Willodeen: Chapters 30–41

I yearned to hear “And they all lived happily ever after.”

I looked into the main room, where embers still glowed in the hearth, soothing and necessary.

“Keep in mind that while we may seem like bottomless fonts of knowledge,” said Birdie with a wry smile, “even Mae and I have our limitations.”

Shading my eyes, I looked up to see not three, but seven hummingbears, each in a bubble nest. They now occupied two separate blue willows. The bubbles gleamed, slivering the sun like prisms.

Meanwhile, Quinby excavated with an energy that was almost frightening. But that was, of course, her job. To stay alive. To be what she was meant to be.

Hummingbears weren’t diggers. They wouldn’t care if the soil was more porous.

By the time we departed, Duuzuu had made three impressive bubbles, and Quinby was giddily full. I seemed to be the only one who left feeling disappointed.

Peeking around the half-open front door, I caught a glimpse of Connor. He was sitting in his usual spot, sketching, while a red-faced man droned on and on.

Down by the riverwalk, the willow leaves tangled in the fitful wind. Still no hummingbears. Clouds scudded through the pale sky.

Down by the riverwalk, the willow leaves tangled in the fitful wind. Still no hummingbears. Clouds scudded through the pale sky.

Every now and then, I poked into the soil at the base of a trunk. I’d never before tried digging for snails there, but almost every time, I found some. More, in fact, than I’d ever seen. Entire villages of them. How Quinby would love to come here, I thought with a rueful smile.

Then I made my way to the hillside where the new grove of blue willows had been planted, the ones Connor’s father had said needed more water. Sure enough, they seemed stunted and dry.

Another strong gust, and the fire burst into life.
It was beautiful in its fury.
The billowing gray smoke, with its eddies and swirls.

Another strong gust, and the fire burst into life.
It was beautiful in its fury.
The billowing gray smoke, with its eddies and swirls.

I gulped, trying to quell the panic in my chest.
“My mother and baby are at home,” said Miss Rossit, wringing her hands. “I’ve got to check on them. Will you be all right, Willodeen?”

I’d been through this before. The searing burns on my feet. My lungs, scraped raw. The screams of my family.

“It doesn’t matter now,” said Birdie. “We’re all here. We’re all safe.” She nodded toward Roundtop Ridge. “Same place as last time. It’s moving slowly, though, and veering east a bit. The cottage will probably be fine, unless the wind changes. Still, I’m worried sick about the folks over that way...”

Smoke hung in the village like a menacing fog. The air was yellow-gray. It hurt to breathe.

We helped each other because we were all we had. Because we knew that against the brutal, timeless forces of nature, the best we could hope for was a truce.

By midnight, the wind had calmed, and flames had faded to a swath of glowing embers. Against the full-moon sky, skeletons of burnt trees marked the fire’s path.

A few buildings were damaged. But except for some blistered hands, stinging eyes, and lingering coughs, no one was badly hurt.

I sat on the blue unicorn, and Connor leaned on my favorite gold spotted pony. “Do you think we’ll ever see Quinby again?” I asked, stifling another cough.

Birdie and Mae had given me a foul-tasting elixir that morning to soothe my throat.

He pointed to the hall. A few stragglers were still arriving. “You ready?”
I hopped off the unicorn. “You know,” I said, surprising myself, “I think I am.”

By the time Thaddeus Vilner slammed down his gavel, the room was packed.
“Yesterday,” he said, his voice solemn, “we saw the best of ourselves. Working to fight a common enemy. Caring for each other.”

“We’re all weary,” said Thaddeus as a baby wailed. “And the little ones are restless. We’ve no time to talk about those smelly monsters of yours.”

Thaddeus narrowed his eyes. “The chair didn’t recognize you, boy.” He waved his gavel, ready to adjourn, but Connor’s father held up a warning hand.

I noticed a gray-templed man, nattily dressed, standing to my left. I’d seen him before. It was James McLachlan, owner of the nearby mill.

I gulped. I knew what was in my heart. But turning that into words—coherent, grown-up words—perhaps that was more than I could manage.

‘“One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.’”
I spun around. It was Mae. Declaiming with all her theatrical flair.
“That’s Shakespeare,” she added. “In case you were wondering.”

The room fell silent, shocked, no doubt, by the audacity of these two old women.

Was I making a terrible mistake? Giving a gift was almost as bad as accepting one. It made you obliged. It created a connection.

When we learned about a nearby village that had been overrun with screechers, we created a new incentive for hunters. A payment for every screecher from that area, safely trapped and brought to Perchance, alive and well.

It wasn’t perfect. We risked disrupting screecher families. But it was a compromise we felt we could live with. And bringing in screechers would help keep the snail population under control. It helped that nature is resilient, and sometimes surprisingly quick to recover.

All things considered, school wasn’t so bad. Miss Rossit obtained two books just for me. One about zoology, the study of animals. The other about botany, the science of plants.