Girlwood (10 page)

The white glow of the angelica was already dimming to a thin gray pallor, while the red flower that had been so brilliant
in the woods gave off no shimmer at all. Polly ran for water, but by the time she got back with a full vase the last of the light had gone from the angelica. Baba had woken and was struggling to sit up, her gaze going first to the limp blossoms, then to Polly's stricken face. She read her secret in a heartbeat.

"You can't save everyone," she said, and Polly began to cry.

***

Two months after Bree had gone, it was just as Polly had predicted. The neighbors avoided them, no one said Bree's name, and the police reluctantly admitted that the case of Brianna Greene had gone cold. Yet out of the blue Polly's mom made an elaborate Thanksgiving dinner—turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberries, the works. It was Polly's favorite meal, but when she sat at the table she felt reluctant to eat it, as if it was wrong to have such abundance when Bree had nothing.

"I guess I haven't quite figured out how to cook for two," Polly's mom said, looking guilty herself as she played with a mountain of potatoes on her plate. Then, very deliberately, she took her first bite.

Polly cut up her turkey and ate it, ashamed at how good it was.

"I was thinking," her mother went on. "Maybe you'd like to go to your dad's this weekend."

Polly looked up. She hadn't been to her dad's cabin since Bree left. "Really?"

Her mom stopped eating, but she looked Polly in the eye. "Really," she said.

***

The next day, Polly's dad pulled up in front of the house. "Ah," he said, "it's the lovely fairy Gwendolyn."

Polly felt so happy, it was almost indecent. She was going to the cabin, to the
woods.
But when she got in the truck, her dad headed toward town.

"I've got a surprise for you," he said.

Polly thought they might be going for ice cream, the way they used to every weekend, but instead he turned down Olivia's street. Polly's stomach lurched when he came to a stop in the Nelsons' driveway.

"I told her to bring a sleeping bag," her dad said. "You two can sleep in the loft."

"What do you mean?" Polly asked. "She agreed to come?"

Olivia walked out the door with her sleeping bag and pink overnight case. Polly's dad opened the door to the pickup, saying, "Ladies, I believe you've met."

Olivia stuffed her things behind the seat while Polly slid over to make room in the cab. Polly had no idea what to say,
and apparently Olivia didn't either. She got in beside her and turned to the window as Polly's dad headed toward the woods.

They drove past the Mountain Winds construction office, then onto the bumpy dirt road that led to the cabin, every squeak of the truck sounding like a shout. Even Polly's dad, who could go days without speaking, kept glancing over to see if they were all right.

"Supposed to be a warm winter," he said at last.

When the truck hit a pothole, Olivia elbowed Polly in the ribs. "I read that too," Olivia said, her face all innocence. "In the
Farmers' Almanac.
Unusually warm, then wet and snowy later." She kicked Polly under the seat.

Polly's dad was oblivious, launching into a discussion of the last seven years of drought, while Polly turned, ready to fight. But instead of a battle, she found Olivia aiming a finger at her knee, where she knew Polly was most ticklish. Suddenly, the horrible, heavy thing that had been lodged in Polly's chest disappeared.

"You never know," her dad said. "Every once in a while winter just passes us by."

Polly grabbed Olivia's hand before she could tickle her, but the two of them still burst out laughing.

"I didn't realize the weather was so funny," her dad went on.

They laughed harder, and when another bump entangled their arms, they left them that way. Polly's dad shook his head
and turned on the radio, but beneath his beard, Polly could tell, he was smiling too.

***

The cabin sat in a pretty little bowl, with Sheep Creek and a gentle rise on one side and a steep, wooded incline on the other. Except for the sunny vegetable garden, the land was densely shaded, the oldest pines in the area well over a hundred feet tall.

There was no electricity or phone line in the cabin. The refrigerator, stove, and lights ran on propane from a giant tank in the back. It was so quiet, Polly always took out the battery from her wristwatch. The ticking seemed out of place.

Polly dragged Olivia inside. Except for the grove and Baba's house, the cabin was Polly's favorite place on earth. Even on the hottest summer days, the interior was cool. The walls and ceiling were smoothed logs still oozing with sap, the floor hand-hewn Douglas fir, the countertops and cabinets pine. It was like stepping inside a tree. There was one large room on the main floor and a loft upstairs. The air always smelled of huckleberry pancakes.

