Lenora washed her plate and set it to dry on a towel beside the sink. She turned toward the icebox. She had an idea. She would pack a lunch and leave a note for Mrs. Jones (saying something like “I’ll eat my lunch in the garden” or “I wasn’t hungry and I’ve gone to take a long nap”—yes, that one might work better so Mrs. Jones didn’t come looking). With a note and no expectation for lunch, she could spend more time in the woods without raising suspicion. Lenora shoved a sandwich wrapped in a towel and a small red apple into a satchel she found in one of the cupboards, scrawled a quick note, and ran out to the garden. She watched the windows of Stonewall Manor to see if any drapes moved, but they were all still. She raced toward the woods.
Bela was waiting for her just inside, looking remarkably humanlike—that is, if humans were pink and glowed and had a lion’s mane around the head and . . . well, maybe not so humanlike after all, she supposed. She smiled at him, genuinely pleased to see him. “Hello again,” she said.
“Lenora. I was hoping you would come back early so I didn’t have to wait here all day.”
“You would wait all day for me?” She could almost taste her giddiness. Waiting all day is what a friend would do.
“Of course,” Bela said. “We are friends, aren’t we?”
It had been so long since Lenora had called anyone a friend. She had sent a letter—how many days ago?—to Emma but had not received a reply. What had happened to all her friends and classmates? Were they safe, or . . .
“Lenora.” Bela’s tail flicked in front of her face. “Are you here with me or somewhere else entirely?”
“I am here,” Lenora said, and she was struck by the way the words resembled those that had drawn her into the woods yesterday. She looked around, into the golden light that glowed between the trees. What was the voice that had called to her yesterday? Why had it sounded like her father’s?
She almost asked Bela, but before she could, he said, “Did you tell your uncle you came here?” He glanced behind him, toward Stonewall Manor, then back at her.
“No,” she said. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
Bela smiled, his pink mouth widening on his pink face. “Good. Then we will have some fun today. But first sit.” He gestured toward one of the sitting trees. He said, “I want to hear your story.” He sat down on a tree.
“My story?” Lenora was confused.
“Your story of sorrow,” Bela said. “Sorrow is what draws people inside these woods.” Lenora felt the words tangle in her head. “It is a powerful thing.” The pink fluff around Bela’s neck bristled. “These woods exist to heal sorrow.” His golden eyes beamed into hers. “Your sorrow.”
“How?”
“In the telling of your story.” He folded his hands with the four fingers. “And more.”
Lenora felt the words tumbling from her lips. It had been so long since she had talked about the disaster—had she ever talked about it? She couldn’t remember. The details of the days after were hazy. But the details of the day—her birthday—were still clear.
The story was halting, tearful. She began with her disappointing birthday and how angry she had been that Mother and Father had made her go to school, when she was the only one who should have been allowed to remain home. She ended with the explosion that shook the world and the uncertainty of where her family might be.
Silence wrapped around them for a time. And when Bela broke it, it was to say, “So if you had remained at home with your family, you would have died.”
“No. They are not dead.” The words were habit now.
“Would you have rather died?” Bela said. “Bobby told me something similar.”
“What was his sorrow?” Lenora said. She thought it might be the same sorrow her uncle carried.
“Sorrow stories are private things,” Bela said.
“But you said you would take me to him.”
“In time, perhaps,” Bela said. “But you must see the forest first. You must decide to remain.”
“Remain?” Lenora said. A small ball of alarm wedged into her chest. “What do you mean?”
“Remain in these woods. Like Bobby.”
“How could I do that? What if my parents return for me?” What if they weren’t here in these woods? What if they were on their way to Stonewall Manor even now?
She would rather live in both worlds—that of Stonewall Manor and that of Gilgevnah Woods—than be chained to one.
Bela nodded. “Perhaps we should see what the woods have to tell you.”
“They can tell me about my parents?” Lenora felt hope bloom in her chest, warming all the coldest places.
“If they wish,” Bela said. “But you’ll have to venture deeper than you did before.” Lenora shuddered. Bela tilted his head. “You are afraid of what you might find.”
Lenora did not argue.
“Your uncle has planted plenty of fear in your heart, just like he did in his son.” Bela’s golden eyes flashed, but he did not look threatening. His face turned sad. “He is a dreadful man.”
“Perhaps the woods could heal him, too,” Lenora said.
“The woods cannot do for him what it can do for you,” Bela said. “He has carried his pain much longer than you have. It has so distorted his vision and heart that he seeks to destroy us.” Bela’s eyes lifted to Lenora’s. “Did you know this?”
“No.” But she could certainly imagine it; she had seen the army of robots. Is that what he planned to use? “What would happen if he succeeded?”
“He will not succeed,” Bela said. “We have been around since the beginning of time, since the advent of sorrow. In different places, around the world.”
“So you haven’t always been here, near Stonewall Manor?”
Bela did not answer.
“How old is Gilgevnah Woods?” Lenora said.
“Nearly two centuries old.”
“You said if I told someone about Gilgevnah Woods, this would all go away,” Lenora said. “But my uncle cannot destroy it?”
