The Garden of Darkness

“Not alone.”


“Yes alone. Please, Clare. I’m going to look at my mother’s stuff. Before we leave.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Clare. “Sorry, Mirri.”

Jem sighed. “Sarai and I’ll come, too. It beats worrying.”

In the barn they saw a small owl perched on a rafter, moving from foot to foot. Clare thought it looked like it was davening. Then the owl cocked its head and spit out a pellet that hit Jem on the side of the head.

“That hurt,” said Jem mildly.

Sarai was already dissecting the furry pellet with a stick. “It’s full of little bones.”

“Mouse bones,” said Jem, rubbing his head. “Probably.”

The barn was vast. The lower half was cluttered with items that must have been accumulating for generations: fence-posts, old furniture, tools, a hay wagon. But all this was dwarfed by vast and empty space as the building soared up past the loft, past great old timbers, to the ancient roof.

They went past the broken furniture and over to the pink sleeping bag that Mirri’s mother had used. Mirri’s mother—Dinah—had made a sort of nest there. Clare pulled up the sleeping bag and underneath it she saw something she wasn’t expecting.

The unicorn pen that Mirri thought she had lost. One of the tortoiseshell combs that Clare sometimes used to control her hair. Jem’s pocket flashlight. She saw that there were other things there as well. Toys, bits of cloth, a pocketknife, a silver ring Clare thought she had misplaced.

“She was looking out for all of us,” said Clare. “Not just Mirri. All of us.”

They stood, mute.

Then, quietly, Mirri gathered up the little objects; Clare helped her. They walked back to the house.

Behind them the barn loomed like a cathedral.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN





MOOSE





IT SNOWED IN the night, but not enough to keep them from leaving. In the morning, Mirri put some more rocks on her mother’s grave. Jem carved all their initials on the inside of the front door. Clare caught Sarai putting some more books into her backpack, which were going to add substantially to the weight, but she said nothing, instead transferring them to her own when Sarai wasn’t looking.

Right before they set out, Jem emptied Mirri’s pack to see if anything could be discarded. He had worried that her pack was too heavy. What he discovered was that the bottom of Mirri’s pack was filled with Pretty Ponies, her favorite unicorn footie pajamas, a copy of The Secret Garden, a seashell jigsaw puzzle and the Old Maid playing cards. Clare watched from the doorway, wondering how this was going to play out.

“Mirri,” Jem said. “You know better. That space could be used for food.”

“Don’t you want me to have any stuff?”

Clare watched Jem debate with himself.

“All right,” he said finally. “All right for now.”

“Wuss,” whispered Clare as he came over to her.

“You try saying ‘no’ to Mirri.”

“Well,” Clare said. “At least we have enough food to get to the next stop.”

“I just hope we find fresh supplies along the way. I don’t want us to get beriberi.”

“You worry about everything.”

“Or rickets.”

“I like rickets,” said Mirri. “They chirp like hoarse birds.”

“That’s crickets,” said Sarai. “Rickets makes your legs fall off.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Jem. “Quit stalling and let’s go.”

Jem took the lead. At the end of the long driveway, he stood for a moment before turning left. They would pass through Fallon and then resupply themselves in the city, where it would be easy enough to pick up the I-80 to Herne Wood.

As they stepped onto the road, Jem abruptly laughed and said, “Well. Now we’re off to see the Wizard.”

“I just hope that he isn’t a little man behind a big curtain,” said Clare.

“The Master has to have the cure,” said Jem. “Why wouldn’t he have the cure?” Clare was going to respond lightly, and then she saw the grim resolution in Jem’s dark green eyes.

Bear suddenly ran out ahead of them, snuffed at the air, and then fell back to Clare.

They passed the skeletonized remains of the Cured that Mirri’s mother had killed. Now they were at the farthest point of their scavenging area.

They walked.

Shadows began to creep down the road in front of them, and when they found a house set back from the road and with no dead smell to it, they stopped for the night. Clare and Jem searched the house for signs of other occupants, but the place was empty. No dead. No Cured. No living children.

They made a big nest in the living room out of comforters and blankets, and, before the light was entirely gone, Clare got a fire going in the woodstove. She looked at their nest and suddenly felt bone-tired. Mirri looked unhappy.

“How’re the feet?” Clare asked.

“Don’t know,” said Mirri. “I can’t get my shoes off.”

“That’s not good.” She saw that Mirri’s ankles were swollen. “Does it hurt?”