Brilliant Hues (11 page)

W
e searched for a while, but probably because we were each caught up in our own thoughts, we didn’t find anything.

Frankie stopped and nudged me. “You’re not looking.”

“Neither are you.”

“Okay.” She scanned the forest and pointed at a deep, dark knot in a tree. “What about that?”

Promising. I went closer to take a look, and I liked it, but it still didn’t feel quite right. I turned back to tell Frankie so, but she’d moved on, crouching over something on the path.

I hurried over. “What did you find?”

An old baseball card lay on the ground, its edges curled and dirty.

“I’m trying to imagine whether this would be the kind of door that would turn on its hinges, or if it would be the
kind of door that you’d jump into feet first, like the chalk pictures in Mary Poppins.”

“What’s on the other side?” I asked.

“Dirt,” Frankie said.

I raised an eyebrow at her.

“Okay. I guess an old-time baseball stadium. Maybe it’s a time travel card that takes you back to the minute when this player was making the play they’ve drawn on this card.”

“I like it.” Now I really had to come up with something cool.

“I’m going back in to draw,” Frankie said. “See you in a minute.”

I wandered further down the path, remembering how I’d found an old pocket watch out here in this forest. It had belonged to Vivian’s husband a long time ago. Probably the baseball card had belonged to Vivian’s son, Peter. There had to be something else out here, something interesting. As I looked, my mind wandered back to thoughts of the girls, and Karl. The thing was, right now, as long as I was in Owl Creek, I couldn’t do anything. It didn’t make sense to play scenes over and over in my head, what it would be like to face the girls, the expressions on their faces. Or to tell Pips how I really felt. And I may not even have the chance to speak up again to Karl.

I am with you. You are never alone
.

The words, sudden and sweet, slowed my heartbeat. Too often, I forgot. I started to think I had to figure everything
out, or drum up the courage inside myself to handle my problems all on my own. I forgot to ask for help.

What if I don’t know what to say?
I asked.

When it’s time, the right words will come
.

I didn’t so much hear the words as feel them, vibrating through me, rich and soothing and warm. With the words came the realization that I should come back to now, this moment in the forest, to my small task of finding a door.

Be present. You never know what this exact moment will bring
.

I was nearing the bridge that spanned the creek. Out of habit, I found a stick to toss into the water. Andrew and I loved to play this game—Sink the Boat. The idea was that you threw the stick into the water, and then tried to hit it with a rock enough times to sink the boat before it floated downstream and out of reach.

I sat on the bridge, and tossed the stick out through the railing, watching the stick dance and spin in the current. When the stick passed between two rocks, a tiny waterfall sucked the stick down out of sight. I leaned my forehead against the post in front of me, thinking, trying to listen. I had no idea why God would care about me drawing doorways, but maybe even tiny things were important to God. Maybe there was something I was meant to see.

Suddenly, I sat up and jumped to my feet. I found another stick, aimed carefully, and watched this time as the current took it, swallowing the stick whole in the same place where the other stick had gone down.

If you were a teeny-tiny creature, and that stick was your boat, then under the waterfall, you’d have some kind of watery adventure, right? Not drowning. But what if underneath there were caverns that you could sail through, and on the banks there were treasures to find? It would be like finding out the world as you knew it, the stream, suddenly had another level, more depth and adventure and challenge than you ever realized. And you might even realize, like what always happened in my favorite books that you, yourself, had an important mission, something that only you could do.

“Something that only I can do,” I whispered.

I was tempted to think about this question, study all the angles, force an answer to come clear. What could I do that no one else could? But I reminded myself to stay in the moment, to do what I needed to do right now. Draw. I closed my eyes and pictured the images. They’d be a sequence of three, like Vivian’s puddle drawing. Or maybe I’d even draw more frames, maybe a whole page full, to show the creature on the boat, the boat going under, and then the adventure beyond. I took off running for Vivian’s trailer.

When I burst inside, I had to stop and double over to catch my breath.

“You okay, Sadie?” Vivian asked.

“Come see, Sadie!” Frankie motioned me over to the table, where she’d already penciled in the collage of the card and the baseball stadium beneath. “I think I’m going to try to do the entire image with baseball magazines and baseball cards.”

“She already called her dad to come pick her up so she can go buy supplies,” Vivian said.

“I can’t wait to see how it will come out. Is that okay with you, though, Sadie?”

“Yes, of course!” I knew how it felt to be on a roll and want to just keep going.

I sat in the chair next to Frankie and started sketching out my idea. Eventually, I’d probably do it in paint, because water was difficult for me to draw, but in paint the texture and smoothness and motion of the stream would come clear.

I’d finished an outline of three frames by the time Frankie’s dad honked outside.

“See you soon, Sadie?” Frankie asked.

“I think Ruth and I are going to youth group on Thursday,” I said. “Are you coming?”

