The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove (27 page)

deceived. Her comment could have been interpreted in many ways, and I didn’t

try to puzzle them out.

The teacher called for class to begin.

At lunchtime, I decided to spend a few dollars of my tutoring money by

going to the Free Pop with Hattie, Constance and Mary Violet.

“You should have seen Jane in
Night Terrors
,” Constance said. “She told

Mrs. Monroe the assigned reading was stupid.”

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

“I didn’t mean it to sound that way.”

“I was glad you said it,” Constance said. “I always hate it when the love

interest is so impossibly pretty and innocent.”

“I
adore
those heroines!” MV said. “If anyone ever wrote about me, I’d

want them to say how impossibly pretty and innocent I am.”

“I’d rather say that you’re impossible and ignorant?” Constance teased.

“Mrs. Monroe likes it when students get riled up,” Hattie said. “She says

they’re
engaged
.” Her brown, shining hair was pulled back in a ponytail showing

delicate pink pearl and gold earrings. She sipped cranberry juice through a straw.

While my friends lingered over lunch, I dashed to the drugstore to buy

candles in case Lucky came by. I went to the aisle with women’s products and

glanced at the display of condoms. I picked up a box, just in case.

I walked out of the drugstore and saw a familiar red car about to exit the

Evergreen Market parking lot. I waved to Orneta, who rolled down her window.

“Hi, Ornery!” I said.

“Hey, girlfriend. How you been?”

“Good. I was bummed that you left.”

“I got transferred with a raise,” she said happily.

“Some guy told me you quit!”

“Nah, I’d been trying to get a spot at the store closer to home, and there

never were any openings before. This came outa nowhere. I came to pick up stuff

from my locker.”

“Good for you!”

A car waiting to get out of the lot honked, and Orneta said, “Gotta run.

You take care!”

As I waved goodbye, I knew I’d never see her again.

The next days were agonizing. I kept my arms covered during school, and

every day I’d practically run back to the cottage. I’d change into jeans and a

short-sleeved t-shirt, because I knew Lucky got excited by the mark on my arms.

I brushed out my hair and put on makeup and cologne.

Then I’d wait. Lucky didn’t come by or call. Several times I picked up the

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

phone to make sure it was working. I thought about calling him, or walking up to

the house, but I didn’t want him to think I was being obvious again.

I also kept watch for the big girl who’d left messages. My locker was

undisturbed and there were no messages, though. Once I heard a strange creaking

sound. I went into the gloaming, all murky shadows just before real nightfall.

“Who’s there?” I said.

The creak, like someone stepping on an old floorboard, came again. I

turned to the sound and there was a darker shadow by a tall birch. “What do you

want?” I asked.

I stepped toward the shadow, expecting someone to step out.

Creeak!

The shadow seemed to grow denser, darker, and I stood still. I could run

back inside if I needed to.

I tried to focus on the shadow, to see who was there, and wished I had more

light.

Creeak!

The sound sent a shiver down my spine and then I heard another, more

familiar sound of a bike’s wheels crunching on leaves. I turned my head to see

Jack riding from the direction of the drive.

I quickly turned back to the shadow and watched as it faded into until it was

just as dark as the shade around it. My arms were covered in goose-bumps.

Nothing was there, but I had seen
something
. Or maybe I hadn’t.

Jack skidded to a stop, and hopped off his bike, letting it rest against the

porch banister.

“Hey, halfling, what are you doing outside?” He was breathing hard and

his t-shirt clung damply to his wide chest.

He acted as if he hadn’t given me shit the last time we talked. “Are you

going to tell me I shouldn’t stand outside, because you always know what other

people should and shouldn’t do.”

“Stand where you want, and, yeah, I know what you
shouldn’t
do, if it’s

letting a drunk guy in your place in the middle of the night. Especially when the

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guy’s mother could expel you.”

“Why would she expel me when he was the one---“

“Moral turpitude.
Turpitude
, it’s in the handbook and probably one of your

SAT words. Your headmistress doesn’t only disapprove of impropriety. She

disapproves of the
appearance
of impropriety.”

Being annoyed with Jack kept me from being afraid. “You keep telling me

how important appearances are, yet you don’t care how you look or what you

say.”

“Irritating, isn’t it?” he said. “When I saw you standing here, so

motionless, I was worried that an evil witch had turned you to stone. What would

bring a pixie back to life? A jar of angel’s tears, or maybe I’d have to answer

three trick questions?”

“I’m sure you could answer any trick question. You like playing with

people.”

“Not me,” he said with a cool smile. “
I
don’t play with people.”

“You play with language, which is the same thing.”

“No, it’s not. We could talk about it. I get the feeling, though, that you

don’t want my company.”

I couldn’t tell him how relieved I was that he had come. “Why should I?

One minute you’re so nice to me and the next you’re lecturing me. You’re the

one who asks trick questions, and talking to you is an exercise in futility.”

“Hattie doesn’t think so. I understand her and she understands me. Isn’t

that what love is, knowing another person so perfectly well that there are no

surprises?”

“Why do you always bring up Hattie when you’re talking to me? I know

she’s beautiful and talented and I’m ordinary,” I said. So ordinary that Lucky

didn’t come or call and didn’t want to be seen out with me. I felt my eyes

welling up. “If you want to know about love, ask Hattie, because I don’t know

what it is.”

Jack stood there looking at me with his moss green eyes and then his glance

moved down as he saw the yellow and violet bruising around the scab on my arm.

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

Stepping to me, he gently put his warm calloused hands on my wrists.

“Oh, halfling, what have you done?” he asked softly.

