A Snicker of Magic (25 page)

We all stared at the sky so long that we startled when Cleo said, “Mercy! Something else is moving up there!”

“That’s Felicity’s tattoo,” Frannie said matter-of-factly.

“Felicity’s
what
?” Mama yelled.

Oliver laughed out loud. “I’ll be! There’s my bird roosting on your wall. Hope’s coming down, y’all!”

But Oliver was wrong. Instead of coming down, hope pulled up in a big Greyhound bus. And when the air brake puffed and the bus pulled out again, a tall man in a camouflage uniform was standing on the pavement, a thick duffel slung around his back.

Jonah gasped, “Dad?”

Jewell looked at her son first, then she looked back across the street. Then all three of them were moving toward each other, meeting in the middle. I heard the sound of three hearts colliding: a sob, then a ripple of happy laughter, then a whispered
hallelujah.

The shadows of all three of them, holding on to each other, stretched out on the sidewalk. If I was a shadow catcher like Isabella Thistle, I’d have stolen those shadows, just so the Picketts would always remember that day. Just so we all would.

I caught a sudden movement in the corner of my eye and turned in time to see Florentine running toward the bus. “Hold on!” she yelled.

The bus lurched to a stop right at the edge of Second Street.

“Homeward bound!” Florentine yelled, waving her hands in the air.

“You’re leaving?” I yelled, running up behind her. Florentine motioned to the bus driver to give her a minute. Then she smiled down at me and slung one skinny arm around my shoulders.

“I got some things to make right myself.” She reached for the golden locket around her neck.

I smiled up at her. “You’re off to find Waylon?”

“I reckon I am.”

“You don’t have to wander anymore, either,” I told her. “Wherever you go, you can settle down if you want.”

Florentine nodded, like she was considering my words. “I’m going to find Waylon. That’s the first thing I’ll do. But the truth is — I don’t feel cursed to wander, Felicity. I feel blessed to wander, as long as I got somebody I love wandering with me. You might feel that someday, maybe. But I don’t blame you for wanting to be here, either. We all need a place to start out. Might as well start out at home, right?” She smiled and shook her head as she glanced over at Jonah’s family. “Tell that Honeybee I said good-bye.”

Florentine boarded the same bus that had just brought Jonah’s dad into town. She waved good-bye from the window and I waved back. It’s so weird how life is so full of moving around — people coming and going, people passing by each other all day long. You never know which
person’s going to steal your heart. You never know which place is going to settle your soul. All you can do is look. And hope. And believe.

Oliver Weatherly invited us all to his house for Charlie Sue’s chocolate pancakes and a side of Blackberry Sunrise.

“Can we go home after that?” I asked Mama.

And she leaned down and kissed the top of my head and said the most wonderful words: “We are home, Felicity.”

It was the sweetest day.

In the days after the Duel, Midnight Gulch became a famous place. Oliver Weatherly paid for a fancy new sign:

Mama became the director of the new community arts center. Then she helped Aunt Cleo launch her quilting business. Mama even did up the business cards:

Hedgehog quilts are back in demand, so Cleo’s a busy woman. Mama rented us an apartment across from Aunt Cleo’s so we could run over and pester her whenever we wanted.

Since the shadow incident in the auditorium, tourists have flocked to Midnight Gulch again to hear the story of the Brothers Threadbare. Day Grissom converted an old bus to shuttle tourists to all the pertinent historic locations. The last stop on the tour is always the Gallery.

Some days, the painted balloon is there. Sometimes the balloon is big, up close. And sometimes the balloon is tiny, hovering up in the corner. Sometimes there is no balloon at all.

“They repaint it every night when the tourists leave,” somebody says.

“It’s a trick,” somebody else says with a shrug.

“It’s a phony.”

“Those are just stories.”

But my favorite response is this: “Why can’t my town be this way?”

Because I’m convinced Midnight Gulch can’t be the only magical town in the world. I bet there’s a snicker of magic on every street, in every old building, every broken heart, every word of a story. Maybe it’s hidden away and you need to look harder for it. Or maybe the magic is right there, right in front of you, and all you have to do is believe.

Miss Divinity Lawson is humming a song while she grades our spelling tests. She decided to teach class outside today, because she wanted us to feel the October sunshine
against our skin. The wind is cool now and the leaves are red and yellow and rust colored.

We’re scattered around in a circle on the playground, molding clay planets while Miss Lawson works. She’s whistling a tune that I recognize; it’s the song Boone sings in front of the Gallery every Wednesday afternoon. The two of them are spending more time together these days. I owe the Beedle for that. The Beedle helped me get those two together.

