Wonderland Page 10

  “We’re a long, long way from Antarctica,” Shaw said.

  “And good thing,” said Orla. “I don’t want any polar bears in our backyard.”

  “Polar bears!” shouted Tycho, more excited than afraid.

  “Did you know that arctic means ‘bear’?” Eleanor Queen asked.

  They all admitted to not knowing that.

  “So polar bears live in the Arctic, and Antarctica means ‘no bears,’ so that’s how you can remember that there are no bears at the South Pole.”

  “That is a fantastic explanation,” Orla said.

  Eleanor Queen looked quite pleased with herself.

  “Well, we don’t have to worry on either account,” said Shaw. “As this is neither the North or South Pole, we’re just being cautious, since there are no sidewalks around here.”

  “That’s right,” Orla agreed. Though, since the subject of bears had arisen, she couldn’t help but glance behind her, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. (Or hunted.) She didn’t care how unlikely it was; if Mother Nature could summon the aurora borealis (We all saw it) and freak blizzards, why couldn’t she summon a polar bear? A lost and hungry polar bear.

  In spite of her sore leg, the moment the guideline was finished—tied off around the thick post that supported the mailbox—Orla challenged the kids to race her back to the house. The morning’s near disaster and talk of bears had unnerved her. Tycho and Eleanor Queen took it as a game, but Orla was encouraged to see how fast they could run.

  13

  Okay, that’s good…” Orla shouldered the kitchen phone and wrote down everything on a notepad while resisting the urge to ask for correct spelling. “Is that bad?…Should we do more testing?…Okay.”

  Shortly after the phone rang, Eleanor Queen had left the table, where she’d been doing schoolwork, and wandered to the back door. She lingered there, gazing out, her breath fogging up the glass window.

  “You’re sure? You’d feel safe having your own kids drink it?…Okay, thank you…We will, thanks again, bye.” She hung up. “Shaw?” she called out toward his studio. He didn’t respond, but Tycho bounded in carrying a coloring book. He joined his sister at the back door, standing on tiptoes to see out the window.

  “Shaw?” Orla called again, though her attention had been diverted from delivering a message to her husband to investigating the object of her children’s interest. “What are you guys doing?”

  “Looking, Mama,” said Tycho.

  “What are you looking at?” She peered through the window over their heads. Tycho, apparently unsure of the answer, turned to his sister. “Eleanor Queen, did you finish your chapter?” Orla asked.

  “Can we go out there?” her daughter said, pointing.

  Orla had yet to venture into the thick woods behind the house; after Shaw’s misadventure their first day, she’d been trying to pretend it didn’t exist. Barely twenty-four hours ago Shaw had almost run her over. She wasn’t keen on visiting new terrain. “I don’t know…”

  “We won’t get lost,” said Eleanor Queen, reading a portion of her mind. “We’ll just go visit the tree, it’s lonely. It’s right there.”

  “We’ll visit the tree, Mama.”

  “What’s out there?” Shaw asked, bustling into the kitchen, seeing his family huddled at the door. His fingers were speckled with orange and red paint. He elbowed the refrigerator door open and grabbed a fresh bottle of water.

  “Hey.” Orla stepped over and leaned her hip against the fridge. “Just talked to the water guy. He reports…” She consulted her notepad. “No coliform bacteria—that’s the main thing they look for, he said. They did find trace amounts of arsenic but he wasn’t concerned, said it—”

  “Yeah, there are trace amounts in a lot of water. So that’s all good?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Okay.” He seemed neither pleased nor relieved. Orla, uncharitably, would have described him as impatient and a little distant, the same mood he’d woken up in. She’d heard him get up and go downstairs in the middle of the night. “Just checking on something,” he’d said upon returning to bed. All morning he’d had the lack-of-sleep grumps.

  “We’re going out to the big tree,” said Tycho. “Right, Ele-Queen?”

  “Okay, well, have fun.” Shaw started to head back to his studio.

  “Wait.” Orla was growing weary of Shaw’s disciplined-artist routine; it seemed more like self-consumed avoidance. “Did you want to come with us? The kids want to check out—”

  “I’m working.”

