The Door in the Forest (8 page)

She smiled. “I think if anybody could do it, he’d be the one. Oh, here. You remember the library. Have you seen it since you’ve been back?”

The girl remembered many things from her early days there, but she hadn’t known about others. Back then, she’d taken all the oddities of the house for granted. Only now, seeing through older eyes, did a word occur to her. “This place is magic, isn’t it, Grandma?”

Bridey gave her a serious look. “Come. Let’s have some tea.”

When they were quite sure they were alone, they sat in the library and waited while the blackberry tea finished steeping.

“You’re the last of the line,” Bridey said. “There’s something
you need to know about us.” She bit into an almond cookie. “We Byrdsongs are protectors,” she said.

Emily looked confused.

“It’s our nature. It’s what we do.” Bridey held the top of the teapot with a finger and poured out two cupfuls.

“I don’t understand. Protect who?”

“Not so much
who
as
what
. For hundreds of years now, Byrdsongs have protected the island.”

“But …” Emily stared at her steaming cup. “Why does it need protection?”

“I don’t have an answer to that, but look around you. Imagine if the wrong people got over there.”

The image of Captain Sloper flew into Emily’s mind. His little mustache and cruel eyes.

“The world’s gotten coarser,” her grandmother continued. “You yourself know about the Uncertainties. The madness is all around us. It’s at our doorstep, right in the house, with its feet up on the table.”

Emily was surprised at her grandmother’s intensity, but more, her clarity. She’d always thought of the old lady as lovably dotty.

“Grandma,” she said, “what
is
the island?”

“Ah, that is easier seen than explained.”

“You mean I can
go
there?”

“You’re a Byrdsong, aren’t you? You’ve got a map, don’t you?”

Emily jumped up and hugged the old woman around the neck.

The two of them shared a look brimming with conspiracy. “Grandma,” the girl said, “have you ever been there?”

Bridey lowered her voice. “Each of us in the bloodline has to make the trip. I wasn’t much older than you my first time.”

“What’s it like, Grandma?”

Bridey waved the question aside. “You’ll find out. The trick is getting there.”

“There’s the map.”

“Knowing how to
use
the map, dear, that’s the tricky bit.”

“Oh?”

“Think of the windows in your room. That will help you. And you’ll need some dirt, of course.”

“Dirt, Grandma?”

Bridey saw Emily’s look of incomprehension. “You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out just fine.”

“Do you really think I will?”

“I have every confidence.”

Later, while her grandmother was upstairs napping, Emily wandered around the house by herself, looking into everything. It seemed always to be speaking under its breath, creaking and muttering when the wind was blowing and sometimes when it was not. It was as if the whole place was alive, and her grandmother was the beating heart within it. No wonder Emily loved her.

She loved her almost as much as she hated the soldiers.

The soldiers were easier to put up with at Daniel’s house. Captain Sloper and his aides may not have known which side of the plate their fork went on, but they could speak in whole sentences and they told good stories.

Wesley was particularly taken with the soldier talk around him. As the baby brother in the Crowley family, he was drawn to the rough, the tough, and the grown-up. When a big-chested soldier named Crenshaw told of a drunken escapade ending in an overturned truck in a cow pond, Wesley giggled as if he’d been there himself.

Sloper was the most engaging of all. He would tilt his head toward you and lower his voice in a confiding tone, as if you actually mattered.

“John,” said Sloper, leaning back in his chair, “how do you manage to get by, with that store of yours, when most of your customers raise crops of their own?”

“I didn’t say I was doing well,” Crowley said with a smile.

“But well enough to raise two hungry boys.”

One of the boys, just then, was not very hungry. Daniel was too busy being mortified to have an appetite for corned beef. It embarrassed him that his father was forced to put up with these occupiers, feeding and housing them and answering their questions.

And it bothered him that Sloper wouldn’t give an exact date when his troops would be leaving. They’d been here almost three weeks now. “We’re awaiting reinforcements,” he said with a nodding smile. “There’s a platoon a few miles west of here. No,” he said, catching Mr. Crowley’s look, “you won’t have to feed them! When they join us, we’ll pack up and head to the city to finish the fight.”

Crowley looked thoughtful. “And the fight? It’s going well?”

“Splendidly.” Sloper tilted back farther and gazed at a corner of the ceiling, as if conjuring visions of victory. “We’re in the mopping-up stage now.”

“Oh. Mopping up!”

An interesting thing about Daniel was that while he couldn’t tell a lie himself, he could usually guess when one was being told. It was something in the eyes. Sloper had said that the fight was going well, and his eyes had darted, for the briefest moment, to the side. Daniel interpreted that to mean the fight was going badly.

He remembered the condition of the troops as they’d marched into town behind the artillery caisson and the line of military cars. The vacant expressions. The listless trudging. The crutches.

If all that was true, what was Sloper so cheery about? He just sat there gobbling his meat and cabbage and asking about
the local populace. He said he’d seen a farmer that afternoon sprinkling some sort of liquid outside his barn door. On questioning, the man had said it was pig urine, and its function—

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Crowley with a laugh. “It keeps out bad spirits that would sour his milk.”

“That’s it! Remarkable!” Sloper shook his head. “I have to say, though, he didn’t seem very friendly when we spoke to him.”

“Oh, he’s all right,” said Crowley. “I know who you’re talking about. Wayne Eccles. A fine man, once you know him.”

