The Door in the Forest (9 page)

Now that makes a lot of sense
.

There was a second line, ending “for the something Rebirth.” The
Heart
’s Rebirth? That was it.

Closing her eyes, Emily tried to visualize the island; but all she could think of was the house below her, its spiral staircase twisting its way up to the turret and the Four Seasons room.

Just then she heard a familiar sound below her, the honking protest of a heavy drawer being pulled open.

A bureau drawer.
Her
bureau!

The map slid off her knees as she jumped to her feet. She made a grab for it and felt it tear slightly.
Careful
, she told herself. She folded it hastily. A moment later, she was on the stairs, then in her room. Empty. But the top drawer of her bureau was not completely shut. She went over and yanked it open. That same groaning sound. Nothing seemed to be missing.

She rummaged wildly. The small oblong case was still there. But—she snapped it open—the necklace was gone! That pearl necklace had belonged to her mother. Grandma Byrdsong had given it to her that first day in Everwood.

At first, Emily thought her grandmother might still have it. She’d borrowed it yesterday to clear a bucket of water that
wasn’t quite right for drinking. The water had come from the rain barrel that caught runoff from the roof, and it wasn’t always drinkable. Emily had been there with her, watching as the cloudiness dissipated and the water grew clear and sweet. But she remembered distinctly bringing the pearls back up—yes, she had dried them on her blouse—and returning them to their case.

She heard a staff car revving up and pulling out of the gravel drive, and suddenly she was sure who the thief was. It was the same man she’d found in her room the other day, the one with the high, surprised-looking forehead and meaty hands. She raced from the room, her feet pummeling the staircase. She flashed by the kitchen where Grandma Byrdsong and Mrs. Beinemann were sitting with their midmorning tea, and then she was out in the yard by the vegetable garden.

No one in sight. Where would he have gone? She remembered the soldiers down by the footbridge. No reason to think he’d gone there, but it was worth a try. She set out at a run.

A pain in her side soon slowed her to a walk. She was wearing a light sundress of her mother’s that she’d found in the closet, but she was still sweating. The pain began to lessen, and she pushed herself to a trot. Finally, practically gasping, she found the footpath that led to the bridge, and the car parked in the grass.

There they were with that bastard Sloper, a clipboard in his hand, taking notes and gesturing with his pencil.

“Ah,” he said. “Miss Emily. Well.”

Don’t speak
, the girl warned herself.
Remember
.

She came up to the knot of men. She recognized that
good-looking soldier named Martin who’d smiled at her at dinner. And sure enough, there was the one she was looking for. He looked big, and he looked dumb. His fists were on his hips. Without a word, she dipped her fingers into his shirt pocket.

“Hey!” he yelped.

She reached into his pants pocket next. There it was.

As she pulled out the necklace, the man’s heavy hand, unpleasantly warm, clamped down on her. “Whaddya think you’re doin’?”

She fixed him with a furious stare as she twisted to get free of him, but he was strong. With all her force, she kicked him in the kneecap, and his grip loosened. All this happened before she had time to think or others had time to react. But the pearls were in her hand, and she danced back, away from the man.

He was after her in a moment and managed to grab her other arm.

Emily was not a large person, but the sound that came from her then was a growl that would have made anyone pause. This man was
not
going to get this necklace!

With a strength she had no idea she had, she pulled back her free arm and hurled the necklace high into the air. It arced over the brambles and baneberry, over the murky stream, and landed on the bank on the other side.

The soldier, outraged, gave the girl a slap that knocked her off her feet and into the bushes beside the bridge.

It took three other soldiers to hold him back from tromping her to death.

“Stop that!” bellowed Sloper.

“That’s mine!” cried the thief, pointing at the glimmering necklace across the water.

“I doubt that very much,” said the captain. “But you can go over now and get it and bring it back to the girl.” He glared at him. “
Go
!”

Breathing hard with indignation, the soldier hulked through the undergrowth, ignoring as best he could the clawing resistance of thistles and brambles. A thorny branch slapped him in the face, drawing blood and oaths.

Emily pushed herself up on her elbows and watched him. She tasted something warm and metallic and realized her lip was bleeding. That didn’t stop her from smiling.

Reaching the margin of the water, the man waded right in, his eyes on the circle of pearls on the far bank. He had not gone three strides before he felt his booted feet being slowed by some underwater resistance. With all his strength, he managed a fourth step, sinking from waist to chest, and then could go no more.

Though he thrashed about wildly, his efforts seemed only to pull him deeper. Panicking, he let out an inarticulate cry. The murk was now to his chin, his head tilting back to keep his face from being covered. “For God’s sake!” he gargled. “Help!”

Sloper nodded to the soldier named Martin. “The idiot can’t swim.”

The young man gave a smart salute and trotted ahead, straight into the stinging undergrowth. You could see his suffering as he fought his way forward, but he didn’t complain.

Emily winced. The word “No!” escaped her as a whisper.

By the time he made it to the edge of the creek, his arms and one cheek were bleeding freely; but he dove in without hesitation, reaching his comrade just as the man’s head was sinking from sight. There was a turmoil as rescuer and
rescued struggled together; but it was no use. The first man was firmly stuck, his head now under the water, his arms flailing more feebly as the seconds passed. About then, the other soldier felt the pull of the muck beneath him.

“Quicksand!” he called out. “Help! I can’t move!”

He
was
moving, though—downward. Two other soldiers fought through the resistant underbrush, hoping to get close enough to throw their friend a rope. It was all happening too fast. The young man was barely keeping his chin above water.