  “Okay, so.” She was certain that if he needed anything, it was a nap, not more time holed up in his studio. “Do you think it’s safe?”

  “We’re not going to get lost, Mama, I already told you.” Eleanor Queen sounded peevish.

  “Thank you, Bean, I appreciate your confidence, but we don’t know everything about…” Orla didn’t finish. Did they—she—know anything about what was out there? She wasn’t a thousand percent sure that trace amounts of arsenic couldn’t cause some sort of problem, but Shaw wasn’t bothered by it, and the water guy wasn’t bothered. And the more days they were there, the more the idea settled in her bones: this place existed outside the realm of other places she had been, and there were gaping holes in her understanding of natural phenomena. The logic she’d previously applied to living in a city couldn’t be relied on here.

  “You’re probably better off if I’m not there,” Shaw said. “I’ll stay inside.” He strode out of the kitchen with his precious bottle of water and his wounded ego. Orla didn’t have the patience to deal with his self-pity, even if he was, on some level, acknowledging both the potential for future strangeness and a concern for their safety. Between her husband’s distraction and her daughter’s annoyance, Orla wished she could retreat to her room, where she could shut the door and scream for a moment.

  “The water’s safe!” Orla announced to one and all. “No more boiling.”

  “Yay!” Tycho cheered.

  “Well, I’m glad someone’s happy about that.” She poked her head into the living room and shouted louder than was necessary at Shaw’s back. “So we don’t need to be wasteful with the bottled—”

  He shut his door, ignoring her.

  She should’ve knocked, on principle. But instead, she stormed after him and entered his studio. “Doors are not for shutting in people’s faces.”

  “Get out!” He reeled, startled, trying to block his second easel with his body.

  “Why are you so crabby?”

  “It’s not finished, I don’t like people to see—it’s not right yet.”

  Since when had he cared about her seeing his unfinished work? But she wasn’t interested in that painting. It was the one on the other easel that made her grimace. It depicted a stand of trees, shorn in half by what could have been a tornado—or a giant with a machete who’d whacked his way through the forest. But instead of woody pulp where the branches had been cleaved, the limbs bled. Bones poked through. They looked like sharp, severed human limbs.

  “That’s—”

  Shaw moved to stand in front of the painting. “It’s just an experiment.”

  “It’s disgusting—no offense. No wonder you’re in such a bad mood.”

  He softened. “It’s not part of…it just came to me.”

  “I’m thirsty!” Tycho galloped into the room.

  Orla immediately hoisted him up and spun him around so he faced the door. Shaw, displaying good sense, picked up the offending painting and turned it toward the wall. Orla snagged Shaw’s bottle of water from his chair, handed it to her son, gave him a gentle push out of the room.

  “You’re going to scare the kids,” she hissed under her breath.

  “See? Good reason to keep the door shut.” He gestured toward it, inviting her to leave.

  “Nap. You need a nap, not more hours sniffing turpentine.” She marched out, and the door clicked shut behind her.

  Hands on her hips, Orla consider
ed her options. At the end of her rope and in need of fresh air—some space, some movement—she marched back into the kitchen. “Okay. Boots, snow pants, the works. Let’s go visit our friend the giant tree.”

  “Yay!” both children cheered.

  Eleanor Queen’s eruption of glee soothed some of Orla’s disgruntled edges, though a part of her was still tempted to call through Shaw’s door and tell him to send a search party if they didn’t return in T minus sixty minutes. She was being overly dramatic. And vindictive? And she was determined to be the less disturbed parent. Bleeding trees? They were only going in a straight line—there and back—not trying to survey the property with a map and a malfunctioning compass. Nothing to be afraid of.

  14

  It was easy. Eleanor Queen led the way confidently, though they were trampling across unblemished snow. Still, Orla kept glancing around, on the lookout for…

  They were making enough noise to keep the bears at bay. How she loved her little boy who liked to sing. And she made sure they didn’t wander from their chosen path, their chosen mission, lest the weather surprise them with another squall. Her vigilance paid off when she spotted something, not dangerous, but startlingly beautiful—an albino deer stepped lightly between two trees. The delicate placement of its hooves made Orla think of pointe shoes, but the children tromped ahead with such purpose that before she could urge them to slow down and appreciate the scenery, the deer had leapt away.

