“That’s ridiculous,” Lenora said.
“Yes, well, we know more about the disease—epilepsy—than we did before.” Mrs. Jones paused, then began again. “The things people said—they were hard on your father. He wanted to be a preacher.”
Lenora had never known this. “He wasn’t one.”
Mrs. Jones was quiet for so long that Lenora said, “I haven’t seen Uncle Richard have any fits.”
“Your uncle takes medicine for it now. He began medication soon after your father left.”
“Then why didn’t Father come back?”
Mrs. Jones shook her head. “It had something to do with the woods. Your uncle has hinted that much. On the day your father left, I heard him say he would not remain to raise his family in a house where children disappeared.” Mrs. Jones’s eyes glazed over. “I still remember the day your father came out of the woods with white streaks in his hair. They were the same streaks I saw in Bobby’s, years later.”
Cold dripped down Lenora’s spine. She thought of her own hair, white in places. She thought of the children in the pictures lining Uncle Richard’s hallway. They’d all had white hair, too.
What could it mean?
“How many children have disappeared?” Lenora was afraid to ask, but she did it anyway.
“Every generation of the Cole family has lost a child,” Mrs. Jones said. “Stonewall Manor was built on sorrow.”
Lenora touched Bobby’s journal.
“Your father left after a big row,” Mrs. Jones said. “He shouted his piece, and your uncle called him foolish, superstitious. Your father didn’t take kindly to that.” Mrs. Jones smiled to herself. “They were both strong-willed boys. Stubborn as mules.”
“Father never returned,” Lenora said. “And he never told any of us about this place.”
“Yes. I don’t understand that part.” Mrs. Jones tilted her head. “Your uncle tried to send your father letters. Your father never answered.”
“That doesn’t sound like Father,” Lenora said.
“I didn’t think so, either. But your uncle could not be convinced. He thought your father had cut his brother out of his life. He never tried to visit or call or write again.”
“How sad.”
Mrs. Jones nodded.
Since Mrs. Jones had shared so much about the past, Lenora could not help but ask, “What happened to Aunt Edith and Mary?”
Mrs. Jones’s eyes were pools of grief. “If your uncle has not told you, love, then I do not think it is my place.”
“I only want to know,” Lenora said. She needed to know. She needed to know if their deaths were the fault of her uncle, as the woods had suggested.
Mrs. Jones stared at her hands for a long time. Finally, she said, “There has been enough suffering in this family because of silence,” and Lenora knew she would tell her.
“Your uncle was driving your aunt and cousins to town one day. It was Mary’s birthday. They were going for ice cream.” Her eyes glazed over again. “Your uncle had forgotten to take his medicine that day. There is a curve on the way to town—a dangerous one that wraps around trees.” Lenora remembered that curve. She had felt almost like the trees were reaching for her when Lloyd maneuvered it so slowly she could have walked faster.
Mrs. Jones continued. “And just when his car came upon the curve, he had a fit.” Mrs. Jones pressed her lips together. “The entire right half of the car was crushed so badly you couldn’t tell what kind of car it had been. Edith and Mary died instantly, but your uncle and Bobby climbed out a window before the car exploded. They watched it burn. The only thing left was your uncle’s pocket watch, stuck on the time. 3:07.”
The lump in Lenora’s throat swelled. Her uncle had watched his family burn. Just like she had seen Texas City burn. She felt a sob rise up, twist, and tear out of her mouth. She could smell the smoke and see the flames.
Mrs. Jones rushed to her side and folded her into her arms.
She murmured soothing words. “It’s all right, Lenora. Everything will work out in the end. It always does.”
She said it so many times that Lenora found she halfway believed it.
52
The next morning, Lenora woke feeling refreshed, as though she had been given a measure of strength during the night. She had read Bobby’s entire journal and learned that they had seen the same things—the trees with faces, the field of thistle people, the Waters of Aevum. But his last entries were as disturbing as Mrs. Jones had warned. She found a list of names, scrawled in messy handwriting that looked hurried and unlike his other, neater entries: Benedict, 1839; Stephen, 1874; Gladys, 1912. She found incomplete questions that had no answers: How does the woods . . .; Where do they take . . .; How do they choose . . . She found fear, and that made her wonder.
Was Bobby as free to come and go as Bela had suggested?
Why did he continue visiting the woods, then? That was the question Lenora had taken to sleep with her.
And this morning she intended to find out—not just find out, but bring Bobby home.
She padded down the stairs and into the kitchen, where a cold breakfast of ham and boiled eggs and a small glass of orange juice waited for her. She did not see Mrs. Jones, but that was just as well. She would rather not share her plans today; Uncle Richard had made her a prisoner yesterday, but perhaps Mrs. Jones had decided it was unnecessary. She had, after all, given Lenora Bobby’s journal. They were on the same side now, weren’t they?
Lenora emerged into a bright and shining day, the air heavy but not suffocating. Her feet took her to the garden. It was not what she wanted it to be, not yet, but if Bobby came home . . .
Lenora felt giddy with the thought. She would have company, too.
