That night before dinner Nicky put on her flannel pajamas, climbed over her bed, and scanned the forest. She had heard on the radio that a fall storm was supposed to blow in, but the sky remained clear, though the temperature had dropped.

Their father had a frozen pizza in the oven, and he called up to the girls that it was ready. When they came down he was nowhere to be seen. Josie ate a piece at the table without bothering to pick off the pepperoni. Nicky took her slice back up to the attic. She finished her crust, then thought about going back downstairs to brush her teeth, but decided instead to crawl into her bed and pull the covers over her head. She heard her sister come upstairs, the floorboards creaking as she crossed the room. She waited for her to say something. But a few minutes later, she was asleep.

No sooner had Nicky closed her eyes than she awoke to a whine. At first she thought it was a mosquito pestering her. But there were no mosquitoes in Jackson Cove, she remembered Clete saying. Then she thought it was the storm people were predicting.

She sat up. The moon shined through Josie’s window, covering her sister’s body in gray light, illuminating the painted floorboards. Nicky turned and opened her window. The tips of the trees in the valley reflected the cool white light. She let her eyes lazily run toward the back of the valley, as if flying over the forest. She saw the Old Yellow Cedar, high above the rest, reassuring in its stature. Then the whine became louder, evening out, echoing between the mountains. The branches of the cedar began to shake. She heard a crack, followed by a whoosh and clatter. Then the valley settled, and resumed its silence.

Nicky pulled the window open farther, gripping the sill and leaning out, still not believing the information her eyes had conveyed. Had anyone else heard that? She looked to either side of her. No lights.

What she had just seen didn’t make sense. Just a hole remained where the cedar had been, as if someone had put a drain in the valley floor to empty it of moonlight.

Nicky’s heart slammed in her chest as she rose from her bed and pulled on cargo pants. She tiptoed past her father’s door, padded down the stairs, stepped into her XtraTufs, and shut the front door behind her. She took the bike from the shed and stumbled as she dragged it into the road. It had been a dream. It had to have been a dream. It just wasn’t possible.

“Where you off to in such a rush, sailor?”

She froze with one foot on a pedal. Off to the left, Sven’s cigarette glowed. At his feet Rooster lapped milk from a silver dish. Sven smashed his cigarette into the boardwalk and dropped the butt into a rusted coffee can.

“You got an important date at this late hour, with a storm coming in?” Her foot hovered over the pedal. She couldn’t find words. “Your face is about as pale as that moon up there, and it won’t be out for long, the way the wind’s blowing. What’s got you so worked up?”

“I just—I need to check on something.”

“Sailor, do you recall that evening on the ferry when we first met? Pulling away from Bellingham? You were sadder than a baby who lost her rattle.”

“I remember,” she said.

“You looked at me like nothing in the world would ever change again. Like there were no answers to your problems.”

“I remember,” she repeated, growing impatient.

“Look at you now. It’s three in the morning, and you’re about to go into the Alaska woods with a fall storm blowing in. Where did such courage come from?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

“Nicky, you take that bike and you go check on what you need to check on. Rooster and I, we’ll be waiting for you. Take care when it starts blowing sideways.”

When Sven said this, Rooster glanced up from her pan of milk, fixing her golden eyes on Nicky just as she had that first evening on the ferry. Nicky gave a quick nod, then pushed down on her pedals, starting down the hill toward the harbor. As she biked she scanned for a kayak—she could paddle to Clete’s house, wake him, and they could go out together to see what had happened. Then she saw his skiff tied up at the loading dock, the blue canvas cover and spray skirt bobbing in the growing waves. Uncle Cliff must have slept at the mill, she figured, probably worried about skiffing into town with the storm.

She turned her bike around and started along the road in the direction of Sky River Valley, ignoring the chill against her cheeks. Nicky flipped up her hood, then thought about returning for gloves, and maybe an extra layer for the storm. She could be quiet enough not to wake her father, or Josie. Then she thought of the hole in the valley, and the Old Yellow Cedar toppled along the forest floor.

Courage, she thought. The forest needed her. Now.