That afternoon, Polly and Olivia watched her dad work. He used an awl and chisel to carve an eight-foot-long trunk of larch, one of the many he found downed in the woods after windstorms. He had never cut down a living tree.

"What are you making?" Polly asked, running her hands down the smoothed sides of the wood where he'd already cut in long, gentle curves.

Her father had sawdust in his beard again as he looked at the wood. "A girl."

***

Polly relished the chance to get into the forest again. Her mom could hardly complain when it was Polly's dad who suggested they go for a walk after dinner. The three of them put on their jackets and gloves and headed into the woods.

The air was bone-chilling and calm, the way it always was before the first real snow. Polly heard a creature, probably a squirrel, rustling in the bushes for warmth. Then her dad moved in front of them.

"Be still," he whispered.

A growl came from their left, and Polly sensed something coming up behind them. A pack, she thought, moving in stealthily to surround them. Then, as if on some signal, the wolves emerged from the trees.

They were gray wolves, Polly knew, from one of the packs reintroduced to Idaho, but they weren't gray. Their fur ranged from white to silver to black to rust. The biggest one was black and stood menacingly to the left, while a smaller tan wolf took her place beside him. The alpha male and female, Polly thought, with the female the obvious warrior. There was a slash mark across her wide muzzle and dried blood on her fur. She had round, erect ears; a long, straight tail held up nearly vertical; and the most massive paws Polly had ever seen.

A cold breeze brushed across Polly's face, but the rest of her was on fire. How Baba would have loved to see them! So regal, bold, and proud, everything wild things should be. Polly's heart raced in awe and fear, but also in a strange need to protect them. She'd seen the celebrations on the news when the wolves were taken off the endangered-species list, and the rush of men eager to buy hunting tags. The elk herds were down, the wolves preyed on cattle and sheep, and ranchers wanted justice. Like Baba, the wolves were blamed when anything went wrong.

The largest wolf bared his teeth, and another growled. Polly's dad looked behind them, but they were surrounded.

Then another wolf, far smaller than the others, raced out of the woods, tail wagging. Gray and black, he ran in circles joyfully until the black male lunged and took him by the throat. The small wolf yelped, and Olivia cried out. The animal looked lifeless—until the leader let go and the younger wolf leaped to his feet, his tail still wagging, as if it had all been in fun.

The other wolves did nothing, though Polly had the feeling that if they'd been human, they would have rolled their
eyes. Then, in a split second, the young wolf turned and came barreling at Polly. She screamed, expecting the sharp sting of fangs in her throat, but instead got only paws on her shoulders and a wet tongue on her face. The animal stood on its hind legs and licked her madly.

"Bronco?" she said.

The dog's tail wagged exuberantly, and the pack, as if respecting even a crazy dog's loyalties, slipped soundlessly back into the woods. Bronco licked her once more, then ran off, barking happily as he disappeared behind the trees. Polly laughed in relief and wonder. His fur had come in thick and glossy, and Polly imagined him bounding through the woods, sleeping soundly against his new furry siblings, getting nipped but never getting chained or beaten. Part of a pack, yet free. A wild thing.

"Did you see that?" Olivia said, her eyes shining. "Wolves. Oh, Polly,
wolves.
"

***

That night Polly and Olivia rolled out sleeping bags in the loft while Polly's dad slept on the couch downstairs. They spoke of teachers and tests, until Polly's dad started to snore.

"Olivia?" Polly whispered. "Where do you think Bree is? Honestly."

Olivia burrowed down in her sleeping bag. "I think she went into the woods like she told you she would, but she left before it got too cold. Maybe she's in some city."

Polly looked out the window, where a curtain of clouds blocked the moon. "I think she's out there. I really do. And I think my grandmother is helping her."

Olivia hesitated, then said softly, "Would she do that, Polly? Break your mom's heart that way?"

Polly shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe, if she thought it was the only way to save Bree. Some of her medicines are worse than the symptoms they treat. Baba's never been afraid to hurt people if it means she can get them well."

