I slowed, trying to truly see the images. Light spilled from the pages. Reality bent. Two boys rode down a leaf-lined street that was also treetops for a street below. People ran stocking-footed down a road, carrying mirrors that blended together into what looked like a river running between buildings. When I reached the chapter’s end, I riffled back to the beginning and began to sketch. Maybe if I took time with these pictures, drew them with my own hands, I could climb inside them and understand how two contradictory things could be true. Why did the need to understand this impossibility burn against my wall of doubt? Face after face flashed in my mind. Frankie, Mom, Andrew, the girl in the woods, and finally me. What am I supposed to see?
And then the moment passed, and I still didn’t have any answers. I felt like I’d struggled through a thick fog toward a lighted doorway, and when I finally made it across the room, the door slammed, leaving me lost and blind in the darkness. I laid my forehead down on the desk and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping Ruth’s mom would come soon.
Chapter 11
A Christmas
Project
Every time I crossed the church’s back field, I stopped for a minute to take it all in: the treehouse with its turrets and weathervanes and wind chimes. Climbing up the rope ladder had been treacherous since the snow had started. Tonight, my boots slipped and slid on the frozen rungs. Still, when Doug asked, our group voted unanimously to meet in the treehouse through the winter, despite the challenges. Youth group wouldn’t be the same in a church classroom. Usually on the first Thursday of a month, we’d be off for an outdoor adventure, but for December, Doug had announced the schedule would be different.
Penny muscled Ruth and I onto the deck. A few weeks ago, Doug had thanked Penny for power blowing snow off the treehouse porch every other day. Apparently, even with the strong supports, too much snow could break the porch off the side of the building.
Penny wore a Santa hat over her spiky teal-tipped hair. Cold reddened her nose and cheeks, but she gave us her usual grin. “Turn around!”
She taped papers to each of our backs. “Head on in. The space heaters are blasting, there’s fresh baked chocolate chip cookies, and you have five minutes to figure out whose name is on your back. Yes or no questions only. Famous people. Have fun!”
Inside the treehouse, most people roamed from windowseat to windowseat, asking questions. A few of the younger boys body slammed one another with pillows, and the band members checked microphones and guitar amps. Ruth and I headed directly for the cookies.
She groaned. “I’m terrible at this game. I’ll bet you fifty bucks I don’t even know my person. I have no popular culture.”
I checked the slip on her back. Abe Lincoln. “Sure, I’ll bet you. I could use fifty bucks for Christmas shopping.”
The hot, gooey cookies fell open onto our napkins as soon as we took bites.
I licked chocolate off my lips. “So who is mine? A man?”
“No.”
Lindsay and Bea, the only other youth group girls our age, joined us at the cookie table.
“I already guessed mine,” Lindsay said. “But Bea can’t figure hers out.”
“Is mine a singer?” Ruth asked Lindsay.
“No.”
“A dancer?”
Lindsay caught my eye, and we both doubled over with laughter as we imagined Abe Lincoln dancing, with his top hat wobbling on the top of his tall, pole-like body.
“What?” Ruth asked.
Three questions later, I knew who I was. “Beyonce?”
“Yes!” Lindsay and Bea shouted.
Ruth still hadn’t figured out her character by the time Doug asked us all to sit down. We pulled the names off our backs, and Ruth rolled her eyes.
“You didn’t tell me he was a president.”
“You owe me fifty bucks.”
We settled into the regular routine. Doug prayed, the youth group band—Equilibrium—played, and people sang along. Cameron, the lead singer of the band and an eighth grader at our school, had been friends with Ruth since mid-fall. Everyone put extra emphasis on the word friends, which irritated Ruth, but she couldn’t hide the smile that crept across her face every time she saw him. I teased Ruth about Cameron, but honestly, I liked they way they acted around each other, comfortable, like best friends. The way Andrew and I used to be. Andrew. Every time I thought about him, I wanted to hide under a rock.
When the band finished their set, Doug headed to the front. “So, it’s December. Penny, Ben, and I decided to let you decide how we should celebrate Christmas. Thoughts?”
