But Not Forever

by Jan Von Schleh

  She would not jinx time or her place in it. She would not dwell on the decayed envelope inside the piano that had turned to powder at their touch, or about missing the Ice Caves Fair. She would not think about climbing into a long metal tube in a few days and flying through the sky to Africa if their mission ended in failure. She would not think about living Sonnet’s life forever.

  Or imagine Sonnet, with Tor, living hers.

  Jules sat down beside her. “Hey.”

  “Hey, what’s up?” Emma said, and they put their foreheads together and giggled. One of Team Switch’s favorite pastimes was to get Emma to say contemporary words and phrases in her proper way while they laughed and teased her.

  Jules said, “You’re just sitting here like a sad lump. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is okay. Why are you not in the river with everyone?”

  “I’m working up to it. I hate getting my hair wet without a hair dryer close by. Truthfully, I’m not much of a camper.”

  Jules would be beautiful with a rat’s nest for hair. Her unblemished face glowed like the finest porcelain doll, and her delicate features were faultless. So very different from her own freckled face. “Except for your eyes, you and Evan hardly look like brother and sister.”

  “I mostly look like my mom. Sonnet and Evan look like Dad and Aunt Kate, as if they were their little mini-me’s. Well, you know. You’ve been around Aunt Kate. It’s weird.”

  “Does that bother you, Jules? That you are different?”

  “I don’t mind being different. I do get annoyed sometimes over the hubbub around Sonnet and Evan being twins, though.” She laughed. “If you were all here together as triplets, it would probably send me over the edge.”

  Emma sighed. It would have been wonderful to be triplets with Sonnet and Evan, and be a member of this most perfect family. But Emma knew better than to express that secret longing to Jules. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” said Jules. “When it comes right down to it, I like being unique. I know I belong . . . and that’s what matters.”

  Emma had never quite fit inside her own family circle. But like a member of a clan or a tribe, she knew she belonged to this collection of people.

  Tan arms reaching up from the river motioned in the distance. “Hey, Jules. Get over here.” Niki, the mother ship, was calling to her barnacle.

  “Chop, chop,” said Emma to Jules, winking.

  Jules laughed. “Yes, well, chop, chop, it’s time to go ruin my hair.” She shook her yellow mane and picked her way over the narrow shoreline toward the splashing.

  Lia swam to Emma’s dangling feet, floating loose in the cool water, and tickled them. “It’s absolutely too nice in here, Emma. You’re missing all the fun.”

  Emma stood, unmindful now of her bare body in Sonnet’s swimming clothes, and followed Jules over the smooth river rocks to the boulder where Rapp had plunged down next to Evan. She had found the courage to leap straight out of the Buck Swan into Lake Washington. She could certainly do this.

  She waited for Jules to jump, and then she jumped, too, shouting “Cannonball!” as she flew into the river and her tribe’s waiting arms.

  SAYING he was going to distract them from their disappointment in not finding any meaningful clues yet, Uncle Jack climbed up on the van’s roof and rifled around in the big box, finally finding the items he was searching for. He brandished a fishing pole around in front of them as if it were some sort of grand treasure. “I’m going to show you all how it’s done and then you can each have a turn. We’re going to catch trout for dinner.”

  He waded to waist-high water, holding the rod with its imitation insect attached to the hook, and cast the line out in front of him. His long, unbound hair and browned skin made him a picture of the native people that fished along these rivers in Emma’s time.

  Keko set the tin soldier down on a tree stump and waded out toward Uncle Jack over slippery rocks, still wearing her tennis shoes. Team Switch lined up along the bank. They were counting on at least a few trout to go with the tinfoil-wrapped potatoes baking in the nearby campfire coals.

  Keko unclenched her fist and sprinkled tiny pieces of bread around on top of the burbling water. They slowly absorbed water and sank, lured downstream toward the translucent fishing line reaching into the river.

  A school of fish swam by Keko’s and Uncle Jack’s submerged legs, the setting sun lighting speckles on their silvery, shimmery scales. Within minutes the line tugged and the pole bent backwards, making a large “U.”

