The Door in the Forest (2 page)

Probably he’d still be looking for a way onto the island.

“Come on,” said Daniel. “Let’s go see Dad. We can grab something to eat.”

Wesley glanced at the heron. He had another stone, aching to be thrown, which he turned around in his fingers. He let it drop.

They reached the road, a strip of hard-packed dirt between fields. A tractor puttered by, old Wayne Eccles looking down from his rickety throne. “Hey, boys,” he called. The brothers gave a wave and watched as the contraption continued down the road. They always watched when something with a motor came by, it was so rare. Good old Eccles.

Wes kicked pebbles ahead of him as he walked, but had
to abandon that to keep up with his brother’s strides. Sometimes it seemed he was always hurrying to catch up and never could. Couldn’t throw a ball as hard, couldn’t run as fast. It was the curse of being four years younger.

Suddenly Daniel stopped, squinting ahead at distant forms wavering in the afternoon heat.
Strangers
, he realized. As they came closer, he amended that:
strangers from the city
. Finally, seeing them clearly:
a family
.

Daniel raised a hand, but the little group passed without a word or sign, the father pulling a cart creaking with sad-looking possessions, the woman, blank-eyed, holding an infant against her shoulder, while a boy of six or seven walked beside them. He stared at Daniel and Wes as if they’d done something bad to him personally.

The boys stared back. People you saw on the road always gave you a hello at least. But the moment passed, and the family went on, the creaking of the cart diminishing.

“Who were
they
?” said Wesley.

“Refugees from the city. I saw some yesterday, too.”

“You mean”—the boy hesitated—“it’s starting?”

“Looks that way.”

Daniel picked up the pace and his brother hustled to keep up. “I thought it was over,” Wes said.

“The Uncertainties? They’re never over for long.”

The boys continued on. Soon they came to houses that had yards instead of fields. There was the post office ahead, a building so tiny and tight you’d think it’d been built by the third little pig. After that came the hardware store, the columned municipal building, the old schoolhouse, and then Crowley’s, the town’s one grocery, owned by the boys’ father.

Daniel stumped up the steps while his brother took the ramp at a run. Inside it wasn’t much cooler than out, although a wobbly ceiling fan groaned overhead, circulating the smells of coffee beans and cheddar. Crowley’s was a friendly place and the boys liked coming, even if it meant helping out. They especially liked the fact that the store had electricity. Most of the buildings in town were electrified and had been for years; but the lines hadn’t yet been run out to the farms. It felt good standing in front of the refrigeration case, as Daniel did now, cooling himself. No need for ice blocks here.

Wesley was writing his initials in the sawdust with the toe of his sneaker. “Who’s Dad talking to?”

John Crowley was behind the counter, shaking his head and smiling at an elderly man and his tiny wife, her iron curls held in a kerchief. She was counting out coins.

“No, no, you keep your money,” Crowley said, bending over them. Angular and perpetually tipped forward, he bent over all his customers.

“We pay what we owe,” she replied, giving him a hard look.

Two potatoes and a box of crackers lay on the counter. The woman’s husband raised a trembly hand. His flyaway hair wavered under the ceiling fan.

Crowley understood about pride. “At least take a bottle of water,” he said.

They started to object, but he was ahead of them. “It’s an advertising special. Today only. Every customer gets a bottle of water.”

It’s hard to argue with an advertising special. The couple
mumbled something, slid the water and groceries into a bag, and wobbled away. Crowley watched through the window. As they reached the street, the sun obliterated them like an overexposed photograph.

“You know them, Dad?” said Daniel.

His father shook his head. “From the city.”

Wesley looked up from the display rack of candy bars. “Can I have one?”

“One.”

“We’re not in danger,” said Daniel, “are we?”

“I don’t think so. There’s nothing in this town anybody wants. It’s the advantage of not having anything.”

“Then I hope we never get anything.”

“Also …” Crowley waggled his hand.

“I know,” said Daniel. “We’re protected.”

“That’s what they say.”