Polly closed her eyes as they lay in silence. She didn't want to talk about Bree anymore, so she told Olivia the story of Gwendolyn the woodland fairy, ending the tale in the usual place, where her dad had left off. The part where Gwendolyn had to search for Fairyland in the only place she hadn't looked—the Dark Lands.

"Then what happened?" Olivia asked.

Polly had given her dad months to finish the story, but it was obvious he'd forgotten all about it. She had no choice but to write the ending herself.

"Gwendolyn walked and walked, and every day the forest got darker," she said. "Soon it was black as night all the time and she could only stumble forward, hands held out in front of her like a blind woman. The trunks of the trees felt like
flesh. Instead of the rustling of leaves, she heard moans and sighs. She could find no food and water, and she began to grow weak."

In the darkness, Polly saw the whites of Olivia's eyes.

"The trees moved beside her now," Polly went on, "tripping her, tugging her hair, entangling her in their branches. There was no end to the darkness. And Gwendolyn realized there was no way out."

Olivia sat up. "What happened to her?"

Polly hadn't known herself until that moment. Until she remembered the sound of Baba's voice in the forest.

"She began to sing," she said. "An old folk song her grandmother had taught her." Polly cleared her throat, and began to sing too.

The bridal-songs and cradle-songs have cadences of sorrow,
The laughter of the sun to-day, the wind of earth to-morrow.
Far sweeter sound the forest-notes where forest-streams are falling;
O mother mine, I cannot stay, the fairy-folk are calling.

Olivia grabbed Polly's hand. "Did she find Fairyland?"

Polly smiled, knowing the ending now and glad that she'd discovered it on her own. "Of course," she said. "She just had to go through the dark for a bit."

***

The snow had started falling during Polly's story. The girls got up and stood at the window, looking out at the blanket of white.

"What do you think the wolves are doing?" Olivia asked, pressing her palms against the glass.

"I'll bet they're long gone by now," Polly said.

Olivia turned from the window. "I'm not afraid of them. Isn't that weird? I'm afraid of everything, but not of wolves. Let's go outside."

Polly stared at her friend's bright eyes, then out at the frosted woods. If her father woke to find them gone, she'd lose his trust for good, yet the forest had never looked as beautiful. It was like a wonderland out there, a land of white bears, wolves, and ice. Polly grabbed Olivia's hand and led her downstairs. Quietly putting on their jackets and boots, they slipped out the front door as Polly's dad went on snoring.

There were no wolf tracks in the snow, and no plants Polly could bring to Bree. Then she remembered the garden vegetables she'd canned with her father that summer. She ran to the storage shed for a jar of carrots and pickled beets and smiled devilishly as she chose two containers of green beans for Olivia to carry. She could picture Bree gagging as she ate them—Bree had always hated green vegetables.

"Why do we need—"

"For Bree," Polly said.

"But how will she find them? Where should we leave them?"

Polly led her into the trees. She usually came to the grove from the other side of the mountain, but she was confident that she could find her way. A few times she had to stop to get her bearings, not an easy thing to do in the darkness and worsening snow, but eventually they made it to the wall of devil's club. The leaves had all fallen from the shrub, yet the tangle of stems and thorns was just as dense and forbidding. Nothing could be seen of the grove on the other side. It took Polly three passes to find the opening.

"Follow me," she said.

She and Olivia slithered beneath the thorny plant, and as soon as they entered the larch grove, they saw the campfire blazing.

"Whoa," Olivia said. Snow covered the ground, except beneath the larches, where it was heaped with golden needles. "What is this place? Who's here?"

A log crackled as if it had just been thrown on the flames, yet Polly saw no one. "It's Bree's fire," she said.

Olivia looked around, squinting to see into the darkness beyond the trees. "Really? Why doesn't she come out?"

Polly wished she knew the answer. "I don't know. She's Bree. Let's leave the vegetables over there, on the boulder."

They set down the jars and brushed away snow to sit by
the fire. Polly brushed aside the matchbook, now soggy and unusable. It was a well-built blaze, with enough wood set aside to burn all night.