  Uncle Jack shouted, “A gift from the great spirits . . . bring the net!”

  Emma turned her wet back on the struggling fish that jumped and towed the rod taut right in front of her. She would not watch the thing die—but she would eagerly eat it. She had always turned up her nose at seafood at her parents’ table, but not here. Her stomach growled in anticipation. She had never been as hungry as she found herself in this place. Eating fire-grilled speckled trout was just one of the many ways she had been altered. Except for Tor and her brothers, it would be hard to go back to her old life. She felt uneasy and torn.

  She was being wrenched in both directions by nobody other than herself.

  “YOU’VE been quiet all night, Keko,” said Rapp, standing tall next to the fire pit. He pushed three marshmallows onto his long stick and poked them out over hot coals that had rolled out to the sides of the bonfire. “Like you’re worried. Is something wrong?”

  A tide of darkness had descended, and dancing fireflies joined them around the campfire as the fish and baked potatoes they had just devoured became a distant memory. Content with her own burnt marshmallow, Emma plucked it off her stick while blowing on it at the same time, and flattened it with a piece of chocolate between two graham crackers. As far as she was concerned, this made-up creation was possibly the best thing she had ever eaten. But instead of roasting another marshmallow, she set her stick down, waiting for Keko’s reply.

  Up to this point their conversation had stayed deliberately positive. “Upbeat” was how Lia had put it. “We have to stay upbeat!”

  Keko faced the blaze, sitting on a log where she had been slowly swaying to Uncle Jack’s guitar song. The orange-and-magenta painted streaks running through her long black hair glowed like a pretty clown’s wig, and licks of fire reflected in the brown almonds of her eyes. “I may as well confess. I haven’t been in touch with Sonnet’s actual presence since the day I first sat on the floor in Emma’s bedroom. I feel nothing but strife emanating from the vibes now.”

  “What does that mean? Should we be worried?” said Jules, looking worried.

  Keko said, “I don’t know what’s wrong, Jules. I just—can’t explain it.”

  “But you’re the expert. What’s your best guess, Keko?” Uncle Jack put down his guitar. “Let’s just get this out in the open and talk about it, or none of us will sleep tonight.”

  Keko sat for a minute gathering her thoughts. “There seems to be something antagonistic going on that’s more or less sucking all the vitality away from Sonnet. I’m having a hard time finding her through all the sludge of hostility.”

  Niki said, “This is really stressful. This whole stupid thing.”

  “But she’s still there, right?” Lia’s voice quivered and her eyes filled with tears.

  Evan whipped his stick from the fire and gazed at his six perfectly browned marshmallows. “Okay, Keko. What do we do?”

  “First, Lia, I do believe she’s still there. Second, Evan, we have to just keep going. Putting one foot in front of the other and scouring the house for clues. Third, Jules and Niki, yes, this is stressful and, no, I don’t want you to worry. You all must stay strong for me. I need your tough, focused energy around me to keep me in a place where I can pick up on Sonnet again. Okay?”

  The fire threw sparks into the air as the black night encircled them in silence. Like little magical beings come to visit from a faraway planet, the swarm of fireflies put on a show, twinkling around
in the light.

  Rapp turned to Uncle Jack. “Do you know a cheerleading song?”

  “A what?”

  “You know, that music, or chanting, or whatever they call it, so people can cheer on their team.”

  “Ah, yes.” He winked at Rapp and seized his guitar where it leaned up against his chair. “You mean like the ‘Queen Anne Grizzlies Fight Song?’”

  “Exactly,” said Evan. “Come on Jules. We need to cheer for Keko. Get up and teach us your moves. And anyway, this will be something Emma can take home with her. Thanks to you, she’ll be the first ever cheerleader in the entire world.”

  Jules laughed and shouted, “Come on!” and towed everyone to their feet. They followed her around the fire, kicking their legs in the air, spinning their bodies and gesturing their arms as Uncle Jack half-yelled and half-sang the “Grizzlies Fight Song” and hammered on the guitar’s wooden back in time with his bellowing. Rapp picked up the words and yelled along.