A breeze on the back of his neck made Daniel turn as Melinda Olsen and her mother came into the store. His stomach dropped, as it usually did when Mel appeared. She caught sight of him, and he thought he saw her eyes flicker. She adjusted her tapestry-covered shoulder bag. “Hi, Danny.” Bright and casual, with not a trace of warmth.

“Hi, Mel. Hi, Mrs. Olsen.”

“Hello, Daniel,” said the mother. She nodded to his dad. “Mr. Crowley.”

They went past the vegetable bins, Melinda’s white sundress swerving behind her.

Crowley smiled at his son. “Did I lose you, Danny?”

“No, it’s just …”

“Just a very pretty girl. Yes, I can see.”

Wesley gave a disgusted look. “Just a mean girl.”

Daniel shushed him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Really, he didn’t blame Melinda for not liking him. It wasn’t just that he was too skinny and too tall, although he was sure that figured in. It was that, when quizzed directly by the biology teacher, he had admitted to letting Mel copy his answers on an in-class quiz. How he wished he could have lied at that moment! There is no greater crime than telling on another kid.

“What were we talking about?” said Crowley.

Daniel remembered. “Do you think it’s true that we’re protected?”

“Who knows? People around here are superstitious. They don’t think they are, but they are. You ask a farmer why he plants an old sock in the corner of his field, he’ll look at you like you’re crazy. He’ll say, ‘I’d be a damn fool if I didn’t!’ ”

“I heard that.”

“Like it’s just common sense.”

Daniel shook his head.

“Still,” said Crowley, leaning back against the register. “All my life there’ve been the Uncertainties. They’ve never touched us in Everwood.” Rubbing his chin, “Of course, there’s always a first time.” He watched Wesley pocket a second candy bar. “Say, you boys planning to help me or not?”

The next morning, after his chores, Daniel hurried out of the house, jumping down the two stone slabs to the yard. The day was already hot, but it was better than being inside.
Reaching the road, he ran into his next-door neighbor, a big tattooed man named Fish, who despite his name raised chickens. “You notice we been getting a lot of strangers lately?” Fish said. He folded his bare arms, covering the coiled snake on his biceps.

“Yesterday,” the boy answered quickly, anxious to get on, “we passed some on the road.”

“Well,” said Fish, nodding, “looks like we got some more.”

Far up the road, a dark spot rippled in the heat waves. As they watched, the spot grew larger and separated into two spots, one taller than the other.

“Do you know them?” said Daniel.

“Hard to say.”

The larger spot elongated into a man. As he came closer, they could see he was not much over thirty, but he didn’t move young. His hat was dented in the wrong places, and his suitcase pulled him sideways, putting him off his stride. Beside him walked a girl, Daniel’s age or a little less, swinging a cloth bag bulging with belongings. Dirty to begin with, she scuffled up clouds of dust with her sandals.

Fish called up to his wife, Min, but it was John Crowley who came out. He still had a few minutes before he had to leave for the store.

“Take a look,” said Fish. “Isn’t that Stecher?”

Crowley ducked back in to grab a couple of apples from the bin behind the door and a jar of water from the sink. He stood holding them as the strange pair approached.

“Morning, Arthur,” he said. “Long time.”

The man put down the suitcase and touched his hat
brim. He cast his eye around. “I see nothing’s changed in Never Good.” His voice was thin and had a catch to it.

“Yes, Everwood is always the same,” said Crowley, “and we like it well enough.”

The man’s pale lashes blinked. “Well, it was always Never Good to me.”

“I’m thinking you and your daughter could use a drink of water,” Crowley said. He threw a smile at the girl, but she didn’t catch it. She was looking at her feet.

The man took the jar. Daniel watched, waiting for the thank-you, but it didn’t come. “Ain’t no daughter.”

“Oh?” said Crowley.

The stranger tilted back the jar, took a long drink, then removed his hat and poured the rest over his head. The caked dirt turned to muddy rivulets and dripped from his chin.

Everyone stared at him, even the girl.

“Where you headed?” said Crowley.

