“Get out of my house!” Mama yells again.
The man in front ignores her. The Guardians always do this; they don’t think women are worth listening to. “Cain Ramble?”
“I speak for him now,” Mama says. “He lost his voice in the Down Below. You know that. What business could you possibly have with my husband at this hour?”
“Not with him,” says the voice. “With your boy.”
With my left arm, I clutch my brother hard against my chest. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t whimper. He presses his head into the nook of my neck. We’re both sweaty with fear, trying not to breathe too hard, too loudly.
Oh, but I want to breathe hard; I want to breathe fire at those terrible men. Part of me wants to dare them to try to take him. I don’t look strong, I know. But sometimes I can feel a wild strength rising up inside me.
“Denver’s not here,” Mama says. Her voice doesn’t waver. She’s rehearsed this lie. “He’s with family in the valley. Won’t be home till spring.”
“That so?” the Guardian asks, and I hear him moving around. “You’ll be in prison by then, Mrs. Ramble. In prison for massive debt.”
A nearly silent gasp lets loose from Denver’s chest. Shhh, I beg him. Shh.
“We’ve got a month’s worth of wages left,” Mama says. “And our girl is working, too. It’ll be just enough to get by, and that’s all we need.”
“That’s not how we see it,” says the Guardian.
And he begins to list our debts: the medical expenses, our housing cost, the machinery my papa “broke” Down Below.
I’m so angry I’m digging my fingernails into the wood floor, wishing it was the bad man’s face.
“You’ll pay your debt like everybody else, Mrs. Ramble. Your boy can use some of his wages, if he works hard enough. If he doesn’t, we’ll take your house, your clothes, everything you own. The longer you wait, the worse it’s going to get.”
“This is outrageous!” Mama yells. Papa shakes his head at her—no. Don’t make them madder. But I’m proud of her for finally yelling. Being gentle has gotten us nowhere.
“You send the boys too deep,” Mama shouts again. “You expect too much. Men and boys are losing their voices down there. Losing their sight. They’re dying down there.”
The man shoves Mama to the floor. Papa lunges at him, and I flinch when I hear the Guardian’s fist meet with Papa’s belly. I pull Denver close and Shh, shh, I beg him. Don’t make a sound. Tears stream down my face. Down Denver’s face.
The Guardian’s voice is so calm when he speaks. “Turn over four thousand Feathersworth in one week, or your boy will report to the mines.”
“Four thousand Feathersworth?” Mama says, with a mirthless laugh. “We can’t find that kind of money in two years, let alone one week.”
“Then we’ll take what we’re owed in other ways.”
The door slams.
Silence fills the room.
Silence … and then the sound of Mama and Papa on the floor.
Crawling toward one another.
Sobbing softly.
The Starpatch I caught earlier pulses, forgotten on the floor beside me.
The next morning, I’m awake before any other Ramble. Even Mama. I gave my heart some space to break last night, but now it’s morning. It’s a different day. And I don’t have time to despair. I have to find a way to save my brother.
Braiding my hair takes time, even when I’m not in a frenzy. But I move fast:
dress over my head,
boots on my feet,
my Popsnap attached.
I run out the door on tiptoes so I don’t wake anybody else. The air in the North Woods is frigid and biting, stinging my face as I close the door behind me. Honeysuckle flies out just before I hear the click.
“Don’t worry,” I tell the bird, my breath floating into the cold air as we run through the woods. “I’ll fix this. I can fix anything. I’ll ask Mrs. Tumbrel for more work. Some families hire girls to live with them, you know. To take care of them all day and all night—I’ll ask if I can do that.” The thought of this—plus my lack of breakfast—makes my stomach churn. “Or … maybe she knows someone who might need me? Who could pay me more?”
Doubtful. Mrs. Tumbrel barely thinks you’re capable of working for her. It’s not Honeysuckle telling me this, of course. It’s the logical side of my brain. But it’s true.