  Evan, jumping around behind Keko, caught her around the waist and twirled her up in the air. “You feeling it, Keko? You feeling our energy?”

  Team Switch chanted along with Evan. “You feeling it, Keko? You feeling it?”

  “Yes, yes! I’m feeling it!” Keko’s flying hair turned into a blur of colors and she laughed so hard she cried. And in the star-bedecked Monte Cristo night, with just the fire and the fireflies lighting her lithe body, Jules taught everyone her moves. And those moves and that cheer and their love for each other gave them all the hope and courage they needed to keep fighting.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Sonnet

  1895

  Tor sprawled against a tree trunk, his long legs stretched out, brown working boots crossed at his ankles. His hat slid down his forehead and covered his eyes against the sun as if he were napping. Two horses grazed nearby on the long, swaying grass. Kerry breezed past him and aimed an old Irish song at his reclining body.

  “Come over the hill, my bonnie Irish lad.

  Come over the hill to your darling

  You choose the rose, love, and I’ll make the vow

  And I’ll be your true love forever . . .”

  Tor rolled off the ground, took the leather bag out of my arms, and gave me the smaller horse’s reins. I swung up onto its back and he handed me the bag again. The leather crunched under me in a familiar greeting as I settled down into the saddle. I gave a silent word of thanks to my mom, who had torn me, years ago, from my books and forced me, kicking and screaming, into horseback riding lessons. Simeon and Maxwell were right. There were no mistakes.

  Tor ripped a large green canvas bag out of the grass and threw it on his red horse, before slinging himself on, too. The small open field disappeared under our horses’ galloping hooves. We raced each other toward the dark forest rising beyond us. As we slowed and entered dappled shade, it felt like an air conditioner had been flipped on, cooling me and slowing the violent beating of my heart. We rode single file up a hill, thick with trees and underbrush, and across a rocky outcropping. The mountain trail grew steeper as we made our way. Rounding a bend, I saw a large sign in the distance hanging over small wooden buildings pressed up to the side of a sheer cliff. A sign rocked in the wind: MYSTERY MINE. We were here.

  We trotted the horses beyond the largest building and into a small enclosure behind a barn. Tor brought the bags into the bunkhouse and set them on the floor, banging the screen door shut behind us. The men working the Mystery Mine wouldn’t return until late Sunday. They were all at the fair.

  Dust motes swirled around, funnels from the sunshine streaming through dirty windows. The wind blowing in from the open door stirred a strong smell of sweaty men and a faint smell of animals. I pulled the hat off my head and shook out my hair.

  Tor put his arms around me and hugged me tight. “I can’t stay long. My cabin will be one of the first places they search after Madam Sweetwine saw us in conversation the other day.”

  “I know. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. It’s a relief to be out of that awful house and gone from her.”

  “Let me show you some equipment and supplies.” He dropped the canvas bag on the table and twisted a small basket of food from its depths. “This can go in the icehouse. We’ll go find it in a minute.” He tugged out his two red blankets. “Use these. Stay away from the men’s bedrolls or you will wake up with fleas.”

  He set a kerosene lamp and matches on the table and showed me how to light it and turn the wick’s flame up and down with a screw in the side.

  “Stay in the bunkhouse or in the barn. If you have to go out after nightfall, take this with you.” He set a gun on the table. “It’s loaded. There are coyotes and cougars about at night. Even bears will come ’round if they smell food. And don’t build a fire, Sonnet. I’m not sure how far the men will range up the mountain searching for you.”

  A small bundle inside a pillowcase came next. I dumped my jeans, shirt, and tennis shoes onto the table. Kerry had remembered a buttonhook. “These cloth shoes I’m wearing won’t last another ride. The stirrups rubbed the seams open on the sides.”

  Tor watched as I took off the high button shoes and long stockings and laced up the high-tops over my bare feet. I cuffed his jeans a couple times so they didn’t drag on the ground.

  “I like you in men’s clothing. I like your red boots.”

  Boots. I smiled.

  “The sun is going to set,” he said, taking my hand. “Come with me to find the icehouse.”

