“Do you think there will be other kids there?” Kira quizzed her mother.
“Probably,” Frenchie told them absently as she set their dinner down in front of them.
I was standing in the doorway of the kitchen listening to the exchange. Frenchie looked up at me. Apparently I was not doing a good job hiding my concerns.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Don’t go with them,” I said.
Frenchie set down the jar of peanut butter. The girls stopped their chatter and looked at me.
“Why not?”
It was a question I did not know how to answer. “It’s not safe,” I replied.
“Well, if we get another influx like the one today, we’re not safe here either,” she replied.
I shook my head.
“What is it?”
“Just don’t go. I can’t say why. It’s like an instinct, I guess. But I know it’s not safe, especially for the girls.”
Frenchie looked thoughtfully at me. “Like a Grandma Petrovich instinct?”
I nodded.
Frenchie frowned, causing lines to cross her forehead.
“Mom,” Kira called in a sing-song, knowing her dream of living in the hotel was fast fading.
“I’ll think about it,” was all Frenchie said in reply, answering both of us.
Chapter 20
On the first day of spring every year, my grandmother would go into the woods and return with a basket full of forsythia and daffodils. When I woke at first light the next day, I lay in bed considering the weight of obligations on me. I also worried about the new burden I must bear: stopping the exodus. The stress of everything overwhelmed me. How could I convince everyone to stay on my hunch that there was something wrong with these people? Instead of doing what I should do, I slid on my boots and headed over the back gate and into the woods.
I hiked into the woods and followed Spring Creek, one of the many small tributaries that ran to the lake, deeper into the forest. The soft sounds of the water trickling over the rocks soothed my mind and let me think more clearly. There was still ice at the creek’s edges. Growing in small clumps on the creek bank, I saw snow drops and the first spring daffodils. There was a clean smell in the air. I’d been hiking for about an hour when I stopped to rest on a fallen log. Mushrooms grew from the wood’s decayed crevices. I looked around and noticed that fresh spring ferns were growing in abundance, their curled fingers unfolding in the morning light which cast slanted beams as it broke through the trees. Bright green moss covered the rocks on the forest floor.
I sat still, looking at the water, when I heard rustling behind me.
I turned to find a small girl standing there. She was standing in a small grassy space between a dense part of the woods and me. She was the most beautiful child I had ever seen. Her hair was as yellow as an August sunflower. It curled wildly around her ears. She wore a green cotton tunic with a pale green top underneath and earth colored pants. She was about Kira’s age. When she saw me, she smiled. She skipped over the grass toward me.
As she came closer, my skin turned to goose-bumps.
She climbed on the log beside me, adjusting back and forth until she found a comfortable nook. I noticed she had a sort of diadem on her head. A sparkling fresh water pearl glittered on her forehead. Her eyes glittered similarly; they were the same chartreuse green of the new ferns. And I also noticed that her ears were somewhat pixie looking in shape, and the skin around the edge of her hairline was tinged green.
She whistled a sweet sound into the forest. A moment later, a spring fawn appeared from amongst the grass. Its wide nostrils breathed deeply, smelling both the girl and me.
The girl dangled her feet as she dug in her pocket. She pulled out what looked like lumps of raw sugar. She held out her hand to the fawn. Hesitantly, the dappled creature stepped forward, keeping one watchful eye on me. After a moment, it was licking the sweet morsel from the girl’s hand. She giggled.
She handed one of the sugary treats to me. I extended my hand to the fawn. It looked thoughtfully and then took the treat from me as well.
The girl giggled again.
After the fawn had eaten our treats, it trotted back into the forest.
The girl smiled at me and slid off the log. She skipped back toward the dense woody area from which she came. At the border between the small open space and the thick forest stood the magisterial forest lady I had seen that winter. She wore a pale yellow gown.
The woman motioned to the child. The girl wrapped her arms around the woman’s legs. The tall lady, holding her hair back, bent and kissed the child on the head. Then she rose and motioned for me to follow.
She took the child by the hand, and they turned toward the woods.
I was not afraid, but I was uncertain.
She stopped. Seeing I was not coming, she bent low and whispered in the child’s ear. The girl nodded and ran back to me. She stood in front of me and extended her hand much the same was she’d extended it to the fawn. She smiled sweetly.