At the platform, Ms. Marcia Bloom is setting up her morning pastry stand. Apple puffs, tiny round pies dusted with cinnamon, are the most popular food here on Coal Top. I don’t have money to spare for an apple puff, but the warm smell of them baking makes my stomach growl as loud as any monster on the mountain.
The thought slams against me: Denver will be so hungry in the mines.
I run through a zillion scenarios of how I can come up with four thousand shiny Feathersworth—fast—while Honeysuckle bobs along beside me.
Maybe I could work for two families.
Maybe I could sell stuff—like Granny Mab. Learn to bake special cakes—like Ms. Marcia. It’s a shame I can’t work in the mines instead of Denver. The conditions are miserable, but the pay’s dependable at least.
I’m tempted to close my eyes here and pretend I’m Mallie over the Moon again. Soaring up and away from my worries. Flying back to a time before the Dust. But there’s no time for daydreaming now. Today I have to plant my boots right here in this place and fix things.
I love the stories about the mountain, the time before the Dust settled in: the creatures who lived here, the kindness we shared, the starlight in the trees. I wish we still had all of that. But I would settle for a world that didn’t punish a man for getting hurt or being unable to work. It makes me want to punch something. Punch a hole in the Dust so we could have the stars back.
The Dust. I’ve wandered into a small cloud of it that people have kicked up along the train platform. It’s scratchy in my throat when I breathe it in. But I don’t cover my nose or mouth; I keep on pacing. The longer I pace, the angrier I get.
Honeysuckle chirps loudly—like an alarm in my ear. I startle and step out of the Dust.
My temper simmers.
Be gentle, Mallie … I can hear Mama say. And another wave of nausea overwhelms me. I’ve never wanted to actually hurt anyone. I don’t want to do it now, either. I’m just tired of being gentle. I growl in frustration and kick a rock onto the tracks. I mope to the side of the building—the side where I hide every day to catch my breath. I slink down to the ground and look up. Boards are crisscrossed above me, holding clusters of paper flowers that were put there—I’m guessing—to make up for the fact that nothing much grows here anymore. Above the dusty petals, I see grayish brown sky, tinged with swirls of dull yellow. Like a dandelion smashed in mud. It’s as close as we get to sunrise. Angry tears drip down my face in a solid stream. Honeysuckle gently taps my cheek where the teardrops settle.
“Tickets for the early riders, please!” the station-master yells. “Train’s approaching!”
My breath catches. I shove my hand in my dress pockets, even though I know it’ll come up empty. In all the frenzy yesterday, I didn’t lay out my ticket this morning. I reach into Honor Tumbrel’s laundry to see if he left one in his pants pocket. But my fingers trace over something else. Something shiny, blue.
The flyer … the one all the boys are talking about. Honor must have picked up an extra one.
I unfold the stupid, mysterious piece of paper he didn’t want me to see. I read over it, quickly this time:
None of this makes sense, of course. But my heart jolts over two words:
Riches untold.
That sounds very nice. Forget the fact that I’m not a feller. Or an orphan.
Maybe sometimes all the praying and pacing and hoping convinces the universe to cut you some slack. Because this flyer in my hand—this strange invitation—it feels like a gift. Like an option that could actually work.
This is the first day of autumn. This is the c
hange I’ve needed, maybe the change that could make everything right. A new idea blooms out of my brain:
“It’s a few hours till the second train comes,” I whisper in a rush, just loud enough for Honeysuckle to hear. “Here’s the plan—I’ll go to the woods, see what all this hubbub is about. If it’s nothing, then I’ll catch the late train and talk to Mrs. Tumbrel. Easy!”
Honeysuckle does not look convinced that this plan will be easy. She’s all fluffed up and quiet, glaring at me with her beady brown eyes.
“Maybe not easy,” I admit. “But doable!”
As far as I can see, the only thing stopping me has to do with the fact that I’m not a boy.
“That’s the easiest problem I’ve solved this morning,” I tell Honeysuckle.
I dump Honor Tumbrel’s stupid laundry out on the ground, grab a pair of slacks and a shirt, and run into the woods to change.