Sweat trickled down Lenora’s back. She had almost turned away from the garden when something glinted in the grass. It was pressed up against a far wall. She strode over to it. A small toy. A robot, one that looked almost exactly like what Lenora had seen in her uncle’s hallway. Lenora stared. She held the toy up to the burning sun, like an offering, and sunbeams flashed off the copper. She turned it over and on its side and upside down so she could examine every tiny little part. It was exactly what she had seen, under the white sheets, except in miniature. She was sure of it. She stood and turned toward the window of her uncle’s lab. It was the only window that today did not have its drapes shielding it.
Strange. It was unusual for him to open the drapes.
Lenora looked back at the robot in her hands. Her uncle had transformed a little toy into a life-sized toy. It was remarkable—so remarkable it nearly made Lenora smile. Then she thought about what her uncle intended to do with the life-sized robots he had created.
Did he intend to destroy the woods? To bring his son home? Or something else entirely?
He was a difficult man to know. Lenora wished she had tried harder. But there was no time for that now.
She had something important to do. And it might be dangerous. It might even be . . .
The urgency of her mission propelled Lenora’s legs forward. She moved toward her uncle’s window. She saw him, bending over a table, a large eyepiece strapped to his right eye that magnified it in a comical way. He was entirely consumed with whatever he was building. He did not even notice the movement at the window. She pressed her nose to the pane, which smelled of rain and dust, and then, thinking that he might want to see the toy robot again, she placed it, standing, on the windowsill and slid to the side so he wouldn’t see her but she could still see him, barely.
It took Uncle Richard quite some time to move to the window, but at last he did. Lenora saw him drop down until he was eye level with the robot. She could see his whole face open into a shining look of surprise and wonder and hope, and then, just as suddenly, crumple into a mask of sorrow and despair. Tears cascaded down his cheeks, and Lenora’s vision blurred—but not before she saw him place one hand flat on the window, as though touching the robot or whoever might have held it once upon a time.
And Lenora could not bear the grief that matched her own in both power and intensity—could not bear the thought that she might have caused it. Her legs made the decision for her: They ran.
Into the woods, away from pain, toward a future of magical proportions.
Did it matter if that magic was dark or light?
53
Bela was not waiting, so Lenora folded into a ball on one of the sitting trees and rocked herself as she wept. Her stomach clenched and twisted. She let herself cry until she could not cry anymore, until she was emptied of everything, and when she was finished, when the agony had finally lessened enough for her to open her eyes, Bela was there.
“You are very sad today, Lenora,” he said. The trees rustled.
Lenora nodded. She could not speak.
“I know why you are sad,” Bela said. “You are thinking of Bobby.”
Her worries didn’t seem so troublesome here, in the woods. Lenora dropped her feet to the ground and could feel the vibration of something. Was it the magic?
“My uncle misses him very much,” Lenora said.
Bela folded his hands together. “He chose to remain here. Why?”
Lenora could not answer that question; the whys were impossible to imagine.
But Bobby could answer it. So she said, “Could I see him?”
Bela did not answer. He merely said, “He came to us because of his sorrow. Because he could not find a place to belong.” Lenora’s insides shook and twisted. “And we gave him peace. We gave him a home.” Bela’s eyes glowed brighter. “Would you like that as well, Lenora?” The trees hissed again.
Lenora tilted her head. Did the trees hiss every time Bela said her name? What had her uncle meant when he asked if the woods knew her name?
It must matter.
“Where is Bobby now?” Lenora said. Her tongue felt thick and inefficient. Her vision shook a little. She blinked, and the world righted. It must have been her imagination.
Bela gestured to the trees. “He is all around us.”
Lenora’s heart raced. What did Bela mean? Was Bobby dead, then?
“You said I could see him,” she said. She tried to remember what Bobby had written, the things she had seen. A clearing. A tree. A man.
Was that the last thing he had seen?
She said, “Take me to the man.”
Bela smiled. “You know about the Master of the woods, then.”
“He has Bobby, doesn’t he.” Lenora was sure of it now.
“No one has Bobby.” Bela lifted his reptilian chin. “Bobby is here because he wants to be here.”
Lenora wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Were the woods good or bad? She had seen such wonders, but wonders could be evil, too, could they not? If they stole life—time, presence—from the living.
She thought of Uncle Richard, with his robot army. He would destroy the woods. She could feel it. Stonewall Manor was charged with a new air this morning: hope mixed with determination. She had thought it was her own, but she knew now that it belonged to Uncle Richard.
He had finished his work.
Lenora said, “If you give me Bobby, if you let me take him home, these woods can remain.”
Bela shook his head. “These woods will always remain.”
“My uncle will destroy them.”
“You think your uncle can destroy us?” Bela laughed. It was a melodic sound, entirely unexpected from a creature so reptilian. “He is only a man.”
“Man is capable—”
“Man is no match for the spirit world.” Bela’s voice was now large and terrifying. Lenora cowered. She looked behind her, searching for an exit from these woods, but the trees had closed around her.
How had it happened? She’d been just inside the woods, and now she was deep—too deep to find her way out.
At least alone. But Bobby knew these woods.
She would finish her quest. She would find Bobby and bring him home, whatever the cost.
