Flickering Hope (14 page)

W
e ran up the sidewalk to the library as fast as we could go without slipping, but stopped, simultaneously, in front of the doors.

Frankie turned to me. “Do you think this will work?”

I hesitated, almost sure it wouldn’t. Without really thinking about it, I closed my eyes and breathed a prayer.
Please, God. Not for me, but for Patch and Roxy. Please fix this.

I opened my eyes. God hadn’t made this mess. I had. What right did I have to ask him to fix things now? Still, as my insides tipped back and forth, as my thoughts stalled on the knowledge that I didn’t deserve help, a new thought slipped into my mind, as though brushed in under a door.

I am with you.

That was it. Not like a voice, or anything, but this thought clashed so strongly against my own thoughts, I
knew it hadn’t come from me. I blinked as the storm settled in my mind, as my heartbeat slowed, as I caught my breath. Maybe the landowner would sell the land to Jim. But right now, I felt completely sure of the right thing to do. It had been ages since I felt sure about anything. Maybe someday all the broken edges inside me would find a way to heal.

I smiled at Frankie. “Let’s do this.”

As soon as we stepped inside, we saw two suited men waiting in the study room. Frankie led the way over to the room, and we went inside.

“Girls, we’ve reserved this room for a meeting,” the man carrying the briefcase said.

“That’s what we’re here for.” Frankie sat at the table. “I’m Frankie Paulson, and this is my friend, Sadie Douglas.”

“You took my message,” the other man said. “Where’s your dad? We’ve been waiting for over twenty minutes.”

“He’s not coming.” Frankie motioned for me to sit down.

The men folded their arms and gave us matching we-aren’t-here-to-play-around looks.

Frankie leaned forward, her elbows on the table, both eyebrows raised. “You own a lot of land around here, right?”

We had talked over the plan on the drive from Vivian’s, with a little help from Helen. She said our strongest defense would be to convince the landowner that the DNR would be unhappy if the sale went through. Since this was the truth, convincing him shouldn’t be difficult. But whether the DNR’s unhappiness would cause him to turn down a sale was a different question.

“Right.” The first man, who must be the lawyer, set down his briefcase. “That’s why my client is anxious to speak with your dad and sign papers. Is he on his way?”

“We told you our names.” Frankie leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms too, not rattled in the least by these guys.

Good thing she’d offered to do most the talking. I’d be tongue-tied and stuttering by now.

The lawyer, or whoever he was, sighed. “I’m Mr. Wallace, and this is my client, Mr. Pearson. And your dad …”

“Plans to force the DNR to remove a hibernating bear from her den after he purchases this land. A bear he thinks is dangerous.”

“But she isn’t dangerous,” I added.

Frankie didn’t acknowledge this either way. “As it stands, the bear has three yearlings, all of whom will have to be removed from the den. As you can imagine, the DNR isn’t happy about the expense. I don’t imagine the DNR will be happy with you, either, if you sell the land.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me this?” Mr. Pearson frowned at Frankie. “I can’t afford to have the DNR angry with me, not with all the negotiating I do with them over land use.”

Mr. Wallace shrugged. “So they’re mad. And you’ve unloaded a piece of land you haven’t been able to sell for years.”

Mr. Pearson rounded on his lawyer. “So you knew about this?”

“I may have heard rumblings, but I figured you—”

“You figured wrong!” Mr. Pearson’s voice had risen to a shout. “Not only do I disagree with removing a bear from hibernation in general, I’m on shaky ground with the DNR as it is.”

I bit my lip to keep from smiling. This was better than I could have hoped for.

“So you aren’t going to sell?” Mr. Wallace asked.

Mr. Pearson gestured impatiently towards Frankie. “Not to this man.”

Mr. Wallace snatched his briefcase and strode for the door. “What a waste of time.” He turned back to look at Mr. Pearson. “I suppose you don’t care who is squatting in that old shack out there. You’ll probably get sued for allowing a family to live on uninhabitable land. But don’t come running to me for help.”

Mr. Pearson looked at us. “So I’m not only losing a great deal of money today. On top of that, I’m likely to be sued?”

Frankie jumped in. “No, I’m sure they wouldn’t …”

“Girl, I don’t care what you’re sure or not sure of. This is real life, and I refuse to let my perpetually unsellable land cost me more money.”

“But they don’t have a home. They lived in a car before. You can’t …”

“I don’t know what you expected, coming here to talk to me,” Mr. Pearson said. “I’m not a charity worker. That family needs to get out of that house. I’ll go tell them myself.”

All of this had happened so fast, the unraveling of the sale, the decision to throw the Thompson family out of the
shack, that I could only watch helplessly. I should say something, fight for the Thompsons to keep their home, but I couldn’t figure out what to say.