Pants buttoned (that takes forever). Shirt tucked. Velvet blue jacket notched in place. Then I flip my head over and stuff my braid up into his hat. (This, for the record, is when it would be kind of nice to have two grippy hands.)
I keep the shirtsleeves long so my Popsnap might be less noticeable. Whatever this task is, I don’t want the organizer to think I’m incapable. Or, worse, an inspiration.
With fire in my bones and a mission on my mind, I wave to Honeysuckle: “Let’s move!”
And I’m off for the West Woods!
“Mallie?” I go still. That’s Adam’s voice. And it’s coming from behind me.
I already heard the second whistle from the mines. That means all men and boys are belowground now, beginning their daily descent. Once the second whistle blows, it’s too late to show up. You don’t get paid for the day.
I turn around slowly. Adam is standing very still, watching me. Holding his own blue flyer.
“You missed your whistle,” I say, pretending everything else is normal. Including the fact that I’m wearing Honor Tumbrel’s clothes.
Adam looks shocked to see me. His eyes are wide, forehead scrunched up like he’s got a zillion questions. Or like he’s just flat confused. “What are you doing here?”
“I am going into the West Woods for riches untold,” I say, holding up the flyer and stomping to where he stands. “And I am going to win them.” I have to stand on my toes to be eye level with Adam now. When did he get so much taller than me? How could he look so different in such a short amount of time? His features are sharper now, too. And his eyes … I gasp.
He smiles sadly at me. “You’ve seen eye stains before, Freckles. Don’t act so surprised.”
“But you’ve only been down there a year …”
Eventually, all miners’ eyes turn coal black, so dark you can’t see an iris separate from its halo of color. Just like Adam’s. Dark ink is already creeping over pale brown, blotting out the sparkle I used to see there. I think about what Mama said about boys in the mines: how it grows them up too fast. It’s a sad thing that boys in Coal Top crawl underground in the prime of their life, when they should be left alone to grow in the sun.
He looks away from me, down at the blue flyer scrunched in my hand. “Where’d you get that?”
“Irrelevant.”
He groans. “Please get on the train. Whatever that flyer’s referring to … it definitely isn’t safe.”
“I don’t need safe! I need riches untold.”
“I have a feeling that this”—he holds up his own blue flyer—“it’s going to be truly, terribly dangerous. Plus, you’re about to miss a day’s work, Mallie. That’s a full Feathersworth!”
“I’m averaging two Feathersworth a week due to my sunny disposition and my terrible employers,” I tell him. “Riches untold sound better.”
“Mallie …”
“Adam. They came for him last night. For Denver … We hid him upstairs. They didn’t take him but they’ll come back. They’ll search the house. I’m out of ideas. I’m out of options.”
Adam’s face softens as I tell him the story.
“That’s a lot of Feathersworth,” he says.
“More than I make in years.”
“Maybe I can help.” He says this in a strong but thoughtful way. And I know he’s already thinking of ideas. “If this works out, I can bring you some money …”
“No,” I say. “We both have families to take care of. I can do this, too.” I hold up the flyer. “I’m doing it. So, there’s no sense in trying to stop me from going!”
“You’re not a feller,” he says with triumph, jabbing his finger at a line on the page.
“You’re not an orphan!” I yell at him.
“All aboard!” the conductor yells from the platform.
Adam steadies his voice as he responds. “They prefer orphans. You know what that means, right? It’s dangerous enough they don’t want us to leave any family behind.”
The thought sends chills across my heart. “I’m brave enough.”
“I never doubted that,” he says. His mouth quirks into a half grin. Just like it used to. But I can’t get past the change. Inky black eclipsing the hopeful brown. “Okay,” he says, resigned. He knows I don’t turn back once I fix my mind on something. “We’ll go together.”
As if he is the one giving me permission!
“Yes, we will,” I say, folding the flyer into the pocket of Honor’s pants. “I’ll lead the way.”
