Tapping the Dream Tree (56 page)

“You look different,” I said.

He was a little taller than me, maybe sixteen, a wiry teenager with crow-black hair and dark blue eyes that were sort of almond-shaped.

“Better or worse?” Li'l Pater asked.

I shook my head. “Not much of either. Just different. The girls know who you are?”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“You actually have a place you're living?”

“Just the woods.”

“You're not going to hurt them in any way, are you?”

He gave me a shocked look that told me more than any words he could have used. It just come up on him sudden, before he could even start to speak, and I held up a hand.

“I just had to ask,” I said. “They're my sisters.”

“And I know how protective you are about them.”

“I guess you do.” I cocked my head and gave him a considering look. “So what are the three of you doing all the time?”

“I'm … teaching them about magic.”

“Nothing dangerous, I hope.”

I was thinking of the mischief that pair could get into all on their own without adding spells and what-have-you into the equation.

He shook his head.

“And what about you?” I asked. “What are you getting out of it?”

“I'm learning what it's like to be human.”

I guess you're wondering about what I was doing, how my life got changed by the adventure and all that money. Well, the truth is, it didn't make a whole lot of difference one way or the other. I missed Aunt Lillian something awful, but looking after the homestead kept me busy. I loved living up there full-time, just me and Root, and I never really got lonely. If I did, it was just a short ramble along the creek and I'd be back at the farm with Mama and my sisters.

I did try my hand at drawing like Elsie and Aunt Lillian, but it wasn't something I could ever get the hang of, don't ask me why. But I took to writing pretty well. It's not like I have the language I read in the books Mama gets for me from the library. But I find I like to put things down on paper. The stories Aunt Lillian told me. Things I see in the fields and woods around the homestead. Thoughts and dreams and such.

Elsie wants us to do a book together, a kind of field guide or collection of essays about these hills of ours. I'd write the words and she'd draw the pictures. I'm thinking on it, though I'm not sure that I want to write something that any old body could just pick up and read. Elsie says I just need to learn to let the words go once I've put them down on paper, but I don't know.

Anywise, my life wasn't changed too much by the adventure or the money or even living up here on Aunt Lillian's homestead—not inside me. Not who I am. That came from a whole different direction, one I wasn't even close to expecting.

I was splitting wood and putting it up in the woodshed for the winter when Root gave a warning bark. I set down the ax and turned to see what had caught his attention. With Root it could be anything from crows in the corn to a groundhog getting too bold for his britches—just saying a groundhog wore britches.

For a second I didn't see anything. Then this fellow came out of the woods on the far side of the trees, moving so smooth and easy it was like he'd just appeared there. I had a moment's worry, thinking maybe this was some more business with the fairies, but as he got closer, I could see he was human. Leastwise he looked human, though handsomer than most boys I've run across.

He was maybe eighteen, wearing hiking boots, jeans and a white T-shirt with a buckskin jacket over top, and carrying an ax. His hair was black as a starless night under a baseball cap turned backwards. His broad features had a coppery cast to them so I figured he was probably from the rez. Even with that jacket on you could tell he was strong as well as graceful.

My pulse started to quicken and I told it to hold up there. Whatever reason this boy had to come here, it wasn't to court me. But my heart wouldn't listen.

“Hey,” he said. “Is Lily around?”

My mouth felt too dry to talk so I just shook my head.

He smiled. “I see you're doing my job.”

“Your … job?” I managed.

“Putting in the winter wood.”

He held out a hand so that Root could give it a sniff, then bent and ruffled his fur. Standing up again, he came over and offered me his hand, too—to shake, not smell.

“I'm Oliver,” he said. “Oliver Creek.”

“Sarah Jane Dillard.”

His palm was dry and a little rough and my pulse just started going quicker. I let go of his hand and took a step back. I didn't know what was the matter with me. I was feeling so hot I figured I must have a fever.

“Are you always this quiet, Sarah Jane?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“My granddad's a friend of Lily's,” he went on. “We help her out with some of the heavier work around here.”

“Like chopping wood.”

He held up his ax and nodded. “You want a hand?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

We didn't talk much as we worked. Oliver was better at chopping and splitting than I was, so I let him go to it and spent most of my time stacking the stove-lengths in the woodshed. After a couple of hours, we took a break and sat on stumps by the wood pile, sipping iced tea.

“So where's Lily?” Oliver asked. “Out hunting and gathering?”

I smiled and shook my head. “She's … gone away.”

He gave me a sharp look and I realized what that had sounded like.

“No, she's not dead or anything,” I quickly said. “She's just moved …” I sighed. “It's complicated.”

“She's gone into the otherworld,” Oliver said.

Now it was my turn to look hard at him.

“You know about all of that?” I asked.

He shrugged. “My mother's got sixteen sisters and they're all medicine women, so all I've ever heard since I was a kid was about the manitou and
manidò-ak
ì—the spiritworld. Never been there myself, though. Never seen a spirit either, but I guess I believe they're out there.”

“So what makes you think Aunt Lillian went over there?”

“Well, Granddad's told me about this friendship she's got with some tree spirit in the orchard and how every time he used to come up here he'd half-expect her to have gone off into
manidd-aki
with him.”

“John Creek,” I said. “That's who your grandfather is, right?”

It was coming back to me now.

He smiled. “That's right. And I'm still Oliver.”

“Aunt Lillian's told me about you.”

“All good, I hope.”

I don't know why it came over me, but I had to duck my head to hide a blush.

“Well, that's where she went,” I said, hiding behind my hair and pretending to look at something on the ground. “Into that otherworld with the Apple Tree Man.”

“She leave the place in your care?”

I nodded.

“So you mind if I come by from time to time?” he asked.

I looked up at him. “You don't have to. I'm not as old as Aunt Lillian—at least not yet. I can do the heavy work.”

“I wasn't offering to do work,” he said, “though I'm happy to lend a hand. I was thinking more of just coming by to visit.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

I don't know why that came out the way it did. I was just too nervous, I guess. And now I figured I'd just insulted him or something. But he only smiled.

“Because I like you, Sarah Jane,” he said. “And I'd like to get to know you better.”

He got up then and fetched his ax from where he'd stuck it in the chopping stump.

“I've got to go,” he said. “I promised Granddad I'd come by and give him a hand mending his traps before it got dark.”

I stood up and didn't know what to do with my hands.

“Thanks for all your help,” I said. “I would've been at this all day if you hadn't come by.”

“No problem. You busy tomorrow?”

I thought about a hundred things I still had to do, from chores to getting the place ready for winter, and almost said so when I realized what he was really asking.

“No,” I said and then I got real brave. “Would you like to come for dinner?”

“I'll count the minutes,” he said with a grin.

He gave Root a quick pat, tapped his index finger against his temple and pointed it at me, then headed off, back across the field. I just stood there watching him go until he disappeared in among the trees, then sat back down on the stump and hugged my knees.

“You hear that, Root?” I said. “He said he liked me.”

So I guess that's my story.

If you want to know more about Aunt Lillian and the Apple Tree Man, or if the Father of Cats ever came to see me, or even what kind of mischief Ruth and Grace got into with Li'l Pater—those are all stories for another time.

Anything else … well, it's nobody's business but my own.