“Our fate rests with a child,” Bela said. His pale pink skin darkened. Lenora thought this might be a show of emotion, but she could not read which.
“And if I told, you would die?”
“I do not know. Perhaps we would simply go elsewhere.” Bela turned away. “Come along. We have many sights to see today.”
39
When they had been walking for only a few minutes, Bela said, “Would you like to play a game of hide-and-seek?”
It had been Lenora’s favorite game to play with her brothers and sister. She did not even have to think about the question. She nodded eagerly.
They played twelve games of it, Bela beating her every time. She did not know the woods as well as he did, and, besides, he was smaller in his original size, which he used for the game, and could fit into the most unlikely of places. Once, he’d even twisted into a small hole in one of the trees and somehow dimmed his golden glow. She thought this advantage somewhat unfair, but she didn’t complain; she was playing hide-and-seek, and it had been so long since she’d played.
After that, Bela and Lenora played chase. She was always “it”; Bela was much faster than she was. He would wriggle out of sight, and Lenora would follow in the direction she thought she’d last seen him. But directions were useless this deep in the woods; she could not tell north from south or east from west.
She lost him frequently.
Lenora stepped onto some flattened grass, and it started singing. She placed a hand on her chest and listened. It was beautiful singing. The melody twirled on the wind, leaving iridescent purple swirls in the air, and Lenora turned around and around, trying to see from where the music came, but the purple flourishes were everywhere. They encompassed her. The sound domed around her.
Bela appeared. “It is the grass.” He bent to touch a blade, and it sang louder. “It enjoys the presence of creatures and people.”
“It is lovely,” Lenora breathed. Everything about this place was lovely.
> Bela beckoned her to follow him. “You must see this as well,” he said.
He took her to another grove where the trees were not like the others but were smaller in stature. They did not bend to welcome her but seemed, instead, to come alive. Their branches became arms, gesturing in a manner that appeared very humanlike. And when Lenora looked closer, she saw that etched onto the bark were faces wearing eyes and noses and smiles. Lenora cried out.
Bela touched her arm.
“We are the Pinales People,” the trees hummed, as though they were all one voice and presence.
Lenora could only stare. “I have never seen anything like this,” she said, and she meant it about the whole entire woods. It was the most magnificent place she had ever known—a wonderland.
“And you will never see anything like it again,” Bela said. “Watch.”
The trees lifted from the ground onto roots that looked like octopus tentacles—not frightening ones but beautiful, glittering ones—and began to dance around Lenora. After a time, Lenora could not help but join them. She felt wild and free and uninhibited, moving to a music she could not hear but could feel, deep inside her. She laughed so hard, tears ran from her eyes. It had been so very long since she had felt this kind of joy.
The woods were magical indeed. Her sorrow was set aside, for the briefest of moments.
The trees soon shifted back into their original places. Their eyes blinked, as though they waited for something. “Thank you very much for an enchanting time,” Lenora said.
“We must be on our way,” Bela said, and he bowed to the trees. They closed their eyes, and as Lenora watched, their faces faded back into the bark.
“Come,” Bela said, and Lenora followed as quickly as she could. She arrived at a field that was full of flowers, she thought, but when she entered, the flowers erupted. They fluttered all around her, every color of the rainbow, and she saw that they were not flowers at all but butterflies perched on stems. They wore tiny humanlike faces. Some rested on her shoulders, some on her head, some in the palm of the hand she held out to them. They began to sing in a voice so melodic that Lenora had to close her eyes. Her heart swelled, filled, nearly burst with pleasure. She began to sing, too, though she had never heard the song before.
When the last note had faded, Lenora asked the butterflies, “How did I know your song?”
In one voice, they said, “Because we all have the same song inside us that longs to be free. It is the song of your being. If you forget your song, we sing it for you.”
It was all so remarkable that Lenora wished she could remain there forever, hear them sing again, join them in a voice that did not sound like her own, which had never been melodious.
But she must find Bela.
“Thank you,” she called to the butterflies as she passed through their field.
The woods still glowed with a golden light, but Lenora could no longer see the sky; the crowns of the trees were too thick. She felt a sting of panic in her chest. “Bela!” she called. He did not answer. She looked to her right and her left. Which way had he gone? These woods were immense. How would she find him?
How would she escape?
Would she?
Her apprehension rose with every step. She could not tell if she was walking deeper or walking out, but all she could do was continue walking.
40
Water glistened up ahead in a small pool. Lenora moved to the edge and peered into the silvery glass. She could not see through the water, could only see her reflection, which, as she watched, changed subtly. Staring back at her now was a girl who looked very much like her except she was more beautiful, with perfectly curled hair and bright blue eyes and a clean dress and a glowing face. Lenora squinted her eyes, and the person looking back at her squinted her eyes, too. It was Lenora, all cleaned up. Lenora looked down at her dress, streaked with dirt in places. The image changed again, and she saw her sister, springy red curls touching her shoulders, bright green eyes challenging.
It was so real.
“Rory!” Lenora reached for the image in the water.
But before she could touch it, Bela’s voice shook her in an echoing bellow. “Careful!”
