The Lumberjanes have a rich history of magnificent, and sometimes strange, inventions. One of the most prolific Lumberjane inventors, prior to Jo, was Mary Margaret Wollstonecraft Pomodore III, who invented one of the first time machines.
Before disappearing into a puff of purple smoke one night, while holding what many claimed was a light bulb in one hand and a box of chocolate cherries in the other, Mary Margaret had often argued that time was mostly an annoying thing that a person should be able to alter.
Mary Margaret was very fond of “redos,” in basketball, golf, and life, and many wondered what wrong it was she had disappeared into history to right.
Probably we will never know.
Listening as Zodiac cabin celebrated their victory with several rounds of the Pointer Sisters’ “I’m So Excited” on the accordion, Jo knew EXACTLY what she wished SHE could go back and redo if she had a light bulb and Mary Margaret’s secret notebook (which was actually hidden . . . not that far from where Jo was sitting).
April sat down, carefully, next to Jo. “So. I think I know the answer to this, but, if I asked you what was going on would you have no comet?”
“No comet,” Jo said, looking up at the sky full of constellations she did know, like the Big and Little Dipper.
“Generally speaking, you’re not usually the ‘I have to win’ person in the group,” April observed, while also observing Jo’s face. “That’s kind of my claim to fame.”
“I just thought it would be a nice thing,” Jo said, still looking at the sky. “To win.”
“Sure. But. There will be other quests,” April said, patting Jo on the back. “Other victories. Right?”
“Sure,” Jo said, although it was hard to say that and look April in the eye, so she looked at the moon instead, which was looking back down at Jo like the giant all-knowing eye the moon can be on a clear summer night.
It was the smallest “sure” Jo had ever uttered, about the size of a sliver of cheese left on a plate, too small for a piece of toast or even a cracker.
Under the same moon, Castor and Ripley sat in the courtyard, munching from a snack plate that was almost out of cheddar and crackers.
“So, you know a lot about stars, huh?” Ripley said, brushing crumbs off her shirt.
“Oh, yes I suppose so,” Castor said, adjusting her vest. “I spend quite a bit of time with them . . . at home.”
“I spend a lot of time with my brothers and my sisters and my mom and my dad and our cat,” Ripley said. “At home.”
“Do you miss them?” Castor said, looking up at the stars.
“Sometimes,” Ripley said, taking the second-last bit of cheese. “But mostly I love being at camp because camp is the best.”
Castor took a nibble of her cheese, clutched in her little claws. She was still amazed how it was just being handed out willy-nilly. “What’s your favorite part? Is it Jazzysize?”
Ripley wobbled her head. “I don’t even have a favorite part. Because every day is a favorite part? Like sometimes my favorite part is a waterfall. Sometimes it’s a T. Rex. Sometimes it’s climbing a tree. Sometimes it’s swimming with April and Jo and Molly. Sometimes it’s dancing with Bubbles. Sometimes it’s discovering something new. Sometimes it’s doing something I love doing again . . .”
“That sounds,” Castor looked at the last piece of cheese on the plate, “fun.”
“Yeah,” Ripley sighed. “Normally, we’re way more fun than we were today. I mean, you know, today was fun. But it’s usually way way funner.”
Castor nodded. “I myself have always preferred discovery to pillaging. Although sometimes pillaging is necessary, obviously, for survival. But I think discovery is much closer to what you call . . . fun.”
Ripley nodded, wondering if pillaging meant what she thought it meant.
Castor pushed the plate with the last piece of cheese toward Ripley. “You know, once, several moons ago, my mother and I found this place. You would love it.” She smiled, rubbing her paws together. “It was made of little stones, all shaped like tiny buttons, all white and black, and when you ran over them, the ground made a noise like tacka-de-tacka-de-tacka-de-tacka! I loved that sound. I would have gone back many times just to hear it. Such a ridiculous sound.”
“That sounds really cool,” Ripley said. “Tacka-de-tacka-de-tacka-de-tacka!”
“You all are so lovely and kind,” Castor said, looking down at the plate, thinking about cheese, about the larder she had planned to raid that very night. “I hadn’t expected that. I hadn’t expected any of this.”
Ripley lay down on top of the picnic bench. Castor did the same.
“The moon always makes me think of a face looking down,” Ripley said, closing one eye.
“Ripley?”
“Yes?”
Castor shifted her ears. “I have to tell you something.”