“Pizza party!” Ted played football for Hiawatha High and seemed to think only about two things — food and football.
Bea raised her hand. “Secret Santa? You know, where you pick someone’s name and give secret presents and everyone tries to guess who their Santa is until the end when we find out?”
Jasper, the youngest member of our group, called out, “We could do one of those living nativity things, where you stand in costume and …”
“Freeze in the snow?” Ted asked. “No, thank you.”
“It’s better than eating pizza for Christmas,” Claudia said, in a rare moment of standing up for Jasper. Usually she couldn’t wait to pounce on his suggestions.
“All right,” Doug said. “Let’s back up a second. Before we decide the particulars, let’s toss out thoughts on what we all want from a Christmas celebration, here as a group.”
“Not just a party,” Lindsay said. “We should do something for someone else.”
“In elementary school, our Sunday school teacher gave us shoeboxes that we filled with toothbrushes and shoelaces and combs and toys, and sent them to kids in Africa,” Claudia said.
“I …” Jasper frowned and broke off.
“What are you thinking, Jasper?” Doug asked.
“Well it sounds bad, I guess, but why don’t we help people around here? People we can see? Not that I don’t think kids in Africa need stuff, but …”
“Oh!” Ruth looked sharply at me.
For a second, I had no idea what she was thinking, but slowly her idea became clear. The family in the woods. I shook my head, hoping no one could see my heart thudding against my ribcage. Telling our parents about the family was one thing, but involving the whole youth group would only multiply the problem and put Patch in even more danger.
“What, Ruth?” Doug asked.
I grabbed her arm and held tight. Don’t say it, Ruth. Don’t.
She tossed me an exasperated look before she said, “Well, maybe we could find some people in our own community who need help. We could get presents for them.”
“Oh, and a tree!” Bea said. “We could bring a decorated tree, and presents and Christmas Eve dinner … to someone who wouldn’t have any of those things otherwise.”
“Everyone has a Christmas tree.” Ted rolled his eyes.
“You’d be surprised,” Penny said from her windowseat perch. “I think we’ve got the beginning of a fantastic idea here.”
“Let’s break into teams,” Doug said, “First, brainstorm what we’ll need to pull this off. If you want to work on presents, meet over there.” He pointed to the pillows by a windowseat. “Decorations by the books. Food by the snack table, and research up here with me. No need to do anything yet. Just break the project into manageable steps.”
“Don’t you see?” Ruth asked as soon as people started to move. “Sadie, this is the perfect answer. You didn’t know how to convince the girl to listen to you … this is it.”
“Ruth, if the entire youth group hikes out to the shack, they’ll disturb Patch. And Christmas is weeks away, too, so how will giving gifts to the family make any difference? The problem is now. The little girl could tell about Patch any second.”
“But she hasn’t told yet. Sadie, they live in the freezing cold. Obviously they need help.”
“Sadie, Ruth, you guys okay?” Doug asked.
“Yes. We’re fine.” I steered Ruth over
to the decoration group, where she ignored me as the group brainstormed ornaments to make on a tight budget.
After about ten minutes, Doug called, “Come on back.”
He gathered feedback from all the groups.
“So, sounds like Penny will head up the tree-cutting expedition, which we’ll do December twenty third. The decoration committee will create glass ornaments that will catch the lights—thank you, Sadie—and the presents committee is going to shovel snow—thank you Cameron — as a fundraiser so we can purchase gifts. The research committee will ask Pastor George if he knows of a family in need.”
Ruth shot me a look, and I shook my head, whispering quietly, “After we talk to the girl, we’ll decide what to do. Okay?”
Doug continued. “The food committee will bake on Christmas Eve, and we’ll gather that night to deliver the celebration, complete with caroling and hot chocolate.”
“And we’ll have pizza before we go,” Ted said.
“Right. How could I forget the pizza?” Doug asked.
Chapter 12
Fused Glass
On the way to the town library the next day, I fingered the small compass in my pocket, which I had found instead of a map piece in drawer three.
