by Pete Hautman
She opened her mouth and screamed. It came out as a high-pitched squeal, but it was enough to shatter the spell. In an instant she was on her feet and out the doorway.
What had just happened? A dream? She checked herself. Her T-shirt looked fine. No rips. It had to have been a dream, but she could still feel it, and . . . voices? She could still hear a distant mutter. It sounded as if it was coming from the other side.
Elly edged around the deadfall and saw a man standing about twenty feet away. At first she thought it was the Mushroom Man, but it wasn’t. This man was clean-shaven, he wore glasses, and he had on an old-fashioned suit. His slightly hunched, scarecrow-like look reminded her of her uncle Rob in Atlanta. The man was facing to the side and he had one hand in his pocket. His mouth was moving. She could hear sounds but couldn’t make out his words. It sounded like the unintelligible voices she had heard inside the castle.
Maybe he’s one of the detectives, she thought, still looking for Stuey, talking on one of those wireless headset phones.
Whoever he was talking to, the scarecrow man was angry — his face was red, and the veins on his thin neck stood out. Strangest of all, his legs were buried up to his shins, as if he had sunk into the earth.
She looked around to see if there was anybody else there. When she looked back an instant later, the man in the suit was gone.
Elly backed slowly away, her heart pounding. She turned her back on the deadfall and ran for home.
By the time Elly let herself in through the back gate, she had calmed down somewhat. She went inside. She could hear her mother down in the basement. She went up to her bedroom and changed her clothes.
It had to be a bad dream, she thought. She’d had nightmares like that before, where she was paralyzed and something terrible was coming to get her and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t move. Maybe she’d dreamed the scarecrow man in the suit too.
She curled up on her bed with Grimpus, hugging him to her chest. She had fallen asleep in the deadfall before, but Stuey had been there to protect her.
It had to be a dream. But did that mean that the other things that had happened — Stuey disappearing and then coming back again — had those been dreams too? She knew the difference between make-believe and the real world. She didn’t really believe in elves and fairies. She knew that being Queen of the Wood was just a game — but hadn’t she seen Stuey disappear before her eyes? And hadn’t he come back? Hadn’t they held hands and talked?
“Elly?” Her mother was standing in the doorway. “Where have you been?”
“No place.” Elly sat up and gave her mom a fake smile. Her mother was real. This house was real.
“Daddy has a preservation society meeting tonight, so it will just be the two of us for dinner. I made pie.”
“Cherry pie?”
“The cherries aren’t ripe yet, sweetie. But it’s rhubarb season.”
“Oh.” Rhubarb pie was too real.
“I’ll make cherry pie for your birthday if the cherries ripen in time.”
The last time she’d made cherry pie was the day Stuey went away.
“Okay.”
Her mother left. Elly looked down at Grimpus, who was flopped across her lap, looking rather tired. Her birthday was in three weeks. She would be ten years old. “You’re not invisible,” she said to Grimpus.
Grimpus looked up at her and blinked his yellow eye.
She began to cry.
Jenny Garner had changed. She had her hair up in a sort of ponytail that sprouted from the top of her head and trickled down past her ears, and she was wearing a giant T-shirt with supertight jeans and ballet slippers. Elly thought she looked like a teenager.
Her bedroom was now decorated with posters of boy bands and handsome young actors. Her dolls were gone, except for one naked Barbie standing on her dresser.
Jenny acted different too. Sort of superior. And she wasted no time telling Elly that she had a new best friend named Shawna.
“Shawna’s really cool,” she said, implying that Elly was not. “Her mom does costume design at the Children’s Theater in Minneapolis, so she goes to all the plays for free. We’re going to see The Wizard of Oz next week.”
“I saw that twice,” Elly said.
“Not the movie,” Jenny said. “This is a play, with real actors.”
“Oh.” Now she felt stupid. Jenny hadn’t asked her anything about Atlanta, or said anything about Stuey. It was all about Jenny. She had a bunch of new clothes she had to show Elly.
“I had to wear a uniform at school,” Elly told her. “We all had these blue shirts.”
“Yuck! What kind of school was that?”
“A Jewish school,” Elly said.
“Oh my gawd, that sounds like the worst thing ever!”
“It wasn’t so bad. The kids were really smart.”
“I don’t know how you can stand to be Jewish.”
Jenny had never said anything like that to her before. Elly felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach, and her face was getting hot. She had to change the subject before she started crying or said something awful.
“Do you ever have dreams where you can’t move?”
“Sometimes in my dreams I can fly.”
“I went to the Castle Rose yesterday.”
Jenny gave her a blank look.
“You know. My secret place. I told you about it.”
“Oh! You mean where you were when that boy was kidnapped.”
“They don’t know for sure if he was kidnapped.”
“Or drowned in the pond or something. I would never go in those woods if you paid me a million dollars.”
“They’re going to make part of it into a lake, and the rest of it will be a nature center.”
“I know. So stupid. I wish we were getting our own shopping mall instead. My mom says it’s all your dad’s fault. Hey, look at these cool boots I got on sale.”