“Actually, they’re having a progressive dinner scavenger hunt thing tomorrow night,” Frankie said. “Even I was invited.”

I laughed. “Even you?”

Frankie swatted at me and then closed her sketchbook. “Well, I’m not exactly an official member of the group.”

“You mean you don’t have the secret card?” I teased. “Okay, then, I’ll see you tomorrow at the progressive dinner scavenger hunt thing, whatever that means.”

Frankie grinned. “Try to convince Viv to come, too.”

She waved and hurried out the door. Vivian poured herself another cup of tea, refilled the cookie plate from the batch she’d just taken out of the oven, and brought it over to the table. She watched me draw the fourth frame, and
then as I started drawing the next box, she pointed to my second frame.

“I like that you zoomed in here, really close, to show her slipping into the water. You feel like you’re being swallowed into the picture, the same way the water is swallowing her. Have you been playing with drawing in sequences like this recently?”

“Your drawing of the puddle started me thinking about it, and then the kids at camp have been drawing picture books, and I’ve been talking to them about drawings that go in order, and telling stories.”

I flipped back a page to show her my drawings of the island, pointing out my picture with the close up on the note. “Sometimes it makes sense to zoom in, right?”

“Right.” Vivian nodded, studying my images. “So what are you drawing here?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “On the plane, I got the idea of writing and drawing a picture book of my own. I know that this character is stuck on the island, and that she’s found all these messages in bottles, but I don’t know how to help her off the island.”

“What does this mean, ‘Are you out there?’ ”

I felt my cheeks reddening, and I wanted to just toss out an
I don’t know,
but then I felt a tiny inner nudge.

Now. Try it now
.

I didn’t have to ask what this meant. I did know, and speaking up to Vivian shouldn’t be difficult. Still, my mouth felt cotton-dry as I tried to form the words.

“I thought the girl was tossing out messages in the bottle to God, to try to be heard. But when I realized what was on the note, I …” I had to pause, gather my courage. “… Saw that God was sending the messages in the only way he could. She’d traveled or lost her way or whatever, all the way out to that small island, with no other way to communicate. And yet he didn’t give up. He kept sending messages, even if he had to toss them out to the sea in bottles.”

Vivian studied my face. “And you think that’s you? Stuck on an island with no good way to communicate?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” The words slipped out before I could stop myself. But this time, I knew I wasn’t hiding behind them. I really didn’t know, and I needed to admit that to someone.

“If you could say anything at all, what would you say?” Vivian asked.

I turned back to the drawing of the creature on the stick-boat, the watery world she was entering, her head held high. “When I was out at the creek, I thought of this story, about a creature who slips beneath the creek’s surface and finds there’s something more going on, all underneath her ordinary world. And she is given a quest, something important to do, so she knows she matters, she’s unique.”

Even though I hadn’t connected my answer to her question, Vivian just waited, sipped her tea, and gave me space to think out loud.

“Everything is a mess, and none of it makes sense. I don’t know how to fix any of the problems, and I feel like even if
I did speak up, or do something, it wouldn’t matter. I don’t know how to make a difference. I feel so … small.” As the word came out, I finally understood, felt the truth drop deep down inside me, painful, heavy, but solid too. “I want to do something, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks, and Vivian hurried to find some tissues. She handed me the box. I tried to control them, but the tears kept coming.

“Lots of times I don’t know what to do either,” Vivian said. “I feel like I should do something big, flashy, significant, something that will fix everything once and for all. But the truth is, we usually help in tiny little steps. Like your drawings. You are finding answers one at a time, like tiny pearls, that you will eventually string together.”

“But what if it’s too late?” I choked back a sob. “What if Cici dies and Charlotte gets sick too and — ”

“The trouble with tiny steps is that you can’t see the whole picture until later, after the fact. And you can’t take tiny steps if you focus on the big problems. They freeze us in our tracks.”

I smiled a watery smile. “So I need to think small?”

Vivian took my hand. “Think now. Keep listening. I can see that God is speaking to you through your drawings, and he’s moving you toward something. If you really want to know what to do, consider starting there. Start with what you’ve been given so far.”

Even though this wasn’t the fix-everything kind of answer I wanted, Vivian’s words were like gentle hands on
my shoulders, turning me toward a path that might actually make things better. My breathing calmed, and I dried my cheeks with a tissue.

“Okay. I can do that,” I said.

Vivian broke into a wide smile. “I have no doubt. Now, you know what the right thing to do this second is?”

“What?”

She nudged the cookie plate toward me. “Eat cookies.”

I laughed and grabbed a cookie, which was still warm.

A
ndrew pushed a branch aside so I could pass under. Even though the day was hot, in the shade, the forest was still cool from last night’s dew. Birds called here and there, but otherwise, the forest was silent. We tried to keep our footsteps light so we wouldn’t frighten the bears.