  The screen door slammed behind us as we stepped off the porch. “I’m surprised there’s no barking dog protecting the mine,” I said.

  “Oh, there was. I rode up earlier today and cut him loose. He shot into the forest like a furry cannonball, as if tasting freedom for the first time. When he gets hungry enough for real food in a few days, he’ll return.”

  We found what we were looking for under the kitchen. I took bread, chicken, and apples. Kerry had wrapped a piece of chocolate cake in paper for me. I added it to my little pile of food. Everything else went back in the icehouse. Tor located a well and pumped water into a jug. Our feet dragging, we walked back to the bunkhouse still holding hands.

  The lantern cast a warm glow between us. I could smell his sunshine skin.

  “I hate leaving you.”

  “Don’t worry. Really, Tor. I’m going to go to the barn and see if I can find a brush for that nice horse that got me here. It’ll be therapeutic for both of us.”

  “Her name is Noel. I won her in a game of blackjack on Christmas Eve. Card playing is what we unattached men do around here in winter.” He ran his hand through my loose hair and swept it across my cheek. “One of us will come see you tomorrow and take you up to Simeon’s, depending . . .”

  I nodded and moved away from him. I took the last envelope from the bottom of the leather bag. “If something happens and I don’t see you again, I have a letter for you to give Emma. I think it’s important that it come from you.” He glanced at where I had written Emma Sweetwine across the front and Sonnet McKay in the upper left-hand corner. He stuffed it in his pocket.

  Next, I took my leather and silver bracelet and adjusted the clever knot to make it bigger. I held his arm and rolled the leather circle up over his fingers and around his wrist, tightening it to fit him. It lay on patches of golden hair and smooth white scars. “Emma will know this is from me. But it’ll be okay. After she reads my letter, she won’t mind if you wear it. She can wear it, too. It’s from a little village in South Africa, close to where I live.”

  I rubbed my finger across it, stamping the picture of it sitting on his wrist into my heart. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”

  He touched the bracelet. He touched the scab on my lip. I took his hand and kissed it. He took me in his arms. We pressed into each other in the dusty light, and I didn’t know if he saw Emma or Sonnet, and I didn’t care. Whoever I was to him, for that moment on top of a mountain, in a rustic bunkhouse for gold miners, Tor and I w
ere the only ones who existed.

  He kissed me hard one last time, running his hands slowly down my back, keeping the feel of me on his palms. We stared at each other for a long moment, and then he stepped away, dipping his arms from me, and ran a scarred and callused hand across my face, wiping away tears. “I will never forget you, Sonnet. I promise.”

  His jaw clenched and he swallowed hard as a solitary tear ran down his cheek. Something sharp stabbed at my heart. He heaved himself away and walked out the door. I followed him and watched from the porch as he walked his horse out of the enclosure and swung onto his saddle. Without a backward glance, he rode off through the mining area and rounded the bend, disappearing from view.

  My knees snapped closed, the bones in my legs turning to rubber. I slid down the doorjamb to the floor as knives sliced through my body and hot, wet, streaming tears singed down my face. My body ached with a searing pain—as if someone had died. The bend in the road would stay empty. Tor wouldn’t return.

  My head fell back against the bunkhouse siding, so heavy I couldn’t hold it up.

  Creaking, swaying trees were my only companions, whistling their desolate sound off the gunmetal cliff behind the building where I huddled. The lush perfume of roses sailed on the wind. My head lolled sideways toward the scent. Off the far end of the porch grew a lonely rosebush blooming delicate yellow buds tinged in pink. I hadn’t noticed it, hadn’t seen it until the moment I needed it.

  Blinking away my last straggling tears, I stared at the surprising find, accepting finally it wasn’t a mirage. I scooted over and ran my fingers across a velvety petal.

  Against all odds, a hardscrabble miner had loved and nurtured a single rosebush on this inhospitable, rocky mountain. Someone like Jimmy Barrows, who had the goodness of heart to think of others besides himself. It was a beautiful gift for anyone who found themselves on this lonely porch.