Elly did not go back to the deadfall that week. Every day she told herself she would, but the memory of that dream — it had to be a dream — was too vivid, too real. In her own bed, every night, she could feel cold stone fingers digging into her ribs.
Elly’s mom wanted her to invite some kids over for a birthday party.
“But I don’t know anybody,” Elly said.
“What about Jenny?”
“I don’t like Jenny anymore.”
“Oh! Did something happen?”
“I just don’t like her,” Elly said.
“What about that girl who lives on Westwood Drive? The Johanson girl.”
“She’s Jenny’s friend. I just want Grimpy.” Elly was huddled on her bed holding her cat.
“Honey . . . oh! I know! You could invite Aimee Rosen! You like Aimee, don’t you?” Aimee Rosen was Elly’s second cousin. She lived all the way over in Saint Paul.
“She’s only eight.”
“Well, you’re only nine — at least until tomorrow.”
“No thank you,” Elly said.
“All right, if you’re sure. What kind of cake would you like?”
“I want cherry pie.” Elly knew she was being difficult. The cherries on their tree were still green.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Her mother compressed her lips and backed out of the room.
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“What if you don’t want to what?”
“Be ten.”
Her mom looked confused.
“Jenny’s ten, and Jenny’s mean. She threw away her dolls and all she wants is clothes and to go shopping. She thinks our whole family’s stupid because Dad stopped the mall.”
“Oh!” Her mom stood there blinking. “Well, I guess she’s entitled to her own opinion. But turning ten doesn’t have to mean you change, Elly. It’s just a number.”
“Then how come everybody makes such a big deal out of it? What if I don’t want to grow up?”
Her mom was
staring at her with shiny eyes. Elly hugged Grimpy and glared back at her.
“Oh, sugar pie, you stay just like you are forever.” Was she crying? “You don’t have to grow up.”
“Okay then,” Elly said. “I won’t.”
They had her birthday dinner on the patio. Her mom had made Elly’s favorite: kid-size hamburgers, onion rings, potato salad, and cherry pie for dessert.
She got a lot of presents: clothes, books, and her own cell phone. She was happy to have the phone, but she had no one to call. Last year Stuey had given her a drawing of a fox. It still hung on her wall, and it was better than a cell phone.
Dad was in a good mood. He made stupid jokes all through dinner.
“When I was ten,” he said, “the years were longer.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Elly said.
“I know!” he said. “But it’s true. The older you get, the faster time passes. Now that you’re ten years old all your days will be shorter than when you were nine.”
“But the years will be longer?”
“No, they’ll be shorter too.”
Elly thought about last summer. It seemed like a thousand years ago.
“Just think,” her dad continued, “pretty soon you’ll have your very own lake! Maybe for your next birthday we’ll get you a kayak.”
“What’s a kayak?”
“It’s a little boat,” her mom said.
“I don’t want a lake,” Elly said. “I like the woods.”
“There will still be plenty of woods,” her dad said. “The lake will be in the middle of the preserve, with trees all around. They’re going to start dredging tomorrow and taking out some of the scrub. This time next month the dam holding back the creek will be opened, and Westdale Wood will go back to the way it was a hundred years ago.”
The cherry pie was too sweet and goopy. Her mom had made it with canned cherries. It was all Elly could do to choke down her slice. The cherry pie she had eaten with Stuey had been better.
That reminded her — the last time she’d seen Stuey she had promised him she would check on his mom, and she’d never had a chance to do that.
“Do you know what we should do?” she said. “We should take a piece of pie to Mrs. Becker.”
“Oh, honey,” her mother said, setting down her fork, “I’m sure she won’t want to be bothered.”
“You said she isn’t eating enough. I bet she’d like your pie.”
Her parents looked at each other.
“Elly, that’s a nice thought, but Mrs. Becker hasn’t been well the past few months —”
“That’s why she needs pie! Please? Can we go over there?”
“I’m not sure it’s such a good idea, honey,” said her mom.
“Yes it is! It’s a perfect idea! And it’s my birthday so I get to do whatever I want!”
“Within reason,” said her father. “We can’t just go barging in on people.”
“Why not? People barge all the time!”
Her parents exchanged another look.
“I think she’d really like your pie, Mom.”
“What do you think?” her mom asked her dad.
“Her phone is disconnected,” he said. “Last time I was there she wouldn’t answer the door. But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check on her. We can drive over as soon as we’re done here.”
Elly’s mom nodded, then turned to Elly. “Are you sure you want to do this, honey? Anne Becker has changed . . . well, a lot.”
“That’s okay,” Elly said. “I’ll still recognize her.”
“Good Lord, would you look at that yard!” her dad exclaimed as they drove up the driveway. “It looks like she hasn’t mowed it all year!”
“Maybe her lawn mower isn’t working,” said Elly’s mom.
“Well if she doesn’t take care of it soon the city will send a crew over to cut it, and they’ll charge her for it.” He stopped the car. “I suppose I could get some of the guys over to clean it up, if she’ll let us.”
“We could ask,” Elly’s mom said doubtfully.
Elly opened the door and hopped out, holding the plastic container with the pie. She ran toward the front door.
“Elly! Wait!”
