Miracles on Maple Hill (Harcourt Young Classics) (2 page)

Daddy didn't laugh. For a minute it was as if the two of them were holding their breath together. Then Daddy said, "I'm afraid miracles don't happen anymore—even at Maple Hill."

"We'll go find out," Mother said.

That was soon after Christmas. Now it was March, and here they were, going to find out.

"It's not very far from here," Mother said.

Now all outdoors seemed to be mostly trees close along the road. There were bare limbs that bent against the car, scraping as it passed, brushing off their snow. Hemlocks were like frosted green. Mother shifted gears, and the car was a big black noise in the middle of a huge white quietness.

"What a hill!" Mother said. "I'm not even sure this car is going to make it."

They all leaned forward as if that might help somehow. The car was really struggling. "I've heard stories about these spring roads!" Mother said, pretending not to mind. "But it was always summer when I came, and I never believed them."

The car stood still, then, its wheels singing and whirling. Marly saw Daddy's face set hard, the way it always did when he was angry or upset. His cheeks sank in, and she could see his heart beating in his neck. Mother stepped on the gas, and the wheels sang still louder and the engine roared like a truck.

"Shall I get out and push?" Joe asked eagerly.

"That's all we need," Daddy said in an angry voice. "Just Joe to get out and push!"

Joe's face went red. Daddy's was white. Mother roared the engine louder and louder.

"Stop it, Lee. You'll only spin the wheels," Daddy said.

When the sound of the car died, silence was suddenly everywhere. It seemed coming and going in every direction, and they were in the middle of it. The front of the car tipped upward on the bare beginning of the long hill.

"It can't be far to Chris's place now," Mother said. "They can probably pull us out. People here are used to such things."

"We didn't even think to get chains," Daddy said. "What farmers we'll be!"

"Mother—" Marly began, but Joe interrupted her. He said just what she'd meant to say, except that he said "I" and she had meant to say "we."

"Mother, I'll get my boots on and go ahead and tell 'em," Joe said.

"I'll go too," Marly said.

Joe looked at her in a superior way. "You'd just slow me down," he said. That was the way he talked to her lately, even when it wasn't true. She never could say it wasn't true, though, because every time it made an argument and Daddy thought every argument was a fight and had to be stopped instantly. He said there was plenty of fighting going on in the world without them doing any of it.

Mother hesitated. "I don't know what else—" She looked at Daddy.

"My boots are in the trunk," Joe said, and out he went.

"Mine are, too. Get mine, too!" Marly cried.

"He'll be sopping wet before he even gets his boots on," Mother said. "Who would have thought there'd still be snow like this up here?" Her voice was worried. Daddy didn't say one word. He just sat still, staring out of the windshield up the long hill.

"Mother—Daddy—can't I go, too? Joe knows I can go as fast as he can! He knows I can!" Marly cried.

"Hush now," Mother said. "There's no use both of you catching your death of cold."

"Mother, we wouldn't—"

"Don't argue, Marly! Please!" Mother said. She gave Marly the look that said:
Now don't talk about it anymore or you'll worry Daddy again.

"
Please!
"

"Marly! You heard what I said!"

"But, Mother—"

"Marly, don't argue!" Daddy's voice was fierce.

Joe scrambled back in the car with his boots and pulled them on, jamming his jeans inside. How important he acted! You'd have thought he was the President of the United States or something. For a minute Marly hated him. If he just said he'd like her to go along, she could. But he wouldn't say it for the world. She always said she'd like him to go along wherever she was going, and it was even true. But he'd never say it. Never, never, never.

"Please, Joe," she whispered so Daddy and Mother wouldn't hear.

But Joe didn't seem to hear her either. Mother said, "Joe, you'll likely see the Chris place as soon as you get to the top of the hill. It's a big white house down a lane. Green shutters. Behind it is
a
huge red barn. I'm pretty sure it's the next place—" Her voice didn't sound sure at all.

"Just tell whoever
is
at the next place," Daddy said.

"I hope I'm right," Mother said. "They're such wonderful people and were such good friends to Grandma—and to John and me."

Joe got out. He acted more important than ever, pulling his gloves tight up over his sleeves. Marly said once more, "Mother—" but Mother looked at her, hard. Joe started out, turning to smile and wave. Marly hated him again, this time even more, but in
a
minute he was walking alone up the hill—littler—and littler—and the three sat silently, watching him. By the time he got to the top of the hill she loved him again and opened the door and hopped out on the running board to wave. He waved back. His hat looked very red and small, a dot on the white road, against the sky.

"For heaven's sake, close the door. No use freezing while we wait," Daddy said.

But Marly hardly heard. "I smell smoke," she said. "Look—look! right there!"

Only a little distance up the hill, on the side where she stood, was a wreath of blue smoke winding into the air. It looked lovely, curling upward from the trees.

"Mother, may I go and see? May I?" she cried.

Mother and Daddy looked at each other. They both looked up the hill where Joe had disappeared.

