Juniper Berry (4 page)

Chapter 4

W
ITH HER MOTHER AND FATHER
about to leave for rehearsals and all lessons completed to Mrs. Maybelline's empty satisfaction, Juniper was on the roof. She was sprawled out on her stomach letting time tumble by as she anxiously waited for Giles to arrive and their expedition to begin. The pulsing sun, attracted to the dark paint of the roof, warmed her back as she spent the slowly expiring minutes spying with her binoculars on the crowds outside the gate. It was a favorite activity of hers.

People stood enraptured at the gate, peering in, searching for a sign of the Berrys. There were fans of all ages—the word “fan” derives from fanatic, Juniper's father often informed her lately—a wide spectrum of life and ethnicity, some of whom slept in their cars or pitched tents outside the estate. They were but a small sample of a world Juniper hardly knew, and she couldn't have been more intrigued by their every movement and gesture. Focusing on their mouths, as she had done so often, she attempted to read their lips, following the conversations she so desperately wished she was a part of. She used their body language to guide her, whether they were laughing and waving their arms or if they appeared awkward or angry, friendly or flirtatious—sometimes conversations don't need words, she realized.

Through her binoculars she read the homemade signs and collages. She followed the zooms of the arsenal of camcorders; she watched the camera phones extend through the gates for the best picture possible, while other people turned the lens on themselves making sure to get the house in the background. These pictures, it appeared, were immediately sent somewhere, thumbs busy on the keypads. It occurred to Juniper that, as much fascination these people had for her family, they had an equal amount for themselves and especially their phones. Some hardly ever glanced up. She couldn't understand why they wouldn't, with so many people around to talk to.

Mingled throughout the masses were the ever-present and persistent paparazzi. In a seemingly endless cycle, they lurked, steadfastly orchestrating the fanfare and spectacle. And so Juniper, for her own safety, was told by her parents to keep far away from life outside these gates, lest she be exploited, tormented, or worse.

After turning around to quickly scan the yard for Giles—unfortunately, there was still no sign of him—she returned to the crowd and watched as two kids, who couldn't have been much younger than herself, raced each other from one end of the street to the other.
That could be me
, she thought, and then quickly realized that she had never been in a race before.
How is that possible?

Seeing all this day after day, everything these people had, all they could do and experience, the entire world waiting to be explored, Juniper wondered why they wasted their time hoping for just a brief glimpse of a family doing something so dull and ordinary as advising a gardener on certain shrubbery or walking from the front door to the car. Why were these moments to capture?

Searching the crowd for an answer, she spotted a woman—she, too, with binoculars. Only, it seemed this person was looking right at Juniper.

Finally!
Contact!
Juniper offered a small wave of her hand and a gentle, welcoming smile.

“On the roof!” the woman screamed. “On the roof! The kid! Their little girl! Juniper!” She let out a searing squeal and soon everyone was pointing and shouting and screaming. Flashes went off, the paparazzi scrambled, the gates shook. People shoved their way to the front.

Although she was at a safe distance, Juniper's heart thrashed.

Suddenly security was at the gates, pushing the crowd back. But it wasn't for Juniper's sake. Mr. and Mrs. Berry's car was coming through.

As the black Bentley wheeled past the gates, the roar of the crowd grew. Their hands slapped at the tinted windows. “Who's in there?” they shouted. “Which one is it?” Then, as if in response, Mrs. Berry's hand emerged from a crack in the rear window and waved. “I love you! I love you!” the crowd shrieked, loud enough for Juniper to hear all the way on the roof. One fan jumped on the hood of the car and had to be forcefully removed. Some were actually crying. “You're the best!” “Stop, please!” More pounding of palms against the windows and doors. Hands extended markers to sign their pictures and T-shirts, cameras clicked away madly.

Finally, the car drove off, the gates closing automatically behind the chaos.

“I don't understand any of this.” Juniper had seen enough. It was time to find Giles.

By the time she crept back through the attic window, walked down two flights of stairs and out the back door, Giles was sitting on a tree stump watching the ax man chop some more firewood on the far side of the yard. Giles looked to be in awe at the power of each swing, the crack of blade splitting wood with ease.

“I was going to call you, but . . . look how fast he goes,” he said as Juniper approached, never shifting his eyes. “It's like the ax is a part of him.” He grabbed at his own biceps and frowned.

“That's Dmitri,” she told him, hands still grasping her binoculars although they were attached to a strap hanging about her neck. “He does a lot of work around here.”

Hearing his name, Dmitri stopped, looked over, and waved. He was a big man with a large dark beard speckled with gray, brown, and orange, and massive arms and shoulders. After wiping his brow, he spat on the ground, dug his heels into the dirt, and went back to work.

“Do you think we can talk to him? I'd like to be able to do that, become as big as him.” Giles turned to Juniper but kept glancing back at Dmitri.

Juniper, however, had more engaging thoughts on her mind. She grabbed Giles by the arm, noticing that her hand could almost close entirely around it. “I've been thinking about what you said yesterday,” she told him. “Maybe you were right to follow your parents, maybe they're up to something in the woods.”

