The next day, Wunder didn’t go past the cemetery. He didn’t go into the woods. Delivering the letter hadn’t given him the answers he’d hoped for. The Minister of Consolation—even with his knowledge and his position at the church—seemed to be as angry and confused as Wunder. The minister didn’t have the answers.
But Wunder’s questions hadn’t gone away. In fact, they were louder than ever.
That was why he stayed away from the DoorWay House. He was afraid of how much he wanted to know what the witch was up to. He was afraid of how much he wanted to be wrong, how much he wanted the minister to be wrong. He was afraid of how much he wanted to believe in miracles again.
Wunder wasn’t sure what Faye was feeling, because she didn’t try to talk to him at school or follow him after. She did give him a few slow waves of her black-gloved hand.
But the day after that, she was waiting at the bicycle racks.
“Let’s go to the cemetery,” she said.
“The cemetery?”
“Yes, Wundie. The cemetery. We need to talk about what to do next.”
In the cemetery, Faye toe-dragged herself right up the hill, where she settled down next to the memorial stone. Wunder sat on the other side of her, as far from the stone as he could get. He didn’t look at it or read the words, but they played over and over in his mind. Behold, behold, behold …
“I don’t know if we should go back,” he said. “To the DoorWay House, I mean.”
“I knew you were going to say that, Wundie,” Faye said. “And I didn’t want to pressure you—I even gave you a whole day off—but we absolutely have to.”
“I thought you were afraid of the witch,” Wunder said. “I thought you said she wanted to poison us or steal our souls or whatever.”
“I was afraid,” Faye said. “Only because I know more about these kinds of things than you do. But now, more than ever, I think we have to see the witch.”
Wunder sighed. “You’re always saying that. We don’t have to do anything.”
“Yes, we do.” Faye’s voice grew more insistent. “We need to know what she’s doing here. We need to know who she is. I know you say you don’t believe in miracles anymore, but you went to see her. You delivered the letter.”
Wunder shook his head. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. The minister—he said his wife is gone, gone for good. I don’t know what the witch—I mean, the old woman—wanted with him, but it doesn’t have anything to do with bringing people back from the dead, if you’re still thinking that.”
He turned even farther away from the stone. Now he was looking down over the woods, and from this angle he could see that the leaves had almost fully changed. Reds and golds had replaced green, the colors creating a botanical sunrise, a foliage wildfire. It was the woods at their most vibrant, their most beautiful. But soon, too soon, he knew, everything would be brown, everything would be dead, the trees would be bare.
“It doesn’t,” he repeated. Then, “Does it?”
“Maybe,” Faye said. “Maybe not. But, Wundie, I think we both know that this is not the time to stop searching.”
Wunder was quiet for a moment. Without his consent, his eyes wandered away from the dying forest and back to the stone. We will all be changed … He thought about what the witch had said: There is much to discuss. What did she want to tell him? What if he let himself listen? Could there truly be a miracle waiting to be found, bright and shining, after the darkness of his sister’s death?
“Even after what the minister said, you still think the witch—the old woman—has something to do with my sister?” he asked. “And … resurrections?”
He looked over at Faye. Her hood was pulled up over her head and she was nodding.
“I do, Wundie,” she said. “I do.”
And Wunder found himself nodding along. Because, he realized, he did too. “We’ll go back, then,” he said.