“No. I’d say we have”—he looked over at the rising sun—“at least an hour.”
“Just my luck,” Ida muttered, but she knew there was a chance that Fargus was in one of these holes. So they began to run around the field, calling down holes, listening for the frightened voices waiting at the bottom.
THIRTY-SIX
Josephine was getting blisters on her hands. It was the reins rubbing her palms. She suddenly remembered her gloves. She reached into her pocket and pulled them out, all wrinkled and scrunched together. It was the first time in her life she was happy to put on a pair of gloves.
She was in love with her horse, Mabel. The mare behaved as if Josephine had been riding her forever. She was sensitive to every turn or change Josephine wanted her to make. Her chestnut hair glistened with the perspiration of their journey and Josephine imagined washing her and brushing out her lovely mane and tail.
Maybe she could take Mabel home with her? After all, Morgan had never said how big the wormhole was.
“You can’t take the horse with you!” Ned exclaimed.
Rats, Josephine thought, realizing she must have been talking to herself again. How embarrassing.
“I know that,” she told Ned.
He was ahead of her, on Thistle. They had been riding for more than an hour now. The forest had impossibly high trees with trunks as wide as grain silos. The sunlight filtered through the leaves in narrow beams that grew wider as they bounced off the earth, and when Josephine looked up into the canopy, she saw butterflies and insects flitting in and out of the light. It felt so quiet, like an enormous church, the trees supporting the sky like wooden pillars.
Josephine knew it was odd, with so much danger and uncertainty lying ahead, but at this moment, she felt quite happy. She dropped her head back and bellowed, “Hello to the sky!” and listened as her voice was slowly swallowed by the enormous space.
Ned’s head spun around. “Shh! Are you mental? Do you want the Brothers to hear us?”
“But don’t they work for the Master?”
“Yeah.”
“And hasn’t the Master invited me to dinner?”
“Yeah.”
“So?”
“So just shut your gob, will you? Maybe you’re invited, but I’m not.”
Josephine got quiet. He was right. She was being reckless (something she had never been at home).
“Thank you, Ned,” she offered in a whisper.
“For what?” he asked.
“For helping me.”
“That’s what friends do,” he answered, turning back around to the path ahead.
“Are we friends?” Josephine asked happily.
“Of course we are. Don’t be stupid.”
And Josephine grinned from ear to ear, not minding one bit that she had just been called stupid.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Bruce’s stomach had started to grumble for lunch. He was deep within the forest and he wished he had thought to bring sandwiches. He also missed his pipe and he had a blister on the back of his right heel. He plopped down on a dead log and took off his shoes.
It was time to consider his situation. He dared not return home today. Or tomorrow, for that matter. Sometimes it took Alma a week to get over her anger. And she had thrown pots at him. She had never done that before. Bruce knew of a nice cave by a stream where he had stayed in the past when Alma had thrown him out. It was not luxurious by any means, but it was a place to sleep.
The thought of sleep made his head droop and he considered a short nap. But just then he heard something in the woods. His eyes bulged.
Someone or something was walking toward him.
He wanted to run. But when he jumped up, his legs got intertwined and he fell over. He looked up in terror, waiting for the Brothers to emerge. He could almost smell their earthy aroma, that haunting mixture of fresh-cut grass and rotting compost. The footsteps got louder and Bruce could hear the branches and undergrowth being crushed. He began to crawl away, stifling a shriek. He looked back and saw the branches parting, and he steadied himself against passing out. He began to mutter what he thought would be his last words . . .
. . . when a horse emerged from the thicket. And on the horse’s back was a teenage boy.
Bruce exhaled, embarrassed at his own cowardice.
The boy hadn’t noticed him yet, but a moment later a second horse came through the trees. This one carried a bushy-haired girl.
“Josephine!” Bruce cried.
Both children saw Bruce and flinched in fear, causing their horses to rear up.
Bruce stood up and stuttered, “You’re s-s-safe! I’m so glad. Alma and I have been worried.” What blind luck! If he returned home with Josephine in hand, Alma would have to forgive him!
Josephine replied with stony anger, “Worried? You gave Ida and Fargus to the Master, and you were about to do the same with me.”
Bruce was surprised and then shamed. “I—we—you’re right. We did. But I—I really was worried about all of you and I’m . . .” He hung his head and mumbled, “I’m glad you’re okay.”