She stopped and let her parents catch up. They climbed the front steps together and Elly rang the doorbell. A few seconds later she pressed it again.
“That’s enough, Elly. Be patient.”
Elly was patient. They stood there for almost a minute, which felt like a very long time. Finally, Elly heard a faint clunk-ka-clunk coming from inside. The door opened.
Mrs. Becker had lost weight. Her green T-shirt hung loose on sharp shoulders, her arms looked bony and thin, her pale cheeks were hollowed, and she stared at Elly through faded blue eyes that now seemed too large for her thin face.
“Hi Mrs. Becker!” Elly did her best to sound chipper. “It’s me, Elly Rose!”
Mrs. Becker stared at her with no sign of recognition.
“Elly Rose Frankel!” Elly said.
Mrs. Becker looked past Elly to her parents, then back at Elly.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“I brought you this.” Elly held out the plastic container. “It’s cherry pie!”
Mrs. Becker took the plastic container and stared at it as if she had no idea what she was looking at. She shook her head and asked again, “Why are you here?”
“We brought pie!” Elly said, even though she knew that wasn’t the answer Stuey’s mom wanted.
Elly’s dad forced a smile and said, “Anne, we just stopped by to see how you’re doing. Elly wanted to bring you pie.”
Mrs. Becker’s eyes became small and glittery. She stabbed a forefinger toward Elly.
“Why is she still here?” Her voice rose and cracked on the word here.
Elly’s mom grabbed Elly’s shoulders and pulled her back. Her dad stepped in front her.
“Anne. I was thinking . . . I was wondering if I could give you a hand with your yard.”
“My yard?” It came out like a snarl. “What’s wrong with my yard?”
“Nothing, I just thought —”
“You bring me pie?”
“Anne —”
Mrs. Becker stepped forward and shouted, “Bring me my son!”
Elly’s mom was pulling her back off the steps. Her dad held up his hands and said, “Anne, please . . .” There was a moment when Elly thought Mrs. Becker was going to jump on him, but the moment passed. Mrs. Becker froze, her face going hard and still.
“Get out,” she said. “Leave. Me. Alone.”
“Okay, okay, we’re going.” The three of them backed away, then turned and walked quickly back to the car. Mrs. Becker stood on the steps watching them until they were all in the car, then drew her arm back and threw the pie. The plastic container hit the windshield and burst open, covering the glass with gloopy, too-sweet cherry filling.
“Do you think we should call someone?” Elly’s mom said as they drove home.
Her father was running the wipers, turning them on and off, spraying the windshield with wiper fluid. “I don’t know . . . she isn’t hurting anybody, and she wants to be left alone.” He gave the windshield another spray. One cherry was stuck high on the glass where the wipers didn’t reach. Elly couldn’t take her eyes off it.
“Doesn’t she have any relatives?” her mom said.
“I don’t think so. Her parents are gone, and she had no siblings. Maybe she just needs time to work things out.”
“It’s been a year.”
“I know.”
The cherry was slowly sliding down the windshield. Finally it slid low enough for the wipers to get it, but her dad had turned them off.
“Maybe we should call her doctor. Or social services.”
“Maybe. I just keep thinking it could be us. I mean, if it had been Elly, would you want a bunch of doctors and social workers banging on our door?”
Elly, watching the cherry slide down the glass, knew t
here was only one thing that could help Mrs. Becker. For Stuey to come back.
The dragons and the elves were waging war beneath swirling gray skies. The dragons’ distant bellows and roars swept up the forested hillside, shivering the leaves, mounting the stockade, and spilling into the garden where the Queen of the Wood sat on her royal divan, listening. The elvish warriors clattered and buzzed and trilled.
Grimpus sat on her lap, ears back, tail lashing. Grimpus was not fond of dragons. He hated everything and everyone except the queen herself.
The dragons fell silent. A moment later there came a splintering sound, and a dull crash. The dragons snarled in triumph.
“They’re knocking down the trees, Grimpy,” said the queen.
Grimpus did not reply. The queen lifted her chalice to her lips and sipped. The sweet nectar had turned bitter from sorrow. She scowled and set it aside.
“One day, Grimpy, I will escape these walls and reclaim my kingdom. I swear it on the lost soul of my knight-in-waiting.”
The dragons started roaring again, followed by the thunder of more dragons calling from beyond the horizon. The queen tried to imagine the elvish armies doing battle. She put her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. It was hard. Too hard to picture them. The image was fuzzy and distant and not at all real.
The dragons were bulldozers. The elves were birds and cicadas and buzzing flies, her sweet nectar was apple juice, and Grimpus had no ears.
A drop of rain fell from the sky and struck the tip of her nose.
“Elly!” The strident voice cut through her hands and drilled into her ears. She did not respond. Another raindrop struck the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek.
“Come inside! It’s raining!”
Grimpus fell from her lap to the stone patio and stared up at the gray sky through one yellow glass eye.
“Elly Rose! Now!”
Elly sighed and sat up on the chaise longue. Her mother was looking at her from the back door. Large raindrops spotted the patio tiles between them. Elly stood up wordlessly. She did not want to get wet, but she also didn’t want to go inside just because her mom said so.