"I can see a tiny little road. It turns in there-see, behind us. We didn't even notice it before."

"It can't do any harm, can it? While we're waiting? Then she won't—" Mother stopped. She almost said: Then she won't be making a noise and fussing and being in the way.

Marly saw their looks saying "why not?" and scrambled out for her own boots, using the tramped places Joe had made. Now it was her turn to start out, to turn and wave from the little road, to follow the deep ruts.

"Don't go far! Come right back!" Mother called.

"It's got horse tracks!" Marly cried back. "And tractor tracks!"

Then the road turned into the trees.

How beautiful, how beautiful! The land went up and down, with snow everywhere, unbroken except where the little road wound through. But then there was another little road, going into the trees. And another. She stood still, wondering. The tracks went around—over there and over there—in a big circle, and ... She stood staring. Every tree was hanging with bright buckets. And every bucket had a little pointed lid, like a cap. Once she had seen a picture in a book at school—

Then she heard somebody ahead, chopping wood. The sound of the ax coming down was sharp and clear. And there he was, the woodchopper, swinging up and swinging down again. The sound of the ax hitting the wood reached Marly as he lifted it up again. He stood by an immense pile of wood, and behind the pile was a little brown house. It had a high brown smokestack that the blue smoke was pouring from and an extra little roof that seemed to be sitting on great billowing white clouds of steam.

She glanced back toward the road. It was as if another step would bring the ordinary world completely to an end and this would be Wonderland. Even the sights and sounds didn't match here. Near her a bucket hung against a tree, and she distinctly heard a sound of drip—drip—drip—

The man saw her as she came. He stopped chopping and lifted a hand to wave. He was smiling. Then, suddenly, he dropped the ax and began to walk toward her. She didn't know whether to go on
walking herself or turn and run. But she went on walking, and as he came closer he cried suddenly, "Lee! For goodness' sakes! Lee!"

She could smell the smoke on his overalls when he held out his hand. He smelled wonderful, like a smoked ham. His face was round and red and fresh, and he was absolutely huge all over. His hand closed over hers, and his laugh was as big as he was in his huge blue jeans and sweater.

"Imagine me calling you Lee!" he said. "You must be her girl Marly. But you're your mother all over again. I'm Mr. Chris."

Before she had time to say anything—about the car or the hill or the trouble or anything else—he laughed and said, "Can you smell that, Marly? Did you get that whiff just then from the sugarhouse? I told my wife this morning, this time Lee's coming for the first breath of spring."

She had got it. It was absolute sweetness, like a drift of scent from a lilac bush. Like passing an orchard in full bloom. But different. A different sweetness—

"Your great-grandma used to say there was all outdoors in that smell," Mr. Chris said. "She called it the first miracle when the sap came up."

She looked up at him in surprise. So that's where Mother had got the idea of the miracles.

"Where are your folks? At the house?" he asked.

In two minutes they were on the way to the rescue. There were two big horses that he used to gather sap from trees on the steep hills where a tractor would go head-over-wheels, he said. But the tractor was the thing to take that car home in a hurry. Marly sat beside him. The tractor was bright orange against the snow. She felt like a queen in a high chariot as they rolled off along the little road among the trees.

Marly knew it was sad for Joe, but she couldn't help being pleased by the flabbergasted look on his face. He was just plowing his way past the mailbox saying
J. Chris
when they came along behind him. She was still riding high on the tractor with Mr. Chris, and the car came along behind like a good little poodle on a chain.

"I found Mr. Chris!" she called to Joe. "I saw the smoke and found Mr. Chris!"

She knew Daddy would be disgusted at her for bragging, but after all, Joe had to be told, didn't he? He stood with his eyes sticking out like a snail's.

"And you're Joe," Mr. Chris said. He leaned down and took Joe's shoulder in his big hand and shook him the way you shake somebody you love and are glad to see. "How'd you get up that hill so fast? I told your mother nobody'd make it today without snowshoes."

Joe smiled and felt better again right away. Mr. Chris was a man who wanted everybody to feel all right. Marly felt a tickle of shame about bragging to make Joe feel bad—but she hoped Joe felt a tickle of shame, too, for leaving her behind.

If he did, it didn't show. He jumped onto the tractor and nearly pushed her off.

"Careful there. Room for everybody," Mr. Chris said.

They rolled down the lane to the big house. A lady came out on the porch with her arms folded in her apron to keep warm. She had the most beautiful white hair Marly had ever seen. Great Grandma must have looked like that whenever Mother came for a visit to Maple Hill, Marly thought. But this was Mrs. Chris.

"Chrissie, they're here!" Mr. Chris called. "You know what—I had to get them up that hill, just like you said I would."

You would have thought Mr. Chris and Chrissie were real relations and not just neighbors that Mother used to know. Everybody was hugging and kissing and crying out each other's names. "Lee! How wonderful ... Why, you've hardly changed. Surely this isn't Marly. And Joe. But I've still been thinking they were babies..."