“We’ve seen July with her cubs in this part of the forest,” Andrew whispered. “She doesn’t mind my mom or I, as long as we keep a reasonable distance.”

Had anyone told me a year ago I’d be out creeping through the forest looking for bears, I’d never have believed them. But I’d learned that black bears were really gentle creatures at heart, beautiful, wild, to be respected and given their distance, certainly, but amazing, too.

I’d settle for seeing any bear, but I was hoping to see the spirit bear, who was still only a cub. I’d been the first to spot
her, astonishing Helen with the news. The all-white bears, called spirit bears, were one-in-a-million cubs born to black bears. Also, they were hardly ever seen outside of Canada, so to see a spirit bear here, in Michigan, was a doubly big deal.

But it hadn’t been the unusualness that had frozen me in my steps the day I saw the white bear cub. It had been the quiet. The way time slowed down as she looked me straight in the eyes, like the long breathless moments while you watch an eclipse. Just like today, I’d been far from calm then. And I wanted that feeling again, the cotton-soft peace that slips deep down inside after you’ve seen something astonishing. I couldn’t stand to keep feeling the way I did now, brambly, like my insides were filled with the thorny vines that we battled to get deeper into the forest.

As we stepped into a clearing where the trees thinned out, and sun pooled in patches across a grassy area, Andrew held out an arm. “This is the place.”

We picked our way over to a fallen log and sat down.

“They like to eat those wild blackberries over there,” Andrew said. “And the cubs romp around and play chase between the trees. Probably they’re watching us from somewhere nearby, deciding if it’s safe to come out.”

“Will they come out with me here?”

“Hard to say. I never know what they’ll do,” Andrew said.

We sat for a few moments in silence, watching the edges of the clearing for any sign of movement. I heard a scrabbling sound, which might be bear claws clambering down
a tree trunk. I tilted my head toward the sound and raised an eyebrow at Andrew. He nodded and put his finger to his lips.

A few seconds later, two cubs bounded into the clearing. The first, the black bear, tumbled into a somersault in a patch of ivy, and then started wiggling around on his back, the way Higgins sometimes did when he had an itch. The other, the spirit bear, had been chasing him, and couldn’t stop fast enough. She tumbled over him and they rolled over and over, batting at one another with their paws. July stepped watchfully into the clearing and looked our way.

“Hey bear,” Andrew said, in the singsong way his mom did when she was approaching a bear in the forest. “Hey July.”

She watched us for a moment, and then circled the perimeter of the clearing, her eyes mostly fixed on her cubs.

“Do the cubs have names yet?” I whispered.

“We’ve been calling them Salt and Pepper.”

“Really? A spirit bear? Salt? Doesn’t seem quite right.”

“She doesn’t look too serious right now, though, does she?” Andrew asked.

Salt and Pepper were now playing some kind of taggame, but it was unclear who “it” was. One minute, Salt was chasing and the next, Pepper was on her tail. Whatever the rules were, they were clearly having fun.

I felt Andrew watching me, and realized I’d been spinning my star earring round and round.

“You still have them,” he said, as I turned to him.

I raised an eyebrow, teasing to try to lighten the mood. “What, did you think I’d throw them away?”

He laced his fingers through mine. “Sadie, I know trying to … I don’t know. Be something particular …”

I couldn’t help smiling. He sounded so much like me, circling the far edges of what he wanted to say, not able to just spit it out.

Somehow, finding words to help him was easier than trying to say them for myself. “You mean boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“Um, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I know that’s hard, since we’re so far away from one another. And next year, when I’m in Minnesota …”

“Pretty unlikely my dad will ship me off to Minnesota, right?”

“Yeah.”

We sat, looking at our hands, his tan fingers dark against my pale skin.

“The thing is,” Andrew finally went on, “when you send me an email, or, well, you’ve never called me or anything, but if you did, when I hear from you, or see you, I just feel …”

I pulled together all of my courage and looked him straight in the eye and he looked back, neither of us looking away.

“It’s like when you’re balancing on a log, walking across a creek,” I said. “And you’re fine, you’re not going to fall. But if someone comes along and takes your hand, you feel more …”

“Steady.” He finished for me. “Like even though lots of things might be wrong, overall, you’re okay.”

I could feel my heartbeat everywhere, in my fingers laced through his, in my shoulders, my arms, my legs, even in my toes.

He held my hand up to his lips and brushed a kiss across my fingertips. Then, he gave me that crooked smile I loved so much.

“Just promise me you’ll keep emailing. And I’ll email too. Or call. And maybe someday …”

His voice trailed off and someday hung in the air between us, hopeful, sending a shiver through me.

“Are you cold?” he asked, wrapping his arm around me.

“No,” I whispered, snuggling in close.

We sat there like that for a long time, watching the bear cubs tumble and play. Eventually, we’d have to get up and go to the progressive dinner, but right then, I let time stop.