We walk in silence through the dusty forest, hesitating when we finally get to the border of the West Woods. I’m waiting for Adam to tell me to turn back again. But he doesn’t say a word.
Long, thin brambles curl out over the boundary line—their thorns sparkling even without any sunlight. The Dust seems to billow extra thick above us. Herding us, it feels like. Pushing us into these sinister trees. Dustblobs warble in the treetops and gnarled-limbed shadows stretch out across the forest floor.
A sound from somewhere deep in the woods makes me jump backward. A rasping scream. It didn’t come from a person. It sounded animal-like. Predatory. I’ve heard that scream before. I hoped I would never ever hear it again.
I heard it the time I walked through the woods alone, home from my first night of work in the valley. At first, I thought the footfalls were human. But I was wrong. I was being stalked. If I moved faster, it moved faster, until I was running from something—from a scream—so close to me I could feel the warmth of its breath.
It made the same sound. Exactly the same sound.
“Men in the mines say there are more monsters in the woods every day now,” Adam says. “Especially the West Woods.” His jaw is clenched, but I see a tremble in his hands. I’m trembling, too. “Are you afraid?”
“It’s possible,” I confirm. “But I’m going to pretend like I’m not. I’m going to pretend I’m Mallie over the Moon.”
He raises an eyebrow and smiles. “Who?”
“Never mind. I’m just glad we’re together.”
He nods. “Me, too.”
Side by side, we keep walking.
Dustblobs dangle like dead leaves in the treetops of the West Woods. It’s hard to see in here; the tree canopy is thick and the shadows stretch long and wide. These woods are darker than mine. But they’re still just dusty woods, I remind myself. Adam and I are familiar with the forest. So why does this batch of trees feel different? For a time, we talk just to hear the sound of our voices. Just so we can both pretend we aren’t afraid.
“I didn’t mean to be so rude back there,” he says as we step over tangled roots and fallen leaves. “I don’t want to be that way with anybody. I just didn’t want you to get hurt. I always pictured you getting a scholarship eventually. Heading off to school in the valley. Doing something amazing.”
“You know that won’t happen for me.”
“Anything good can happen, Freckles.” He’s quiet again. Our boots slosh through a ditch thick with mud. We’re mostly walking side by side, occasionally reaching out to help each other. Just like we used to.
“Careful
,” he says, guiding me around a pile of dull, yellow dirt. “That’s Timor powder.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“They use it down in the mines for medicine. To heal cuts and stuff. It works fine, I guess. But too much of it makes you feel weird.”
“Are the mines pretty terrible?”
“Yeah,” he says as we walk. “I always knew I would hate it down there. I had to go, though. Dad can’t work Down Below anymore. He made it longer than most men do. I mean, I’m nearly thirteen and I’ve only been in the mines a year. That’s something to be grateful for.”
“That’s true. They like little kids, if they can get ’em.”
He nods somberly. “We won’t let them take Denver, Mallie.”
We don’t speak for a time, and this is fine with me. Silence feels as good as conversation when you’re with a true friend. I think about all the times we’d walk quietly together—miles of sweet silence—then one of us would bust out in a run. Just for the feel of it. But running or walking, we were always together. Pace for pace, exactly the way best friends should be. I wonder if he misses those days as much as I do.
“Watch your step,” he says, extending his hand so I can scoot past a briar bush. “We came here together when we were kids once. Remember? But we never made it past the boundary line.”
I smile. “Yes—a bird flew at us, swooped down and scared us half to death.”
“Scared you,” he clarifies.
“You ran just as fast and hard as I did!”
“I’m not running this time.” His voice has a sad kind of resignation to it. “I’m just flying into the face of certain death.”
“Good thing I’m here to save you if you need me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Freckles.” He grins, and my heart warms.
He grips my arm, suddenly.
“Listen,” he says, nodding his head in the direction to the side.
There’s someone else in the woods.
More people. Lots of people. Footsteps come from all directions, breaking bony tree limbs on the forest floor. Snapping sounds echo all around us.
Over the Moon Page 3