She ripped her hand back as though something had burned her. She looked over her shoulder, and there he was, his pale pink body glowing in the shadows. “I found you,” she said, for lack of anything better to say.
“I found you,” Bela said, smiling.
“I thought you had left me.”
“I’ll never leave you, Lenora.”
It was a warm promise.
She looked back at the water.
“Come away from the water, Lenora,” Bela said.
“Why?”
“It is dangerous.”
“But I saw my sister.”
“The water shows you what you most desire. It cannot deliver it.”
“But I saw my sister!” The words were wrapped in a wail. Lenora did not move. “She is there.” She pointed.
“Lenora.” Bela’s voice had grown sharper. “Come away from the water.”
A tendril of black silvery glass poked up from the surface of the water, curling at one end. Lenora stared at it, mesmerized.
“It is time to go home,” Bela said.
“Home,” Lenora said. “Home is Texas City. And it no longer exists.”
The tendril of water thickened, became a swirling snake. It moved toward her in slow and measured coils. She reached out a hand. The surface of the water flickered. Mother’s face, smiling. Father’s face, stoic. John’s face, searching. Charles’s face, mischievous.
And just when Lenora closed her eyes and waited for the water to take her to her family, she heard a cry so fierce she scrambled away from the edge. She opened her eyes. Bela lay on the ground at the bank.
“Bela!” She moved toward him.
“Stay back,” he said, his voice weak and strangled. “Give me a moment.” He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, his skin was the darkest pink she had seen yet. He struggled to his feet. “You must stay away from this pool,” was all he said.
Lenora nodded, her breath hitching.
“You’ve been here too long.” Bela moved away from the pool. “I will take you back.” Lenora hesitated, but Bela swung back around. “You must come with me.”
“Why is the pool dangerous?” Lenora said. She was afraid to look at the silvery waters, afraid they would pull her closer. “I thought nothing intended to hurt me. I thought . . .”
“There are many wonders in Gilgevnah Woods,” Bela said. “But there are also dangers for those who do not understand its ways.” He glared in the direction of the pool.
“What would have happened?” Lenora wasn’t sure she really wanted to know, but she asked the question anyway.
Bela only said, “Come along.”
Lenora felt a cold wind moving through the woods. The golden light had all but disappeared.
It took a very long time to reach the border of the woods, but, at last, Lenora saw the sitting trees. Her heart slowed.
Just before she passed the border, Bela said, “You will come back? The pool has not scared you?”
“I will come back,” Lenora said. She wouldn’t let a silvery pool keep her from this magical place where she didn’t have to be alone. “As soon as I can.”
She would return as long as she had a friend to return to.
Bela lifted his hand and waved.
41
It was later than she thought when she reached the grounds of Stonewall Manor. The sun was nearly gone. She had forgotten all about the lunch she had packed; it was soggy in her dress pocket. Her stomach rumbled.
Lenora hurried into the house. Mrs. Jones was pacing in the kitchen.
“You are late for supper again,” Mrs. Jones said. She held up an iron bell. “I rang it and rang it and rang it.” Her face was a mask of fear, but Lenora watched as she smoothed it, took a deep breath, and said, “I expect you to follow the rules whe
n your uncle is gone, just like you do when he is here.”
Lenora looked at her shoes. Mud and dirt browned their sides. She lifted her eyes again, hoping Mrs. Jones wouldn’t notice. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I got carried away in the garden.”
“You weren’t in the garden,” Mrs. Jones said. Her blue eyes flashed, and Lenora’s stomach twisted. “I looked. I did not see you there.”
Lenora’s heart turned flips, one after another. What could she say? What would Mrs. Jones believe?
She searched for something that would not be too far from the truth. “I fell asleep,” she said. It almost felt true. All the wonders she had seen in the woods, they could not be real, could they? “I remember lying down in some tall weeds, for the shade they could give me.” This was a complete and utter lie, and her heart bent into a painful ball. Father would be disappointed in her. He always said the truth was the most important thing to tell.
I’m sorry, her heart said. Would he understand, if he were here?
He had gone into the woods once. He had come back out. What was so dangerous about that?
“You did not hear me calling?” Mrs. Jones raised her eyebrows. She did not look like she believed Lenora.
Lenora shrugged. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” she said.
“You’ve been closing your window at night?” Mrs. Jones’s voice was gentler now.
“Yes, of course. It’s what Uncle Richard wishes.”
“Your uncle also wishes a prompt supper,” Mrs. Jones said. “And for his niece to stay out of the woods.”
So she knew, then.
“How—”
“Your hair.” Mrs. Jones fingered a strand and showed it to Lenora. It was completely white.
Lenora gasped. She took a handful of hair and twisted it toward her. Not all of it was white. Not even most of it was. Only a few errant strands.
What did it mean? Was it a mark of some kind? For good or for evil?
The questions swarmed, but Lenora swallowed them.
Mrs. Jones placed a bowl of chicken soup in front of Lenora. It smelled delightful, and Lenora’s stomach vibrated with hunger and throbbed with guilt at the same time.
The Woods Page 13