As Mr. Pearson stood to go and Frankie shot me a look that clearly said,
help!
I stammered, “At least let them stay a few more days. Let them stay for Christmas. Please.”

Not the strongest argument, I knew, but I didn’t have anything else. Mr. Pearson stopped and grimaced at me, as though I’d asked if he’d also string up kittens by their tails.

“They have until the twenty sixth at noon, then. And you tell them. I have no more time for this nonsense.” He hurried after Mr. Wallace, leaving me and Frankie staring at the door.

“Well, at least you got what you wanted.” Frankie’s voice was sharp and sarcastic.

Anger flared up in me, hot and quick, like a firework igniting. “Frankie, either we’re on the same side, or we’re not. Maybe we don’t agree on everything. But how am I supposed to be your friend if every other minute you turn on me?”

Frankie sighed and dropped her head into her hands. “I just …”

My anger sizzled out, spent just as quickly as it had come. “I know. We just lost the Thompsons their house. So I suppose …” An idea started to form in my mind.

“What?” Frankie turned to look at me. “What are you smiling about?”

“Let’s go see Penny,” I said.

M
y eyes snapped open, and I shivered with excitement. Christmas Eve. I checked my clock. Five a.m. Too early to run shouting down the stairs, but not too early to open the final drawer in my advent calendar. Outside my window, stars still lit the dark sky as I tiptoed to my desk. The floorboards, as always, were icy, and the temperature in my room felt like it might be thirty degrees, so I hurried back to bed with the calendar and burrowed in under the covers. Higgins lifted his head to check what in the world I was doing, moving around in the middle of the night, huffed, and dropped his chin back onto his paws.

My skin tingled as I reached for drawer twenty-four, and not just because of the chill in the air. Inside, I found an origami candle made from white and yellow paper.
I rolled it in my hands, more than ever not wanting to pull the paper folds apart. Pen marks on the base of the candle caught my attention, and I looked closer.
Meet me at six pm.

I hugged myself with happiness. Today would be the best day ever. I set the calendar aside and pulled the comforter out from under Higgins, who groaned, stretched, and curled up again on the remaining blankets. Cocooned in the comforter, I went to my desk to inspect the map. I’d connected most of the pieces, and now I played with the rest, moving them back and forth until I had connected all the edges. With the exception of the one missing square, the square I would have found on December fourteenth, the map was complete, but nothing marked where I was supposed to go, just paths and notes such as twenty paces to the north. What if the missing piece was essential? But if so …

I rushed over to the calendar. Sure enough, an origami flower waited inside the fourteenth drawer. I quickly smoothed it out and stumbled over the bulky comforter on my way back to the desk. A red X marked a spot just off the path that wound away from the cartoon of my house, and from the hand-drawn scale at the top of the map, the X appeared to be about a mile away from my house.

I couldn’t sit still. I bounded across my room and dressed in paint clothes, so I’d be ready for our house-decorating mission later this morning. Then I finished wrapping the presents I’d bought yesterday, Frankie’s sketchbook, and the pink chef’s hat I’d found on the clearance rack at Moose
Tracks, a last minute present for Dad. But Andrew. I hadn’t bought him anything. I picked up my own sketchbook and started to draw. I lost all track of time as I drew picture after picture of Andrew as I imagined him, hammering the calendar together out of wood, painting, folding origami, hiding the clue in the telescope, finding the calendar broken on the floor and fixing it. The last picture I drew was Andrew, wearing his signature crooked smile, opening his gift from me. In all, I had a series of eight sketches, each three inches by three inches. I added color and texture, layering over my mistakes or letting them simply add to the fun of each drawing. On my way to church, I’d ask Dad to stop by Moose Tracks, where I’d seen a collage frame that held eight pictures, just this size, with the other art supplies.

As I flipped through my pictures one last time, adding tiny details here and there, I heard Dad banging around in the kitchen. My stomach growled as the smell of maple syrup wafted under my door. French toast was traditional on Christmas Eve. I hurried downstairs to help him.

After we served Mom breakfast in bed and stuffed ourselves full, Dad drove me across town, first to Moose Tracks, where I found the frame, and then over to church. Ruth and Frankie already waited in front of the sanctuary, dancing around to keep warm.

“Do they know yet?” I asked Frankie.

She shook her head. “Last they heard, Dad was buying the land, and they had to get out by the end of the week. They’re packing up.”

Penny pulled up in her lemon yellow Volkswagon Beetle, honking her horn. She leapt out of the car and hurried over to meet us.

“Ruth’s dad and Doug are on their way around town collecting donations.” She dangled the keys in front of us. “You ready to get busy?”