“Just open all the drawers already!” Ruth said as we pulled off our scarves and mittens and hung them to dry. “You’re driving me crazy!”
The librarian had left our piles of books on our tables. Ruth sat, took the first book off her pile and sighed. “I will never finish.”
“Don’t do everything. If Mario doesn’t help, Ms. Barton will see that you did your part.”
Tess and Nicole’s raised voices carried across the library. “Just because you have diamond earrings, you’re suddenly better than us?” Tess asked Frankie. Was she being loud on purpose?
“Give me my backpack,” Frankie said, her voice low and demanding.
“Even if you move to New York,” Nicole said, equally loudly, “Owl Creek will always be your home. It’s in your blood.”
Frankie shoved Nicole so hard that she stumbled back and fell onto a bench. The backpack tumbled out of her arms and clattered onto the floor.
“Frankie!” Ms. Barton said. “Come with me.”
Ms. Barton took Frankie into one of the study rooms and closed the door. Tess and Nicole took their books to Ty’s table, where all three leaned their heads together and whispered.
Through the study room windows, I watched Frankie sit stone faced as Ms. Barton spoke to her. I couldn’t put the pieces together—the haircut, the pierced ears, Frankie’s anger. Did Frankie’s mom live in New York? If so, why was Frankie so unwilling to talk about it?
“What if the family in the woods is Jewish?” Ruth looked up from her book on Jewish history. “We can’t bring them a tree if they celebrate Hanukkah.”
“Ruth, until we go out there — ”
“Go out where?” Frankie asked, sliding onto the bench across from us.
I jumped in my seat. Neither Ruth nor I had seen her come back from Ms. Barton.
“Sheesh Frankie, you scared me!” I said. Ruth wordlessly went back to reading her book.
I handed my book to Frankie. “Take a look at this one— there’s a lot on food.”
“What is it, some big secret?” Frankie asked.
Ruth caught my eye. Perfect. The only thing worse than the youth group knowing about the family in the woods was Frankie knowing, or more specifically, Frankie’s dad. The girl knew about Patch’s den, and I meant to keep Patch far away from Jim Paulson.
“Ruth and I are making ornaments for a tree that our youth group is giving as a Christmas present. You know, to a family who wouldn’t have one otherwise.”
“So where are you going?” Frankie leaned forward, her interest no longer casual.
I racked my mind for the dullest possible answer. “To collect glass bottles. We’re going to break glass to make into ornaments.”
Frankie closed her book and gave me the look she had given me that first day I met her in Moose Tracks Trading Post, her narrowed eyes full of warning. Obviously, I was avoiding her question, but something larger seemed to be bothering her too, as though Frankie had a secret of her own.
“How will you make broken glass into ornaments?” she asked lightly, testing me.
“Vivian uses shards of glass all the time. She presses them into clay or cement and lets it harden. So there’s no sharp edges, but the glass still catches the light. I watched her do it. Back when I was taking lessons with her.”
“Clay will be too heavy for a tree. You should do fused glass instead.” Frankie watched my reaction to this, as though she still didn’t believe we’d been talking about ornaments in the first place.
Fused glass? What did Frankie know about fused glass? We all worked in silence for a few moments, and my heartbeat slowed, settling back into a normal rhythm.
“Can I help?” Frankie asked. “With the ornaments?”
The question — so direct, so sudden, so totally unexpected — was like a punch in the stomach. She hadn’t looked up from her book. Was this another test? Frankie wanted to know if I knew her secret, whatever it was. Still her voice was entirely without the usual bite. And she did know about fused glass, whatever that was. Maybe she actually wanted to help.
“Ummm …” I said. “I guess so. Maybe.”
Ruth kicked me under the table. I kicked her back. What did she expect me to do? Frankie was somehow, weirdly, trying to be our friend.
Frankie looked up at me then, smiled her sad half-smile. “Thanks, Sadie.”
Either I was totally mistaken, or she really meant it.
