Rich Shapero (13 page)

"She's so busy!" Fristeen raged.
"She always
thinks
she's in love—" Her fists were clenched, her arms
crashed onto the cupboard shelf. "But she never is!" She pounded the
shelf again and again.

Then she drew a stuttering breath and her
arms went limp.

Robbie thought she might fall. He reached
out and grabbed her. She was shaking. As he helped her down off the stool, she
turned her face away.

"We'll figure it out," Robbie
said. She felt weak and helpless in his arms.

Then she started to cry.

He ran his fingers over the tail of her
eye.

"When Grace gets happy," Fristeen
whimpered, "she's just happy for herself. She forgets about everyone
else."

"Don't worry about food—"

Fristeen gazed at him. "I want to see
Dawn."

Robbie glanced through the window. The rain
had stopped. "We can if we want."

She clasped his hand. "Let's go right
now." And that's what they did.

***

A few shreds of mist were drifting through
the woods, but by the time they reached the Dot Trees, it had all burned off.
With Shivers out of mind and a clear blue sky, Robbie made a beeline for
Trickle. Fristeen remained silent, prey to dark thoughts. As they rose on the
far side of the Needle Patch, she faced him with a nervous look.

"The Dream Man's the most important
thing for her now. But she still loves
us,
and she wants us
to be with her. With
them,
I mean. The Dream Man, too."

Then she lapsed into silence until they
were on the slope below the Great Place. A breeze was blowing through a stand
of small birch, and an orange scarf seemed carried along with it. It floated
over the ground and disappeared among the trees.

They stared at each other.

"A fox," Robbie whispered.

Fristeen's eyes sparkled. "Look,"
she pointed.

The branches of the birch were glowing with
silver bands.

"Dawn put rings on their
fingers." Fristeen smiled. "She always does those kind of
things."

Robbie leaned close and squeezed her hand.

When the Two-Tree appeared, it was glorious
with leaves. And as they approached the twin trunks, Too Far opened before
them. Its mossy hills rolled amber and chartreuse, and silver ribbons connected
its blood-red lakes. With all that summer had done to the green woodland, Too
Far was exactly the same. Black trees don't change.

"If Dawn knew—" Fristeen spoke
beneath her breath. "I don't blame her. She's out of touch, with her
wedding and all." She glanced at Robbie, and together their gazes went to
the far shore of the Pool.

"Let's go down," Fristeen said.

Robbie led the way.

They descended through the viburnum,
reached the moss pillows, and followed the rill. The moss was bloated and
gushed beneath their feet. When they reached the first of the spindly spruce,
Robbie held his fingers to his lips and they crept toward the reeds. He parted
the green curtain and the Pool appeared.

They scanned it quickly, and then with more
care. The Dream Man and Dawn were nowhere to be seen.

It was cooler this time. No blackbird. No
dragonflies. It was strangely quiet.

"Scared?" Robbie murmured.

Fristeen nodded. She stood staring at the
far shore. Then she glanced at Robbie and started around the Pool's rim.

What's the idea?
Robbie wondered.
He followed behind. With small steps at first, and then more assuredly, they
circled the Pool. There were lines on the water, all going one way; and other
lines, going the opposite way; together they formed a fluid mesh, and you
couldn't stop staring at it—once it had you, it wouldn't let go. A gnarled
shape appeared on the surface. As they approached, Robbie imagined some
creature huddled there. He waited for the thing to rise and confront them. But
the shape didn't move. All remained still.

They came around the far side. Fristeen
paused at the water's edge, eyeing the red glass. Bugs etched the surface, as
before, using ciphers only the gods of Too Far understood.

"Have a taste," she murmured,
kneeling. She skimmed her hand and sipped.

Robbie did the same. It was sweet.

"Touch the bottom," she said. She
thrust her arm all the way down.

Robbie followed her lead.

The red climbed to your wrist, to your
elbow, and higher. It was cold and tingly.

"Feel it?" Fristeen whispered.
"Close your eyes."

It was soft as oatmeal. It crept through
your fingers like something alive.

"They were there," Fristeen said.

Robbie looked up.

Her dripping hand pointed to a hump of
higher ground.

They stood and stepped toward it.

The flank of the low rise was bare soil. An
iridescent slime oozed from it, collecting below. They waded through the muck
and climbed the rise. At the top, there was a thick mat of emerald moss. To the
side, a stand of sedge had been bent back.

Fristeen studied the ground, then turned
and scanned the surrounding hills and the sky. She stepped over to a shrub and
pulled a pair of broad leaves from a branch.

"Sometimes you're afraid, when you're
alone or it's dark." Fristeen spoke without looking at him. "Or when
you're trying to find her. But when Dawn comes, you aren't."

"What—"

"You're going to meet her,"
Fristeen said softly. "I hope." She smiled and gestured with the
leaves in her hand. "I'm going to lay here. You'll be there." She
pointed at the bed of moss.

She approached his spot.

Robbie followed. "It's kind of
wet."

She nodded. "That's okay. Right
here."

What were they
doing?
Robbie knelt in the moss. Would Dawn really come?

"Stretch out on your back," she
said.

Robbie did as she directed. The spongy
surface gave beneath him, soaking the back of his shirt and pants.

"I'll put these on your eyes."

The leaves settled, dimming the glare.

"I'm going to call her," Fristeen
said. "It's a secret way she taught me. Promise you won't peek."

"I promise."

"Ready?" she whispered.

Robbie nodded, then he heard the moss crush
by his ear, and her steps drew away.

A little time passed. He felt the sun on
his front. The cool water tickled his back.