  “Mama, look!” Eleanor Queen gasped a moment later, pointing upward.

  “What is it?” Tycho hopped in place beside her, eager to see.

  “A snowy owl! With big golden eyes!”

  Eleanor Queen sounded so pleased. But when the other two followed the direction of her finger, they saw only dark and empty tree limbs.

  “It flew away,” she said, hurdling over a small branch in their path.

  They’d taken only a few more steps when Tycho inhaled sharply, his face alight as his mittened hand directed them to look at a spot between two drooping trees.

  Again, they stopped, but Orla couldn’t make out anything but snow-covered brush.

  “There’s nothing there.” Eleanor Queen ran on ahead.

  “It was there—I saw a wolf!”

  “A wolf?” Orla gripped Tycho’s hood to keep him from moving even an inch away from her. The cry of wolf made Eleanor Queen halt her steady advance and turn around, her wide eyes uncertain and glued to her mother.

  “It was all white, with eyes like little suns—very friendly, Mama.”

  Orla refused to let her mouth twist into a smile, but she winked at her daughter. Tycho, as younger siblings often did, liked to mimic his sister. “Well, your friendly wolf must have scampered on home.”

  “Yup!” He galloped after Eleanor Queen as she darted off again toward the towering pine, content to follow her lead.

  Orla wished Shaw were there—he was putting too much pressure on himself and could’ve used a moment of unexpected wonder. Maybe this was what he’d sought all along, a place that ignited his imagination. And she felt some remorse for getting so frustrated with him. He bore a burden she didn’t share—his idea, his turn—and who was she to judge the content of his work? She didn’t like the roller coaster of emotions that had come between them since the move.

  Eleanor Queen was already slowly circumnavigating the tree when Orla reached it, holding Tycho’s hand. It was as impressive as she remembered. As wide as a person was tall at the base of its trunk, it rose so high she had to tip her head all the way back to see its top. The gray bark looked ancient—deeply ridged and furrowed. Like the surface of a withering planet. Most of the enormous branches radiating from the trunk far above them were gnarled and bare. Only its crown, in the stratosphere above their heads, remained evergreen.

  “What a big pretty tree!” said Tycho, skipping around its base in his sister’s boot prints.

  “It is magnificent.” Orla used her cheeriest voice. “And very, very old—five hundred years!”

  Tycho beamed up at the giant, full of awe.

  Eleanor Queen maintained her pensive stroll around the pine. She’d taken off one mitten, and trailed her fingers along the bark as she walked. Orla was afraid her perceptive daughter had noticed what she’d noticed—the abundance of dead branches, the scattered bits of green, mostly visible near its tippy-top. Death was spreading upward from its roots. Orla thought that probably meant it was already dead, except the upper branches were so high, they hadn’t gotten the message yet. Even though it was far enough from the house, it would suck if such a massive tree gave up its hold and toppled over. It would cause so much damage to the surrounding trees and make the back part of their acreage almost impassable. She made a mental note to bring it up with Shaw; come spring, they might need to have a tree person come out and give them advice.

  Already losing interest, Tycho wandered over to much smaller evergreens to knock snow from their sweeping lower boughs. Orla tried to keep him within reach while also not losing sight of Eleanor Queen in her meditative march, but a queasy nervousness grew as she juggled the needs of both children. By necessity, she stuck closer to her rambunctious son, but she worried that another squall would strike and swallow Eleanor Queen from her view.

  “I think we should go back now.” She could have sworn the temperature was dropping. Maybe this was an early warning sign; maybe she was acclimating to her new environment better than she’d thought. “A storm’s coming, we don’t want to get caught in—”

  “There’s no storm,” said Eleanor Queen. She dropped to her snow-pant-padded knees at the base of the tree. Like a supplicant, praying.