I can’t even count all the good things that have happened to me in Midnight Gulch thanks to that do-good-pumpernickel-Beedle-best-friend of mine. Jonah is sitting beside me. He finished his planet a long time ago. The pages of his newspaper are fluttering in the autumn wind.

Miss Lawson starts tapping her foot. With every
click-de-click
, I see new words rise up off the dusty ground:

Sunshine dress

Spinning

Lilies

Blooming

Hands hold

Hearts fold

The words all float up toward the sky. I decide to capture them all, every last one of them. I put down the clay planet I’ve been shaping and I pick up my blue book to catch a poem.

I pick my planet back up off the ground. I write
hope
across the clay sea.

“Felicity,” Jonah breathes.

I look up, but Jonah’s not looking at me. He’s looking straight ahead and his eyes are wide like somebody yelled
Surprise! Happy Birthday!
But it’s not Jonah’s birthday and nobody is hollering anything. Nobody’s talking at all. They’re all looking in the same direction — out toward the tall-grass fields rolling into the mountains, the place where Midnight Gulch rolls on into forever.

“Do you see it?” Jonah whispers.

I look just in time to see it coming: the shadow of a hot air balloon drifting slowly down the mountains, over the hills, and across the field where we’re sitting. No matter how often we see the shadow, we tremble when it passes over. We will never stop looking for it.

Yes
, my heart sings out.
Yes. Yes. Yes!

The end

Swan song

Finale

Done

My amazing agent, Suzie Townsend, is smart, passionate, and a dream advocate. She’s capable of magic, and I’m so blessed to be working with her. I’m also indebted to the rest of the talented team at New Leaf Literary: Joanna Volpe, Kathleen Ortiz, Pouya Shahbazian, Danielle Barthel, and Jaida Temperly.

One of my favorite Blackberry Sunrise memories will always be the day my lovely editor, Mallory Kass, first called to chat about this book. She always understood the heart of this story, and helped me realize its full potential. I’m bowled over by her talent, patience, kindness, and enthusiasm.

I’m grateful to everyone at Scholastic who added their own snicker of magic to this journey, particularly Lori Benton, Tracy van Straaten, Bess Braswell, Lizette Serrano, Sheila Marie Everett, Nina Goffi, Starr Baer, and David Levithan. Seeing a Scholastic tattoo on my book’s spine still seems too wonderful to be real. Working with all of you is a dream come true.

Like Felicity Pickle, I’ve had some A+ teachers who’ve exposed me to great books and encouraged me to write. I’m particularly grateful to John Watson, Pat Sexton, Anna Hull, Gary Sexton, Bev Olert, Doug Renalds, Sheridan Barker, Ellen Millsaps, Jennifer Hall, and, most especially, Susan Underwood.

Sarah Wylie read this story in its early stages, squealed over Jonah Pickett, and cheered me on. She’s absurdly talented and kind, and her feedback meant the world to me. The wicked-talented Jenny B. Jones also bravely read an early version of this story. I don’t know what I’d do without her advice, insight, and encouragement. I’m also grateful to Sarah Keith, Melanie Garrett, and Hannah Jones, who frequently take it upon themselves to drag me out of my house for fresh air, concerts, cheese fries, and/or cupcakes. I have the most splendiferous friends in the world.

The word
love
doesn’t seem heavy enough to describe how I feel about my family. They’re a haven for my wandering heart. My grandparents — Orangie, John, Virgil, and Jean — were my safe place and my favorite storytellers. They left me with a heart full of sweet memories. Gene and Harriet Bond, whom I love like grandparents, have cheered me on through this and countless other crazy endeavors. My mom, Elaine, is my first reader, and best friend. My dad, Jim, is my biggest cheerleader and my anchor. Bridgett and Ed have the most marvelous back porch for making up stories (and they don’t seem to mind when I drink all their
coffee). Andy and Erin Asbury are the most spindiddly people in the world. They make every day magical, and I love being their aunt. My brother, Chase, is lion-hearted, fearless, and fun. I want to be just like him when I grow up. My dog, Biscuit, snuggled beside me through every revision. Above all, I’m grateful to God for always turning my heart toward hope.

And even though I’m quite certain they’ll never see this, I would be remiss not to thank my favorite band, The Avett Brothers, whose magical, marvelous music kickstarted this whole adventure for me. And it has been the sweetest adventure.

Factofabulous: Some dreams really do come true.