Chapter 13
Garland
“Grab this box, Sades.” Dad handed me yet another overstuffed box from the attic. Mid-ladder I paused, my arms aching from the million other boxes I had already lifted down. Mom sifted through a sea of boxes and paper, oohing and ahhing over a camel here, a Santa there. Higgins, wisely, watched from downstairs. But Christmas wouldn’t be the same without all of this production. The best part was Mom’s smile, her sparkly eyes. Sometimes, when the exhaustion came, she shrunk deep into herself, and her eyes became like a dark cave opening. No matter how deep I looked, I couldn’t see Mom. Days like today when she expanded back into herself made me feel more my right size, too. Mom was here, doing all the Mom things, so I could be Sadie, doing all the Sadie things. I’d decorate the house every day if it meant she could be here with us, really here.
“We’re missing a bunch of trees, Matthew,” Mom said. “Are there some black plastic bags up there?”
Dad poked his dusty head out and grinned at her. “One never-ending flock of plastic-bag-covered trees coming right up.”
Mom held the world record for number of Christmas trees displayed in one house—all fake, except for our one, official Christmas tree. I had fought, year after year, for a real, pine-smelling tree from the forest. Even though pine needles made my nose run and my eyes water, I refused to give up any part of the tree-cutting tradition, Dad and I choosing the perfect tree, taking turns sawing, wrapping the branches in rope, lifting the bundle onto the Jeep, driving home and stringing the lights, and then finding the exact right branch for each mismatched, memory-filled ornament.
Dad handed down bags of trees of every size protected by black mylar. We passed them to Mom until I thought we might be buried alive. Policemen would come to the house and poke around, speculating.
“What happened to them, Jones?”
“Not sure, Davis. Appears they were suffocated by Christmas spirit. ”
Mom interrupted my exhaustion-induced daydream. “Matthew, we’re still missing one. The tall, skinny one. I want to put it on the landing with all the boat ornaments.”
The ceiling creaked and groaned as Dad crawled deep into the attic.
He dragged out yet another tree. “Stand on the ground for this one, Sades. It’s heavy.”
After I set the bag down, I collapsed onto the pile of bag
s. “Enough. Time for cookies.”
Mom and I had spent the morning making our favorite Christmas cookies, red and white almond flavored dough twisted together into candy cane shapes. I had wrapped a ziplock bag full of peppermints in a towel and crushed the candy with a rubber mallet on the sunroom floor. We’d sprinkled the minty powder on top of the cookies, fresh out of the oven, so the sugar melted just enough to stick.
I brought up a plate of cookies from the kitchen, and we sat on the stairs while Mom gave us our marching orders. First, distribute the trees around the house. Wrap white fluff around their metal bases to give the illusion of snow. As if anyone needed more snow than the foot-deep snowbanks outside. Next, match boxes of ornaments to the correct tree. Some trees only had lights, but most had themes. Santas, boats, trains …
“Sadie, are you listening?” Mom asked.
“What?” Every last cookie on the plate had disappeared. “Who ate all the cookies?”
“After the ornaments, you’re in charge of the garland.”
I grinned. “Yep! Ready when you are!”
I took the plate downstairs, put in a Christmas CD, and got to work. After four hours of decorating, every surface, corner, and wall glittered with Christmas cheer. We packed up the empty boxes and lifted them back into the attic.
“Ready to go to the cabin, Sades?” Dad asked.
Finally. I stuffed my feet into my boots, put on my coat, and hurried out to the Jeep.
Dad pulled the Jeep out of our driveway, and snow crunched under its tires. “What did the Advent calendar bring today?”
“Another map piece. So far I’ve gotten three sections of the map and a compass.”
“A compass? So this is a true adventure, it seems.”
“Come on, Dad. Admit you made the calendar.”
“Can’t say that I did.”
Even though our speed topped out at fifteen miles an hour all the way to the cabin, Dad made screeching sounds as we rounded corners, trying to be funny. I turned up the radio, but he simply screeched louder. No matter how worried I became, Dad could always make me smile.
Flickering Hope Page 5