his forehead. “No, she didn’t do any of those things.”
“Oh.” Russell kicked a small clump of dirt. “That’s kind of boring, then.”
“Aunt Marianne.” I stood up as she walked over. “I’m so sorry, we—”
She pressed me tightly to her, not letting me finish, and began to cry. “Oh, Wren. Thank goodness you’re all right. Where’s Silver? I don’t see her.”
“They’re carrying her down. She fell …”
The policemen appeared then, Silver between them on the sled, propped up on her elbows. Aunt Marianne rushed over. “Honey, what happened? Are you hurt?”
“I was.” Silver’s voice was shaky. “But then Witch Weatherly fixed it up.” She looked away as her mother’s face turned into a question. “Mom, I’m so sorry I disobeyed you. I promise I won’t do it again. I swear.”
“You’re grounded for a month,” Aunt Marianne said, fighting back new tears. “And you too, Wren.” She put her arms around both of us and squeezed tight.
“Holy dingbats!” Russell shouted, “You two are grounded for a whole entire month? That’s like twenty years in Captain Commando time!”
It might have been, I thought. But then it might not be the worst thing in the world, either.
After all, I would have Silver with me.
Two weeks after our trek up the mountain, Aunt Marianne told us that Momma was coming home. That afternoon. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt nervous about seeing her. Not just because of Witch Weatherly’s letter, which, Dad had said, was the turning point in her recovery. But because I knew she was different now because of it. And that I was, too. It wasn’t just that I’d talked to a witch or climbed a mountain. Mostly, I was different inside, as if a window that had been shut for a very long time had suddenly been opened. I wasn’t sure anymore if the new me would fit alongside all the old pieces inside. Mostly, I knew now that Momma and I were not the same at all; we were two very different people.
I was okay.
It was Momma who hadn’t been. And now that was about to change.
Silver came up to my room just as I finished packing, and sat down on the edge of the bed. “So,” she said, twisting a piece of her long hair. “I guess that’s that.”
I fiddled with the loose snaps on my suitcase, trying to come up with something to say. We’d been through so much over the past few weeks that it was almost impossible to know where to begin.
“I’ll see you in school,” I said finally, and then blushed. What a stupid thing to say.
“Will you sit with me at lunch?” Silver looked at me out of the corner of her eye.
“Sure. If you want me to.”
“I do. Just us.”
I hesitated, thinking about something I’d been wanting to say for a long time. “Thanks for the underwear,” I blurted out. “It … it really helped a lot.”
“Any time.” Silver was studying me with a weird expression on her face. “You know, you helped me a lot, too, Wren.”
“Me?”
She nodded. “I called my dad last night.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. And I left a real message this time. Not just breathing.” She reached up, brushing the bangs out of her face. “We’ll see if he calls. But I did it. Even though I was scared. At least I did it.”
I hugged her then, full of gratitude that I knew a girl like her. And that, despite all the odds, somehow we understood each other in a way that no one else did.
Momma was in the car when Dad came over to the house to pick us up. She looked different walking toward me, her shoulders straight and square, her chin lifted ever so slightly. And there was a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. The pink blotches on her hands, which her doctors had said were a reaction to all the stress she’d been carrying, were so faint that I could barely see them.
“Momma!” Russell screamed, running toward her. She hugged him tight, even lifting him off the ground so he could wrap both of his legs around her.
I held back, still gun-shy.
She put Russell down finally and looked over at me. “Hi, butterbean,” she said, and the sound of her voice rushed over me. I ran to her before I could think another thought, and buried myself in her arms. She cried and held me tight until Dad came over.
Russell squeezed in next to me, and Dad moved in behind Momma. He put his arms around all of us, and we stayed there for a moment inside a long, very warm family sandwich, without saying anything.
“Ready to go home?” Dad asked finally.
Momma stroked my hair, and then leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “I think we are,” she said. “What do you think, Wren?”
I couldn’t speak. Not just yet. But I nodded.
Yes, it was time to go home.
It felt weird walking into the house again after being away from it for such an extended period of time. The air inside smelled stale and too warm, as if it had been trapped inside a plastic container. There was another smell I didn’t recognize, but I didn’t give it too much thought until Momma stopped short as we walked into the living room. There, on the wall above the fireplace, was the biggest landscape painting I had ever seen.
Russell dropped Momma’s hand and ran toward it. “It’s the We Tree!” he yelled. “Look, Momma, it’s the We Tree!”
It was the We Tree, I realized, as my eyes swe
pt over the low, wide branches of the enormous oak. There were the thick clusters of green leaves, the side of a blue house on one side, even a little river in the distance. All those Saturdays that Aunt Marianne had left the house to “go paint,” she’d been coming here. To recreate something they’d lost. Right in Momma’s very own living room.