He knows, I thought, he knows that Lucky did this to me.

All my loneliness and pain rose up in me and I felt as if I couldn’t bear it

anymore. His head dropped so that his chin rested lightly on my on head, and I

had an inexplicable urge to lean into him, to have him hold me, to breathe in his

scent of leaves and earth.

Then my phone rang, saving me from myself. I pulled my wrists away

from Jack and ran inside, slamming the door behind me.

I grabbed the phone on the second ring, thinking
he’s calling!
“Hello?”

“Hi, Jane, this is Penelope from Latin. I wanted to know if you wanted to

join our study group.”

“Oh, uhm, that would be great.”

The phone call was brief, and when I looked outside, Jack had already gone

and the last of the dim light was gone, leaving only darkness.

The next day, Friday, I watched Hattie carefully, wondering if Jack had said

anything to her about me, but she was the same as always.

Constance and Mary Violet told us about a party at the house of an

Evergreen Prep junior.

“His home theater’s got the biggest sofa you’ve ever seen,” Mary Violet

said. “It’s orgy size. Twenty people can fit on it. And he’s got one of those oldfashioned popcorn machines. You should come. We’ll have sexy nonversations

and raid his parents’ bar.”

“Will anyone I know be there?” I asked, wondering if Lucky would go.

Hattie said, “Not me. I have to work on my report for Music Theory and

History. I’ll be listening to scratchy recordings all night.”

Constance and Mary Violet named some of the people who’d be there.

They didn’t mention Lucky.

“I think I’ll pass,” I said.

At home, I changed into my good jeans and a cami so that my fading bruise

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

showed around the dark scab on my inner elbow. I pulled my hair into a high

ponytail so that my neck was completely exposed, and put on makeup. I dabbed

the last of the citrus perfume sample behind my ears and imagined Lucky

nuzzling me there.

I ate cereal for dinner and watched television with the sound low so I could

hear anything outside. The hours came and went. Lucky had never promised to

come, but I couldn’t help feeling hurt because he hadn’t. I began to think about

all the things he’d said and done that were self-centered and mean.

It didn’t matter. I still hoped he’d show up and when I heard rustling

outside, after eleven, I peeked through my curtains thinking that he’d come.

A doe was carefully stepping onto my porch and nibbling at the flowers in

the pot. As quietly as I could I got the flashlight and returned to watch her.

Another deer was grazing at the lower branches of a birch.

After the doe had finished eating the flowers, she and her partner moved off

into the grove. I waited a few seconds before slipping out of the cottage. I looked

toward the tree where I thought I’d seen something. Superstition wasn’t going to

control me.

I flicked on the flashlight followed the deer, staying as far behind as I could

without losing sight of them.

Suddenly the deer stood alert, ears pivoting forward, tails flicking, and then

they bolted off. It took me a moment to realize what had startled them: voices

rising and falling. In the distance, people were singing.

Keeping the flashlight to the ground, I walked up the path toward the

sounds. Soon I spotted yellowish light flickering through the white tree trunks. I

wondered if someone had snuck into the amphitheatre and was having a party. I

wondered if Lucky was there.

I stayed hidden in the trees as I approached the amphitheatre. I clicked off

my flashlight and took one careful step after another, waiting to hear the usual

noise of a beer bash.

Instead I saw people wearing hooded scarlet robes, standing in a circle and

chanting in a strange language. The words were harsh, full of hard consonants.

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

Their faces were hidden in the shadows of the hoods and each held a lighted

torch, the flames slanting in the breeze.

In the center of the circle was a man wearing robe trimmed in gold

embroidery. He stood by another man in a black robe whose profile seemed

familiar. Silver pitchers and a goblet, surrounded by purple grapes,

pomegranates, red apples, and walnuts were set atop a rough wooden table.

I moved closer to get a better view. Sticks were set in a fire-pit made of

large rocks.

When the chanting stopped, the man in the ornate robe spoke in the strange

language. He touched his torch to the wood in the pit. Yellow and orange flames

licked upward.

He lifted something from the mounds of fruits. It caught the light and

glittered. It was a gold knife with a long, narrow blade.

I stood absolutely still.

The man picked up a pomegranate and cut into it, releasing dark crimson

juices that ran over his hands and into the sleeve of his robe. He spoke again and

let the juices fall into the fire.

I relaxed too soon.

The man in the red robe held out his palm and the other man slashed

quickly with the gold knife. Blood dripped and sizzled in the flames.

Something rustled behind me and I turned my head. Mr. Mason was

standing there watching the spooky scene, and I felt an immense relief to see

someone who was sane and reasonable.

I stepped toward him and he jumped back, startled.

“It’s me, Mr. Mason,” I whispered. “Jane Williams.”

He put his hand to his chest and exhaled. Then he crooked his finger,

signaling me to follow him and turned on a flashlight.

The chanting abruptly stopped and the grove was eerily silent except for the

swish-shish of branches. Mr. Mason raised his flashlight, illuminating his face so

that the others could see him, and then he walked with me back down the path.

I was trembling with cold or fright or both. Mr. Mason opened the door to

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

my cottage and led me inside.

“I think we both need a cup of hot tea,” he said. “You nearly scared me to

death. I didn’t see you there at all.”

“Mr. Mason, what was that! Are they a cult?”

He smiled and said, “Oh, no! The older families here having one of their

folk celebrations. Have a seat and let me get the kettle on first, and then I’ll

explain.”

I sat on the sofa and he went to the kitchen. I forced myself to relax, and I

heard him turning on the faucet and putting the lid on the kettle. He opened and