Uncle Richard deserved that, didn’t he? For Father’s silence, for Lenora’s impertinence, for the losses that had lined up in his life like unwanted potions on a shelf?
Lenora stood from her place on the sitting tree, and immediately her vision cleared. She could see the way out. But she had already decided.
She said, “Take me to the Master.” Bela studied her for a moment. Could he see it in her, the resolution? Could he tell she meant to betray him?
And then he smiled.
54
The deeper they went, the more Lenora could feel the magnetic magic of the woods and the less she could see. The light dimmed and faded in degrees. She felt an immense terror at the darkness, the depth, the imagined dangers she had read between the lines of Bobby’s words. What had he seen? What had he known? And why had he gone back in spite of his gathering fear?
For the same reason she went? To save someone she loved?
Lenora looked for the familiar things—the white rabbits and the waist-high flowers and the trees with faces. But she had never been this deep in the woods, and there was nothing familiar about it. The air hung thick and cold. The light had vanished; only Bela’s golden eyes guided them. He held her arm, and she was, at least, grateful for that.
“Step carefully,” Bela said. “There are poisonous frogs all around you. They mean you no harm, so long as you do not touch them.” He glowed brighter, and Lenora looked around. There were, indeed, frogs. She could just make out their colors—orange and yellow and blue and green—and the black spots on their backs. They watched Lenora and Bela weave through them.
“What happens if you touch one?” Lenora said.
“You will die,” Bela said. “And it is a painful death that takes hours. It will make you feel as though you are burning alive.”
Lenora shuddered. “What if they touch me?” Frogs could jump, after all.
“These frogs don’t harm those who come in peace,” Bela said.
Had she come in peace? And could the frogs tell?
“The woodland creatures respect the children who come to us,” Bela said. “We know you do not mean us harm.”
“Have there been other children?” Lenora thought of the names written in Bobby’s journal, and she remembered now where she’d seen those names. The pictures in her uncle’s hallway. The pictures showing children whose hair had turned white and whose faces had been crossed out.
Because the woods took them?
Lenora’s fear swelled. But she could not turn back now, not without Bobby. The woods would not keep her here against her will; Bela had told her that at the beginning.
But what about the other children? What about Bobby?
Lenora shook her head, trying to shake away the thoughts.
Bela continued walking, gently pulling Lenora along with him. “A child is very valuable to these woods,” he said.
“Why?” Lenora was almost afraid to hear the answer.
“Because children can see our magic. A child’s life must be preserved, because if no one sees these woods, do they exist?”
It was not a question he needed her to answer. He continued. “There are those who seek to destroy us. Because they don’t understand us.” The words had a mesmerizing effect on Lenora. She felt the confusion winding around her wonderings, felt the doubts grow hazier, felt the certainties strengthen.
She could stay here. She could be happy.
“We must have our protections,” Bela said.
“Like the frogs?” It made sense.
“Yes.”
“And the silvery black waters?”
“Precisely.” He squeezed Lenora’s arm. A reassuring warmth spread through her.
They were silent until some time later, when Bela said, “Careful of the vines here,” and Lenora looked at the thick vines lining a small path, forming a maze of sorts through the wood. Their leaves were shaped into hearts. They reached for her.
“We must run,” Bela said, his voice urgent. “They do not seem to be in
good humor today.”
Because she did not come in peace? Lenora’s heart staggered.
“Ready?” Bela looked back at Lenora.
She could only nod, and Bela cut a path with the hand that was not on her arm. The vines wrapped around Lenora’s ankles and tripped her every other step, but Bela pulled her ever on. One reached for her waist; Bela severed it with his foot. Another twisted around her braid; Bela snapped it with his teeth.
The vines kept coming.
Bela chopped and pulled and shouted, “Let us pass!” and at last the vines retreated, as though chastened.
Lenora stared in both wonder and horror. Her breath came in gasps. When she could finally speak, she said, “What were those?”
“Choking vines,” Bela said. “They protect the Master. They do not always take kindly to invaders, for whatever reason they come.” He gave her a significant look. Lenora looked at the ground.
Did he know?
“How much farther?” Lenora said. She didn’t want to go any farther, if it contained dangers like that.
“We are here,” Bela said, and he turned and gestured to the scene before him. “Welcome to the home of the Master.”
55
It was a spectacular sight. The grass in the clearing glimmered, painted with tiny invisible dewdrops. The air looked as though it held diamonds; they twinkled everywhere Lenora looked. The light had a silvery glow that seemed altogether divine.
It was not an evil place; it couldn’t be.
Lenora’s eyes fixed on the center of the clearing, where the largest tree she had ever seen stood tall and wide and majestic enough to have been one of the original trees of humanity—the Tree of Knowledge or the Tree of Life. Its trunk was so thick it would take twenty men—or more—holding hands to encircle it. Its limbs snaked out from the middle, some going up, some bowing down. It was a perfect climbing tree—one John and Charles and Rory would have loved to spend a day exploring.
And then she saw the limb. The notches. The initials.
It was exactly as Bobby had drawn it.
The Woods Page 17