"I'm here," Fristeen's voice
reached him from a short distance. "I'm going to start."

Then more time passed. Robbie sighed.
Whatever Fristeen was doing, it wasn't working.

Through his leaf spectacles, the sun was an
amorphous glow. All he could see was a broad field of gold. As he watched, it
seemed to quiver. Was it the light, or his lid twitching? There was a sound,
too. Plaintive, like a rabbit's whimper, from way up there. As he listened, it
descended—a simple strand, pure and transparent, falling from the sky.

Closer it came, closer, closer— It struck
Robbie where he lay, dashing into a million jewels! Dawn's voice opened like a
powerful bouquet, a basket of sweet fruits, peeled and glittering, filling the
air with all those moments she remembered, all the happiness that never goes
away.

Dawn was singing. And she was breathing,
too. Breathing joy in, and breathing it out again, pulsing the air with fanning
wings. Where had she come from? Robbie could see her through the leaf lenses,
wings wide, dripping with gold. Her great feathers whistled and hummed and
stuttered as she hovered, rubbing against each other, loosing joys and herding
them together. A squeaky shoe skipping, chirps like a sparrow's, a kitten's
mew. Gasps, warbles, purrs and tremolos— All those voices danced around him.
And then—he could hear his own!

Sounds of happiness filled his chest to bursting!
He was curled in a ball. He was leaping with his arms and legs rayed like a
star! He was a spear, hurtling through space, his nose sharp as a blade— The
air was hot froth, and the ground beneath him, too. Dawn's long pinions beat
deeply, drawing him up. The world let go and Robbie rose with her, held by
nothing but a surge of love. An endless cascade, just like Fristeen said,
flowing and flowing. All Dawn wanted was to pour her love out.

They were perfectly together in a moment
entirely apart.

Then the flow outpaced him. The jeweled
voices broke away.
Please, don't leave
— But gravity was returning. Dawn had let go
of him, and the joys were fading. He could hear her great wings sighing through
the trees.

Robbie felt himself rocking in a cradle of
moss, dizzy and sweaty, with his tongue hanging out. Dawn's joy still reached
him—one voice, faintly.

It's Fristeen,
he realized. She
wasn't just humming. She was singing, very softly and with all her heart.

Her voice trailed off.

"Are you there?"

"She's gone," Fristeen said.

Robbie took a breath and lay still.

A bird's trill reached him. Then a
lurp
from the pool.

"Is it okay to—" He sat up, and
the leaves fell from his face.

Fristeen was standing a dozen feet away, naked,
with her dress in her hands. She froze, returning his stare while a play of
deep feelings—modesty, daring, whimsy and fear—flashed in her eyes. Then the
strangest thing happened. The dress fell to her feet.

Robbie saw her smile at him, and she turned
a full turn, one arm trailing, one raised.

It was Fristeen's dance of freedom. But
this wasn't the same.

While she dressed, Robbie scanned the mossy
hump and the sky above.

"Has anyone ever heard you . . . sing
like that?"

Fristeen buttoned her front as she
approached, shaking her head.

They had just started down from the rise,
when he grabbed her arm.

"There's a path," he said,
pointing.

You could see it winding through the reeds.
It led away from the shore, into the black trees. They gave each other a long
look, then they headed back around the Pool's rim, retracing their steps.

***

Robbie woke the next morning with a
fullness in his chest. He dove between the curtains and threw the sash up. The
sky was clear and the sun was blazing.

Breakfast was a breeze, and when he stepped
outside, swallows streaked past, crying excitedly. The Hill was sighing and
swaying, already faint with joy. Someone had swept a part of the deck, and in
the clean spot was a word: "D-A-W-N," spelled with aspen twigs.
Robbie sounded it out and smiled.

Fristeen was hiding in the shrubs. As he
passed, she jumped up and hugged him.

"Can you feel her?" Fristeen
beamed.

Robbie nodded and she whirled before him.

Something like a poncho rose from her
shoulders, along with her skirt. Robbie laughed. She'd put two skirts on—one
around her waist and one over her head.

They climbed the Hill, got the "all
clear" from He Knows, bounced across the log bridge while the stream flashed
beneath, and followed Where You Can See into the sky. Nothing hurried them. It
had never been so hot, and they were glowing inside. Dawn's welcome poured like
oil over everything they touched.

The Perfect Place was a sauna. They hugged
and rolled in the grass, and as they lay there panting, a flock of chickadees
lit in a fringe of birch. The birds buzzed and flitted right beside them,
feeling their cheer and eager to join it.

Robbie lifted himself up and bent over
Fristeen, shading her eyes and gazing into them. "You're so brave,"
he said.

The meeting with Dawn seemed like a
miracle.

"I know why she came, Robbie."

"Really? Why?"

"She's tired of visiting when I'm all
alone. She came because of you."

At that, the chickadees left their branches
to roister over them, weaving an aureole of wings and song. They too were
lovers of Dawn.

As they crossed Trickle, a frog hopped from
the sedge. And there were rabbits, two of them, watching in the alders behind
Used-to-Be. Nobody wanted to be left out.

When the Two-Tree came in sight, its twin
crowns were flapping like flags. And then there it was—the land of
secrets—spread out before them.

They hurried through the viburnum, Fristeen
in the lead, and as they neared the first trees, her eagerness boiled over. She
squealed and clutched her top, squirming inside it. Then she lifted her arms
and pulled the skirt over her head, waving it around.

"Here," Fristeen said.

They halted beside the first black tree.
Fristeen cast her skirt beneath it, then glanced over her shoulder at him,
blushing. "Your shoes, you keep on. Everything else," she drew her
breath, "you take off."