It was easy. Eleanor Queen led the way confidently, though they were trampling across unblemished snow. Still, Orla kept glancing around, on the lookout for…
They were making enough noise to keep the bears at bay. How she loved her little boy who liked to sing. And she made sure they didn’t wander from their chosen path, their chosen mission, lest the weather surprise them with another squall. Her vigilance paid off when she spotted something, not dangerous, but startlingly beautiful—an albino deer stepped lightly between two trees. The delicate placement of its hooves made Orla think of pointe shoes, but the children tromped ahead with such purpose that before she could urge them to slow down and appreciate the scenery, the deer had leapt away.
“Mama, look!” Eleanor Queen gasped a moment later, pointing upward.
“What is it?” Tycho hopped in place beside her, eager to see.
“A snowy owl! With big golden eyes!”
Eleanor Queen sounded so pleased. But when the other two followed the direction of her finger, they saw only dark and empty tree limbs.
“It flew away,” she said, hurdling over a small branch in their path.
They’d taken only a few more steps when Tycho inhaled sharply, his face alight as his mittened hand directed them to look at a spot between two drooping trees.
Again, they stopped, but Orla couldn’t make out anything but snow-covered brush.
“There’s nothing there.” Eleanor Queen ran on ahead.
“It was there—I saw a wolf!”
“A wolf?” Orla gripped Tycho’s hood to keep him from moving even an inch away from her. The cry of wolf made Eleanor Queen halt her steady advance and turn around, her wide eyes uncertain and glued to her mother.
“It was all white, with eyes like little suns—very friendly, Mama.”
Orla refused to let her mouth twist into a smile, but she winked at her daughter. Tycho, as younger siblings often did, liked to mimic his sister. “Well, your friendly wolf must have scampered on home.”
“Yup!” He galloped after Eleanor Queen as she darted off again toward the towering pine, content to follow her lead.
Orla wished Shaw were there—he was putting too much pressure on himself and could’ve used a moment of unexpected wonder. Maybe this was what he’d sought all along, a place that ignited his imagination. And she felt some remorse for getting so frustrated with him. He bore a burden she didn’t share—his idea, his turn—and who was she to judge the content of his work? She didn’t like the roller coaster of emotions that had come between them since the move.
Eleanor Queen was already slowly circumnavigating the tree when Orla reached it, holding Tycho’s hand. It was as impressive as she remembered. As wide as a person was tall at the base of its trunk, it rose so high she had to tip her head all the way back to see its top. The gray bark looked ancient—deeply ridged and furrowed. Like the surface of a withering planet. Most of the enormous branches radiating from the trunk far above them were gnarled and bare. Only its crown, in the stratosphere above their heads, remained evergreen.
“What a big pretty tree!” said Tycho, skipping around its base in his sister’s boot prints.
“It is magnificent.” Orla used her cheeriest voice. “And very, very old—five hundred years!”
Tycho beamed up at the giant, full of awe.
Eleanor Queen maintained her pensive stroll around the pine. She’d taken off one mitten, and trailed her fingers along the bark as she walked. Orla was afraid her perceptive daughter had noticed what she’d noticed—the abundance of dead branches, the scattered bits of green, mostly visible near its tippy-top. Death was spreading upward from its roots. Orla thought that probably meant it was already dead, except the upper branches were so high, they hadn’t gotten the message yet. Even though it was far enough from the house, it would suck if such a massive tree gave up its hold and toppled over. It would cause so much damage to the surrounding trees and make the back part of their acreage almost impassable. She made a mental note to bring it up with Shaw; come spring, they might need to have a tree person come out and give them advice.
Already losing interest, Tycho wandered over to much smaller evergreens to knock snow from their sweeping lower boughs. Orla tried to keep him within reach while also not losing sight of Eleanor Queen in her meditative march, but a queasy nervousness grew as she juggled the needs of both children. By necessity, she stuck closer to her rambunctious son, but she worried that another squall would strike and swallow Eleanor Queen from her view.