“I’m sure he is.” Sloper tented his fingers. “Not crazy about the government, though. Told us, excuse the expression, to go to hell.”

Crowley flicked his hand to dismiss the thought. “That’s Wayne for you. But, I mean, who is crazy about the government? Are you crazy about the government?”

“I’m
loyal
to the government.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean …” Crowley felt Gwen’s foot kick him under the table.

“Quite all right,” said Sloper mildly.

“I mean, nobody likes their taxes raised. Twice in the year.”

Another under-the-table kick.

“We’re fighting a war, Mr. Crowley. That takes money.”

“I understand.”

“I’m sure you do.” He looked around the table. “I hope Mr.… What’s his name again?”

“Eccles.”

Sloper nodded to his aide across the table. The man took out a small notebook and jotted down the name. “I hope Mr. Eccles understands as well.”

The table grew so silent you could hear the candles flicker.

“Captain,” said Gwen Crowley, her smile preceding her as she leaned forward, “you needn’t worry about the loyalty of the people of Everwood.”

“That’s comforting to hear, madam.”

“They’re good, hardworking people. Simple as paint, but loyal as you could ask.”

“I’m sure.”

One of Sloper’s aides snuffled a laugh. “And crazy as magpies!”

“As pig urine!” chortled the one named Bailey.

The captain turned an amused eye to Daniel. “Do you believe in these superstitions?”

The boy, to be honest, wasn’t ready to discount them all. “I don’t believe in the pig urine,” he said at last.

“Good lad.”

“Danny, tell him about the island,” piped Wesley. “There’s all
kinds
of superstitions about that!”

“Wesley,” said John Crowley, “the captain is not interested—”

Sloper held up a silencing hand. “Let him speak. What island is this?”

“Well,” said Wesley, ignoring Daniel’s shut-your-mouth look, “there’s all these stories about weird animals that live there.”

“Is that right?”

“And there’s a gate or a door in the middle of it that leads somewhere. Nobody knows.”

“And why is that?”

“ ’Cause nobody’s ever been there.”

“Really? Never?”

Wesley shook his head proudly.

Sloper turned to Daniel. “Is that what we saw from the bridge that first day?”

Daniel felt his chest tighten. “Part of it,” he said.

“I remember the heron.”

“Yes.”

“Have you eaten him yet?” Sloper’s grin revealed the gap between his teeth.

“Not yet, sir.”

“You may have to, with all these soldiers to feed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you say no one lives there?”

Daniel could only shake his head.

“Sounds perfect. And people are superstitious about it—think it’s bad luck or something?”

“They’re afraid of it.”

“Better and better.”

The boy tried to read the captain’s features, but he could see only contradiction: face mild as mist, eyes stormy with schemes.

“Why are you interested in the island?” Daniel said.

“I’m thinking it might be the perfect place to test our new artillery. You’ve seen our big pig of a tank. It’s finally ready.”

“Don’t use the island,” said Daniel.

Sloper turned his head to the side, as if to hear better. “Why not? The gun’s got to be tested. Why not in a place where no one goes, where there are no houses, no crops, not so much as a stray cat?”

“But you can’t get to it. It’s surrounded by thorn trees and—”

“Perfect! It’ll keep people away. I think you’ll agree,” Sloper said, “it’s better than testing it on that fellow’s farm. Pig urine!”

Sloper’s aides barked with laughter.

Daniel stood, upsetting his glass of apple juice. He didn’t notice. “Not the island.”

Sloper took this in. “You feel strongly,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

Daniel shook his head. Why? He hardly knew himself.

“You must have a reason,” Sloper pursued.

“You’ll think it’s stupid. You’ll think I’m superstitious like the farmer who buries a sock in the corner of his field.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. That’s the last thing I think.”

“There’s just … something about it,” Daniel managed. “Something untouched. It should stay that way.” He didn’t know how else to put it. Abashed, he sat down.

“I see.” Sloper darted an amused glance at his aide-decamp across the table. “That
does
make a difference. There’s only one thing that puzzles me,” he said, stroking his mustache. “Do the farmers around here
really
plant socks in their fields?”

At ten the next morning, the roof tiles were already hot, and Emily had brought up a towel to sit on. There was a breeze somewhere—she could see the clouds overhead being cuffed around—but the roof’s peak blocked it from reaching her. She’d been up here several times, hoping to hear the voice that had called her from sleep that first night. But the only sounds she heard were the arguments of birds, the laughter of soldiers below, and the twang and slap of a screen door.

From here, the view stretched impressively from the Byrdsong manse to the beginnings of town, with all the barns and fields between. Straight before her lay the forest. She knew where the island was, but it was hard to see in the profusion of foliage. Ah, there was the footbridge she’d stood on with Daniel. Four or five people were there now. Soldiers, pointing and gesturing.

She spread out the map on her knees.

You’ll figure it out
, Grandma Byrdsong had said, but it was as mysterious as ever. It seemed to mark places, but gave no
place names. And it gave no hint of scale. Did it cover miles or only yards?

And what were these markings, nearly illegible with age, around the edge of the map? Some were symbols, while others were clearly (or unclearly) words. “Cover the Serpent,” one line began. Emily puzzled over it, squinting in the sunlight.
Cover the Serpent with something something. Next Spring’s Earth
? She spoke the words: “Cover the Serpent with Next Spring’s Earth.”