That’s when he saw a delicate V of ripples swerving in his direction. His look of puzzlement turned to horror when he saw it was a snake. He thrashed wildly and sank up to his nose. That left his eyes at water level as the snake reached him, its pale head gleaming, its human eyes brilliant with malice.

Emily, who’d been watching from the bridge, ducked her head to the side to avoid what happened next, but she heard the scream. The mad splashing. The quick intake of breath of the soldier beside her.

A long silence followed. That was worst of all.

Finally, head still down, she dared to look. The water was calm. A finch began to trill atop a thorn bush.

Then she saw it, a sudden presence on the other bank. It was the heron. Slowly, even daintily, it approached the necklace and uncurled its neck. It dipped low to examine the strange object. The long beak pushed it, then opened and picked it up. Straightening, the creature turned its head, flashing one yellow eye and then the other at the soldiers across the stream.

The necklace swung from its beak as the bird walked slowly away.

Dinner that evening was quiet at the Crowley house. The captain seemed to have lost interest in the inhabitants of Everwood, including his host. He abruptly excused himself before dessert and went outside, followed by his men, the screen door slapping behind them. Gwen was thrown off by this. She had baked a cherry pie, now cooling in the kitchen. Catching her look, her husband fractionally lifted his shoulders.

If dinner was quiet at the Crowleys’, it was stony at the Byrdsongs’. Two empty chairs stood at the end of the table like accusations. The men rifled angry looks at Emily, as if the deaths that day had been her doing.

Even Bridey was quiet. She’d had a bath that afternoon and had learned more than she’d cared to know. Later Emily helped her with the dishes in the kitchen. The water had been brought in earlier from the well and heated on the stove. Now it was poured into two basins, one with soapy water, the other clear for rinsing, with a lantern above them hanging on a nail.

Emily was struggling to open the grease jar.

Her grandma smiled. “You’ll never get it that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Righty tighty, lefty loosey.”

Now the girl really didn’t understand.

Bridey made a little circle in the air with her finger. “The other way. Counterclockwise.”

“Ah.” The top screwed off easily.

The old lady gave her one of her pay-attention looks. “You’ll want to remember that.”

“Righty tighty.”

“Lefty loosey, yes. Don’t laugh.”

Emily shrugged. “I guess you heard what happened today,” she said.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

As they finished drying the pots, Emily told her grandmother the details. The old lady looked grim but not surprised. The suds had shown her two soldiers fewer. They’d also told her the map was in danger.

“Is it still hidden in last spring?” Bridey asked.

“No, I took it out to look at it.”

“Where did you put it, dear?”

“Oh!” Emily said, realizing. She fished it out of the pocket of her dress, rumpled and slightly torn.

“Is this how you take care of things?”

“I’m sorry. I forgot about it.”

A male voice interrupted. “Forgot about what?”

Emily whirled around to face John Sloper, lounging against the doorway. He saw Emily’s quick movement. “I’ll take a look at that, if you don’t mind.”

Emily held the paper behind her.

“
Now that we know you can talk.
”

Emily flushed. There went two secrets in a single moment.

Sloper’s hand was out.

“It’s mine!” Emily said.

“Nonetheless.” The hand remained extended, and Emily finally brought out the map. The captain went over to a hanging lamp where the light was better. “What is this?”

“I don’t know,” Emily said honestly.

“Then why do you have it?”

Bridey spoke up. “Didn’t you ever make treasure maps when you were a boy?”

Sloper gave her a look that said
This is not worthy of you
. “I didn’t make them on hundred-year-old parchment.”

“What makes you think it’s anything like that old?”

“Seventy or eighty, then. I wouldn’t put it at a day less.”

Bridey sighed. “No,” she said, “you were right the first time.”

He frowned at the document. “So what is it?”

“It’s a family thing. Nothing that concerns you.”

“Well,” said Sloper, waving the page in the air, “maybe it’s your family that does concern me. Your daughter, Miranda, for instance. A traitor with the rebels.”

“Oh, please.”

“They loved her. They took inspiration from her. She even sang to them.”

“Where did you hear such nonsense?”

Emily’s eyes flitted back and forth between the grown-ups as if watching a tennis match. Tennis with an explosive ball.

“She has confessed as much.”

Point to Sloper.

“What have you done with Miranda?” said Bridey quietly, the hint of a quaver in her voice.

“We put a few questions to her.”

“And she answered them? Just like that?”

“Not just like that.”

Bridey stared into the sink. The soap bubbles covering the dishes had no wisdom to offer. “Did she tell you about this?” She nodded at the map.

“We didn’t know about it, so we didn’t ask. But I’m asking now.”

“And I’m telling you it has nothing to do with your ridiculous wars. You yourself can see it’s much older than the Uncertainties.”

Sloper turned the page back and forth, considering. “True, the parchment is old. That doesn’t mean the writing is.”

The woman had no answer.

“For all I know, it could show the location of weapons caches. Or meeting places. Putting it on parchment could be a ruse.”

Bridey leaned against the sink. She wasn’t used to standing up so long and her legs were aching. “Captain, that’s far-fetched, and you know it.”

“If it’s not subversive, why won’t you tell me what it
is
?”

“I have another idea. Why don’t you tell me where Miranda is?”

His face reverted to casual. “Maybe we can work out a trade. I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

“I don’t think so.”

“But why not?”

“Because, Captain, it is none of your business.”

Sloper’s body tightened. “You’re a reckless woman, Mrs. Byrdsong, and I can see you don’t care about what’s good for you. I wonder if you’d be so reckless about your granddaughter here.”

Bridey’s nostrils twitched.

“I have a feeling,” he said, “you’d do just about anything to keep her safe.”