“I think we should go back now.” She could have sworn the temperature was dropping. Maybe this was an early warning sign; maybe she was acclimating to her new environment better than she’d thought. “A storm’s coming, we don’t want to get caught in—”
“There’s no storm,” said Eleanor Queen. She dropped to her snow-pant-padded knees at the base of the tree. Like a supplicant, praying.
“Come on.” Orla gestured to Tycho. He bumbled over and grabbed her hand.
“Is it time for hot cocolate?” he asked. That had always been their treat in the city when there was a big snow.
“I don’t think we can have hot chocolate every time it snows here; that would be a lot of hot chocolate. Bean, come on, we’re going home.”
“I’ll come home in a bit.” She showed no intention of getting up and falling in line.
Excuse me? This was exactly the sort of independence they’d hoped Eleanor Queen would develop, but Orla doubted that even Shaw would think it was a good idea to leave her outside now—especially given the capricious nature of the things they’d experienced.
“I can’t leave you out here on your own, and it’s time to head back.”
“Why not? I led the way here—I know how to get back.”
“I appreciate that. I know someday soon you’ll be a master explorer and be able to show us all around the land—”
“It’s not about that.”
“Eleanor Queen.” Orla was losing her patience. It was definitely getting colder. She felt it—something was coming.
“Something’s coming, Mama.”
A chill razored down Orla’s spine. “I know, that’s why we have to go.” She reached for her daughter, tugged on her arm.
“That’s why we have to stay!” She yanked her arm back.
Tycho started pulling on Orla’s hand, ready to go. Orla was caught in the middle as her two children insisted on heading in separate directions. Eleanor Queen squirmed away, forcing Orla to drag Tycho with her as she reclaimed her grasp on her daughter’s puffy jacket.
“Now, Eleanor Queen Bennett, I won’t tell you again!”
Orla rarely had to use the I-mean-business voice, but her daughter accepted defeat. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she allowed herself to be towed back toward the house.
“You don’t understand,” the girl whined.
“So explain it to me.” But Orla wasn’t really in the mood to listen; she kept a wary eye on their surroundings and tried to determine if the air temperature rose as they neared the house.
“I can hear it better out here and it’s really, really, really trying to tell me something and I don’t know why I can’t just come in when I’m ready and there’s nothing else to do here so why won’t you let me stay outside!”
Orla’s breath came out in a great plume of relief when they reached the edge of the forest and the house came into view. She’d caught only pieces of her daughter’s disgruntled rant.
“Did you hear me, Mama?” This time it was Eleanor Queen doing the tugging, trying to get her mother’s attention.
“We’re almost home.”
“So no, you weren’t listening! That’s why you can’t hear it! That’s why I have to do everything myself!” Eleanor Queen broke away and marched ahead toward the house.
Her daughter seldom spoke with such ferocity, and Orla felt a twinge of guilt. But only a twinge; Eleanor Queen didn’t understand what was out there. Orla didn’t understand it any better, but she felt the imperative to keep her children safe.
“Don’t worry, Mama.” Happy little Tycho grinned up at her. “Ele-Queen’s just mad ’cause the trees use a lot of big words that she doesn’t know.”
“Oh, is that it?”
“Yup, she told me.”
“Well, thank you, I feel a little better now.” She didn’t feel better. At all. Were her children whispering in the dark too, like their parents? Comparing oddities that amused—or frightened—them? Her family’s once-easy equilibrium was all out of whack and she didn’t know how to right it.
They followed Eleanor Queen’s boot prints straight through the back door, left ajar. A nagging thing dragged its claws across Orla’s thoughts, snagging on a piece of fabric that wouldn’t, even with repeated efforts, disclose its big reveal. She’d missed something. In the woods. With her children. And the nagging thing—the sharpness of its claws—warned her that it was very important.