“You think so?”

Juniper thought of her parents' strange behavior from the previous day and all the days leading up to it. “It's possible.”

“But where did they disappear to?” Giles looked around, his hand displaying the sprawl of the woods. “It could be anywhere. We could search for days.”

“True,” Juniper said, “but I have a place to start. Right before I saw you yesterday I was exploring the woods with Kitty. We were playing a game. She hides and I try to find her.”

“Like hide-and-seek,” Giles said.

Juniper looked blankly at him. Hide-and-seek sounded familiar, maybe, but she certainly never played it. No, she played Here, Kitty Kitty. “Well, I couldn't find her for the longest time, and just when I came across a clearing, I heard her barking. Someone had been out there, but I never had a chance to inspect it because of Kitty. I went running and that led me to you.”

“You never went back to check it out?” Giles asked.

Juniper shook her head. “But we can now. Together.”

Without another word, for they were understandably quite eager, they made their way into the woods.

It took some time for Juniper to remember where she had gone, but, searching for evidence of her steps with her magnifying glass, she eventually found the clearing.

Nothing whatsoever grew within this curious circumference. It was as if a perfect circle had been burned into the middle of the woods. She had never seen anything like it before. Giles appeared similarly perplexed.

In the center of the clearing, drawing their gazes, were the remainders of a campfire. Slowly, Juniper and Giles approached the soggy woodpile.
Who was all the way out here
? Juniper wondered.
Stalkers
? Her parents had had more than a few problems with overzealous fans recently.

Kicking at the charred tree branches, she noticed some debris sprinkled about. It appeared to be burned paper. She crouched down and picked up one of the scraps, part of a journal—there was a portion of a date at the top, April something or other, but because of the fire and rain the rest was indecipherable. She picked up another, as did Giles. Nothing could be made out. Then Giles came across yet another page, this one mostly intact. They looked it over. Some Roman numerals and random symbols, none of which meant anything to them. Juniper shifted more of the wood. There! A page with writing. She snatched it up and began to read.

The words terrified her. They were gibberish, mad ramblings. But this wasn't the part that set her stomach fearfully tumbling.

“This is my father's handwriting,” she said. There was no doubt this was true—the way the letters leaned and swirled, the faint punctuation—and yet there was not a trace of her father within them. What did it all mean? Why was he out here? She thought he might be trying to hide, but from what? What was happening to him?

“Juniper, the back.” Pointing at the paper, Giles looked bewildered.

Juniper flipped the torn page. On the back of the journal entry, scrawled across the top, she noticed the same numerals and symbols from the previous paper. And below that was a sketch of a very particular and striking bird.

“I've seen this bird before,” Juniper said. “It's a raven.”

“I'm sure there are lots of them in these woods.”

“Not that I've noticed. I've seen only one around here.” Her eyes met Giles's. “And I know exactly where to find it.”

Juniper led them back through the woods and to a tree near where she and Giles had met the day before.

It was an ugly tree. If any were to be chopped down, it should have been this monstrosity. Its branches were bare and sharp, reaching out as if to pierce the sky, although the sky certainly did nothing to instigate such an assault. The tree, not incredibly thick, not incredibly thin, was riddled with knots and odd twists, roots that ripped the ground, killing the grass and welcoming the weeds. Nothing else grew from the base all the way to the top. There was nary an insect crawling across the trunk or a squirrel nesting in the branches.

However, there was the raven. Juniper looked up at it, wanting to say hello, and the raven seemed to nod. Its feet were wrapped around its usual branch, wings tucked comfortably to its sides, eyes fixed on the two children.

“Is this what my parents were searching for?” Giles asked. “This tree? Do your parents know about it, too? They must.”

“I don't know. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it? But I don't get it. What would they want with a dying tree?”

Circling the trunk, they both began inspecting. They yanked on branches, kicked at roots, pressed each knot, clawed at bark. Finally, Juniper pulled out her magnifying glass for closer inspection. Giles watched her. “Why do you have all those things?”

“What things?” Juniper asked as she continued her investigation, her lips pursed and tight in concentration.

“That magnifying glass, those binoculars around your neck. Yesterday you pulled out a telescope-type thing.”

“A monocular,” she answered without glancing up.

“Yeah, a monocular. Why do you use those things?”

“I . . .” Juniper had to halt her examination for a moment as she thought this over. What was it she loved so much about these possessions? She was never asked before. While nonchalantly flipping the magnifying glass in her hand, she turned to look directly at Giles. “When I look through them I see . . .” She had to search for the right word, for words are very, very important. “I see the truth.”

“The truth,” Giles repeated.

“They can be very truthful. They bring everything closer.” She glanced at her surroundings. “That cloud doesn't really look like that and neither does that ant and neither do the stars or the moon or you or me or anything else we see, for that matter. These let me see the smaller parts that make up everything else, the things that are hidden right before our eyes. I don't know. What I like most of all is that they bring the world closer to me.” She shrugged, feeling like she might have rambled on too long and sounded ridiculous. “They're my spyglasses.”