  “Come on.” Orla gestured to Tycho. He bumbled over and grabbed her hand.

  “Is it time for hot cocolate?” he asked. That had always been their treat in the city when there was a big snow.

  “I don’t think we can have hot chocolate every time it snows here; that would be a lot of hot chocolate. Bean, come on, we’re going home.”

  “I’ll come home in a bit.” She showed no intention of getting up and falling in line.

  Excuse me? This was exactly the sort of independence they’d hoped Eleanor Queen would develop, but Orla doubted that even Shaw would think it was a good idea to leave her outside now—especially given the capricious nature of the things they’d experienced.

  “I can’t leave you out here on your own, and it’s time to head back.”

  “Why not? I led the way here—I know how to get back.”

  “I appreciate that. I know someday soon you’ll be a master explorer and be able to show us all around the land—”

  “It’s not about that.”

  “Eleanor Queen.” Orla was losing her patience. It was definitely getting colder. She felt it—something was coming.

  “Something’s coming, Mama.”

  A chill razored down Orla’s spine. “I know, that’s why we have to go.” She reached for her daughter, tugged on her arm.

  “That’s why we have to stay!” She yanked her arm back.

  Tycho started pulling on Orla’s hand, ready to go. Orla was caught in the middle as her two children insisted on heading in separate directions. Eleanor Queen squirmed away, forcing Orla to drag Tycho with her as she reclaimed her grasp on her daughter’s puffy jacket.

  “Now, Eleanor Queen Bennett, I won’t tell you again!”

  Orla rarely had to use the I-mean-business voice, but her daughter accepted defeat. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she allowed herself to be towed back toward the house.

  “You don’t understand,” the girl whined.

  “So explain it to me.” But Orla wasn’t really in the mood to listen; she kept a wary eye on their surroundings and tried to determine if the air temperature rose as they neared the house.

  “I can hear it better out here and it’s really, really, really trying to tell me something and I don’t know why I can’t just come in when I’m ready and there’s nothing else to do here so why won’t you let m
e stay outside!”

  Orla’s breath came out in a great plume of relief when they reached the edge of the forest and the house came into view. She’d caught only pieces of her daughter’s disgruntled rant.

  “Did you hear me, Mama?” This time it was Eleanor Queen doing the tugging, trying to get her mother’s attention.

  “We’re almost home.”

  “So no, you weren’t listening! That’s why you can’t hear it! That’s why I have to do everything myself!” Eleanor Queen broke away and marched ahead toward the house.

  Her daughter seldom spoke with such ferocity, and Orla felt a twinge of guilt. But only a twinge; Eleanor Queen didn’t understand what was out there. Orla didn’t understand it any better, but she felt the imperative to keep her children safe.

  “Don’t worry, Mama.” Happy little Tycho grinned up at her. “Ele-Queen’s just mad ’cause the trees use a lot of big words that she doesn’t know.”

  “Oh, is that it?”

  “Yup, she told me.”

  “Well, thank you, I feel a little better now.” She didn’t feel better. At all. Were her children whispering in the dark too, like their parents? Comparing oddities that amused—or frightened—them? Her family’s once-easy equilibrium was all out of whack and she didn’t know how to right it.

  They followed Eleanor Queen’s boot prints straight through the back door, left ajar. A nagging thing dragged its claws across Orla’s thoughts, snagging on a piece of fabric that wouldn’t, even with repeated efforts, disclose its big reveal. She’d missed something. In the woods. With her children. And the nagging thing—the sharpness of its claws—warned her that it was very important.

  15

  Orla lay in bed beneath the cozy spotlight of her bedside lamp, flipping through one of the musty books she’d found in the basement. A few others rested beside her on the comforter, faded, clothbound history books, some with glossy pages of black-and-white photos. On the wall across from the bed, the framed Feuillet Balet print winked, drawing her attention. Ever since that day when she’d spied the choreography markings in the snow, the actual step notations looked only like bird tracks. When her friend the cardinal wasn’t keeping her company, he was conducting rehearsals with a mismatched corps de ballet of reluctant birds. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.