I linked arms with Ruth and Frankie, and we ran across the church grounds, laughing as we slid on the snow. We went the opposite direction of the treehouse to a little log cabin on the far side of the sanctuary I’d never paid attention to. Not quite as quirky as the treehouse, the cabin still looked like it belonged in a Christmas card. Snow frosted the roof and old-fashioned windowpanes, and the front porch had a swing just like Vivian’s. Penny had already delivered the Christmas tree she’d cut down with her crew yesterday. It waited in a tree holder next to the path leading up to the house. Someone had also delivered a stack of buckets, rags, brooms, and mops.

Penny turned the keys in the lock. “Our last caretaker moved out about a year ago. His mom was sick, and he wanted to be closer to her in Florida. We’ve been looking for someone to take his place ever since. Caretakers watch over the grounds, fix up the buildings, make Sunday morning coffee, and in exchange, this house is theirs.”

As soon as she opened the door, Frankie, Ruth, and I tumbled inside. The house had one main living room, two bedrooms, a kitchen, and two bathrooms. Everything was made of stone and logs, so we wouldn’t have much to paint, but cobwebs and dust covered every surface. Ruth sneezed.

“Well, girls.” Penny tossed us rags from her bucket. “We have our work cut out for us.”

We each took a room and went to work clearing the dust. Ruth kept sneezing, and Frankie, as it turned out, was deathly afraid of spiders. She shrieked every time one scurried out of a dark corner. I didn’t like spiders much myself, and had to call Penny to save me when I found a nest of them in the bedroom closet. My white bandages turned mud-grey, and I finally took them off, tracing the lines of stitches with my index finger.

Just as we finished wringing out our rags in the sink, when we were ready to flop onto Penny’s freshly mopped floor, a horn honked outside.

Doug ran in, followed by Ben and half the rest of the youth group who had caravanned over behind the truck.

Doug nodded in approval. “Looking good, ladies.”

The crew brought in rugs, couches, beds, two dressers, bookshelves, dishes, clothing, blankets, a table and chairs, a crib, and boxes of food and supplies. After Penny re-bandaged my hands with supplies from her first-aid kit, we rushed from room to room, finding places for everything. We hung clothes in the closets, stacked towels still warm from the dryer in the linen closet, and arranged warm coats on the coat rack by the door. Ben chopped wood outside, filling the wood bin, and brought a stack inside to lay a fire in the grate.

Once we’d put everything into place, we hauled the tree inside. After Penny strung lights on the branches, Claudia
and Jasper stacked presents around the tree while Frankie, Ruth, and I hung the ornaments Andrew and I had made. Cameron had donated an iPod and a portable speaker, so he set up a Christmas playlist. Vivian showed up with a collection of her framed artwork, which we hung on the walls. Then she helped us cut fresh pine garland for the mantle, and we wove another strand into a wreath for the door.

Doug put apple cider in a pot on the stove, adding cinnamon sticks and clove, so the air smelled like Christmas. Dad arrived, totally embarrassing me in his
Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice
apron, but still, he brought everything for a Christmas feast, turkey, mashed potatoes, salad, rolls, even gravy.

“Which we’ll do right this time,” he said, as he set two praline-crusted pumpkin pies into the refrigerator.

Dad organized a cooking team in the kitchen, timing everything so the food would be ready just before three when Andrew and Helen were supposed to deliver the Thompsons to the cabin. At two forty five, we all piled into the back bedroom and waited. Minutes ticked by. We waited, listening to the Christmas music playing in the other room. Finally, we heard voices and footsteps outside. Cameron struck a chord on his guitar, and Doug threw open the door as we started to sing:

We wish you a Merry Christmas

We wish you a Merry Christmas

We wish you a Merry Christmas

And a Happy New Year.

Tears glistened in Roxy’s mom’s eyes as she held the baby to her shoulder.

“Perhaps I should have warned you,” Ruth’s dad said, patting Quinn Thompson on the shoulder, “But we’re hoping you’ll accept a job as a caretaker for the church, along with this house.”

Quinn opened and closed his mouth, but couldn’t seem to find any words. Finally he choked out, “Thank you, sir. I’d be … honored. I don’t know quite what to say.”

Roxy barreled down the hall and threw her arms around me and then around Ruth, and finally around Frankie. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

We gave them a tour of their new house and then ushered them to the table, where we served them dinner. Then we waved goodbye, leaving them to celebrate in their new house.

“Thank you, Sadie.” Frankie held out a small, wrapped gift. “Open it tomorrow, okay?”

I took her gift out of my backpack and handed it to her. “You too.”

I hugged both Frankie and Ruth goodbye, knowing I would see Ruth in a few hours at the cabin for Christmas Eve fondue. But first, it was time for me to go home, wrap Andrew’s present, and head out into the woods. I looked for him as I climbed into the Jeep with Dad, but he and Helen were already gone.

“What are you grinning about, Sades?” Dad asked.

Since he already knew the answer to this question, I just grinned some more. Dad blasted Christmas music all the way home.