I looked over at Momma. Her hand was pressed against her mouth, and her eyes were filled with tears. I know it sounds strange to say that she looked happy even though she was crying, but she did. She looked happier than I’d seen her in a very, very long time.
I put my arm around her waist and held her tight.
“Welcome home, Momma,” I whispered.
Russell and Momma and I were back at Silver’s house a month later for Windy Sunday. It was my turn to make plans. I hadn’t told Silver or Aunt Marianne what we were going to do, but I was excited about it. Maybe a little bit nervous, too. But I wasn’t afraid. And that might have been a first.
“Can’t you even give me a clue?” Silver asked, as we started out across the pasture. “I mean, there’s really nothing to do out here unless you’ve got a horse.”
“Yeah,” said Russell. “This totally stinks without a horse.”
Aunt Marianne and Momma laughed behind us. “A horse?” Momma said. “Don’t tell me you two are regular riders now.”
“Oh yeah!” Russell shouted. “And not just riding, Momma. Flying!”
Momma laughed again and shook her head. “You’ll have to promise me that you’ll show me the next time we come.”
I watched her, smiling. She was a different person since she’d been home. Happier, lighter. As if something that she had been carrying for years had finally let go. I knew someone else like that, too.
“Wren!” Silver said. “This is driving me nuts! What are we going to do?”
“Just hold on,” I said, giving her a poke in the ribs. “You’ll see.”
“I’m starving,” Russell muttered. “I hope you packed pancakes.”
We were halfway across the tall grass when I spotted the pink scarf moving toward us. Loose strands of white hair fluttered out from under it like pieces of milkweed, and something red was tucked under one arm.
“Who’s that?” Russell asked.
Silver stopped walking.
“Come look.” I pulled both of them forward and grinned.
“Who is that?” Russell dug his heels into the ground, refusing to budge. “She looks weird.”
“It’s Bedelia Weatherly,” I said, talking to Russell. “And she’s not weird. She’s nice. She’s going to let us fly her kite.”
“A kite?” Russell’s eyes got huge. “I love kites!”
“How’d you get her to come down the mountain?” Silver’s voice was hushed.
“I walked up to her house yesterday, and I just asked.” I looked over at Momma. “I told her there was someone who really wanted to meet her again.”
Momma smiled at me.
Bedelia Weatherly came closer. She lifted one hand and waved.
We waved back and began to run.
Because of their love, encouragement, and never-ending support, I would like to thank the following people:
My agent, Stacey Glick, who does not know the meaning of the word no, and possesses the kind of fierce energy that I can only hope to know one day.
My editor, Jenne Abramowitz, whose enthusiasm and tenderness for this book have brought me to my knees, and whose keen editing skills have made for a better, richer story.
Everyone at Scholastic who has worked tirelessly to bring this book into the world.
My husband and children, whose patience for my need to go off alone and write is one of the greatest gifts I will ever receive.
Thank you all.
Cecilia Galante is the author of books for children, teens, and adults. Her first novel, The Patron Saint of Butterflies, won a NAIBA Book of the Year Award and was an Oprah’s Book Club Teen Reading Selection, a Book Sense Pick, and a Bank Street Best Children’s Book of the Year. In addition to teaching eighth-grade English, Cecilia also teaches fiction writing at Wilkes University’s graduate creative writing program. She lives in Kingston, Pennsylvania.
Copyright © 2016 by Cecilia Galante
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Galante, Cecilia, author.
Title: The world from up here / Cecilia Galante.
Description: First edition. | New York : Scholastic Press, 2016. | Summary: Wren Baker is an anxious twelve-year-old, so when her mother goes into a hospital for depression, and she and her younger brother, who has Asperger’s syndrome, go to live with her aunt and her cousin, Silver, who have just recently moved to Pennsylvania, her stress level soars—especially since Silver is a fearless child who conceives a plan to climb Creeper Mountain and interview “Witch Weatherly” for the class history project.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015023427 | ISBN 9780545848459 (hardcover)
Subjects: LCSH: Anxiety in children—Juvenile fiction. | Asperger’s syndrome—Juvenile fiction. | Cousins—Juvenile fiction. | Brothers and sisters—Juvenile fiction. | Self-confidence—Juvenile fiction. | Middle schools—Juvenile fiction. | Pennsylvania—Juvenile fiction. | CYAC: Anxiety—Fiction. | Asperger’s syndrome—Fiction. | Cousins—Fiction. | Brothers and sisters—Fiction. | Self-confidence—Fiction. | Middle schools—Fiction. | Schools—Fiction. | Pennsylvania—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.G12965 Wo 2016 | DDC 813.6—dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015023427
First edition, July 2016
Cover art © 2016 by Mike Heath
Cover design by Nina Goffi
e-ISBN 978-0-545-84854-1
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
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