“Old lady Byrdsong.”

Crowley looked at him narrowly. “What do you want with Mrs. Byrdsong?”

The man didn’t meet his eyes. Daniel realized he hadn’t met anyone’s eyes the whole time.

“I said what do you want with her?”

The man nodded toward the girl. “I’m to leave this one with her.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s her grandma.”

Daniel glanced from his dad to the miserable-looking girl. The thing she was dressed in might once have been nice, before it was torn under one arm, soaked by rain, and coated
in dust. Was she really Bridey Byrdsong’s granddaughter? Everybody knew Bridey was dotty. Also, she was a witch. A good one, probably, but still.

By now, other neighbors had come out onto the road, among them Daniel’s mother, Gwen. She went right over and knelt beside the girl. “What’s your name, dear?”

The girl looked at her silently.

“She don’t talk much,” said the man. “Fact, she don’t talk at all.”

Mrs. Crowley took an apple and put it in the child’s hand. The girl stared at it as if she’d never seen such a thing before.

“Take it. It’s for you.”

The girl looked up at the man for permission. He shrugged. Still, she didn’t eat it. Daniel wondered briefly if she knew how.

“You say you’re not her father?” said Gwen, standing up and brushing her apron.

“Uncle.”

“Uncle! You mean this is …?”

“Miranda’s kid, yeah.”

Gwen looked at her closely. The girl was so dirty it was hard to tell what she looked like under it all. Even her eyes, a noncommittal brown, were hard to get a sense of.

“Why’s she with you?” You could see Gwen Crowley was about fed up with Arthur Stecher. “Where is her mother?”

“Likely dead.”

Mrs. Crowley instinctively reached for the girl’s shoulder. “What makes you say that?”

“Always sticking her neck out. Talking to people you don’t talk to. I wasn’t surprised.”

“Surprised at
what
?”

“Soldiers came and took her.”

Everyone was quiet. The girl looked down.

“We had to get out quick, Emily and me.”

“Emily. Now I remember,” said Mrs. Crowley.

“She’s a strange one.”

“Strange how?”

He shrugged. “Don’t talk. Ornery. I can’t take care of her. Can’t hardly take care of myself.”

“I can believe that.” Mrs. Crowley’s voice was flat. She’d seen the business with the water jar. “We’ll see she gets to Bridey.”

Stecher nodded. “Better I don’t see the old bat. I didn’t leave on such a good note.”

“I remember.” Mr. Crowley nodded.

Daniel looked at Stecher, trying to figure him out. The man might tell the truth, but he had liar’s eyes and a mouth made for excuses.

“Well,” the man said, “I’ll be pushing on, then.” He took off his hat, punched it from the inside, and stuck it back on his head. “Spare a little money for the road?”

“Sorry,” said Crowley. “You can have an apple, though.”

Stecher hesitated, blinking, then took the apple and rubbed it on his shirt. Without a word or a glance at the girl, he hoisted the suitcase, steadied himself, and started off.

“Mad creature,” Mrs. Crowley said under her breath. She might have said more, but not with the girl there. “Come on, Emily,” she said. “Let’s go inside and get some real food in you.”

Mr. Crowley rubbed his chin. “Somebody,” he said, “needs to run over and tell Bridey. Danny, will you do that?”

“I guess.”

“I’d go, but I need to get to the store.”

“Quick as you can now, Danny,” said his mother, heading inside. “I can use your help.”

Why did they always have to ask him? “Okay,” he said.

She nodded. “Run along, then.”

“I’m
going
.” So much for his free time. He watched glumly as Mr. Fish and the other neighbors stood around and kicked the dirt, paying him no attention. They quietly cursed the government. Then, for good measure, they cursed the refugees who’d brought their problems on themselves.

“Now they’ll be expecting us to take care of them,” said Fish.

Daniel thought that was unfair. The last time the Uncertainties had come, there’d been beggars, sure, but they’d always been polite and hadn’t stayed long. Could they help being hungry? Or having the wrong politics?