“I’m pretty sure I can hook you up. In the meantime, why don’t you ditch that pig sticker. Seriously, Cricket, I don’t want you to get lockjaw.”
“I will when you give me the new knife.”
“All right. Let’s get home and I’ll see what I can do.”
The walk back to the village proved fruitful. They presented mama with a few handfuls of slightly shriveled huckleberries and more than a pound of oyster mushrooms, harvested from a giant fallen Fraser fir. It was late afternoon, and several of the porch lanterns had already been lit.
“It’s Friday night, Mama,” Willadean said soon after, as they headed up the path to the communal dining building. Like the school house, it was a converted, upgraded shanty that served as kitchen for the village cooks and offered inside and outside tables and chairs for its diners. Mama preferred that everyone eat together. She felt it helped strengthen the community bonds.
“Yes, I know. As soon as you finish supper, you two can go spend two hours with Pops. I don’t want him telling spooky stories, though. Last time Harlan had nightmares.”
Willadean wanted to argue, but decided her request for a knife took precedence. She knew better than to press for more than one favor at a time.
“Cricket needs a knife, one like mine and Harlan’s. Do you have more in the U-Haul?” She whispered the last part. Discussing that subject in public wasn’t allowed.
“You think he’s ready for that? Seems a little young and clumsy to be carrying a weapon.”
“It’s not really a weapon, you know. It’s more like a tool. And the rusty steak knife he’s got is a danger to himself and innocent bystanders.”
Serena Jo laughed. “He’s not much younger than you two, now that I think about it. Speaking of, your birthday is coming up. I can’t believe my babies are turning twelve.”
“You know what comes after twelve?”
“Teenagers. That’s what comes after twelve.”
“That’s right. Practically grownups in this day and age.”
Harlan withdrew a Swiss Army knife identical to Willadean’s from his jeans pocket, then signed: Maybe we can get an upgrade on these for our birthday?
Serena Jo raised an eyebrow. It was her noncommittal eyebrow. “We’ll see,” she said.
“Ugh, I know what that means,” Willa mumbled.
The other eyebrow lifted now too. That meant there was hope.
“Not necessarily. I just need time to process the fact that my children are growing up in a world vastly more dangerous than the one I grew up in.”
“Okay, but can you make it fast? Cricket can have my old one if we get new, better ones. I know you don’t want him to get tetanus.”
“No, I certainly don’t want that. I’ll decide after supper while you two are at Pops. How’s that?”
She kissed Mama’s cheek, then darted inside the kitchen house with Harlan at her heels. They knew to get in line early before the cornbread ran out.
***
“Come on, Pops,” Willa begged. “One spooky story. We won’t tell Mama.”
“Can’t do it, child. Ain’t worth it. You should know better than anyone that you gotta pick your battles with her. I ain’t gonna get sideways with your mama over something so...inconsequential.” He winked at Fergus who was sitting in one of the two chairs in Pops’ cabin.
Pops had made those chairs by hand out of burled oak. He had even sewn the cushions himself, and to keep his cabin smelling sweet, he regularly replaced their feathery bald cypress leaf and fragrant rosemary stuffing. A cheerful fire crackled in the wood-burning stove. Willa and Harlan sprawled out on the braided rug which covered much of the cabin’s interior floor. The sun had fully set outside the spotless window; stars sputtered to life on the other side of the glass. Willa’s belly was full to bursting with cornbread and rabbit stew. And she didn’t have to go to bed for at least two hours.
Friday evenings at Pops’ were her favorite time of the week.
“What if I tell a spooky story?” Fergus said in the deep voice so at odds with his size. “Was the directive for everyone or just your grandfather?” Blue eyes twinkled.
Willadean liked this little man more every day.
“Her exact words were: I don’t want him telling spooky stories. ‘Him’ meaning Pops. She didn’t say anything about you, Mister Fergus.”
Fergus looked at Pops, who shrugged, then focused on her brother. “Harlan, do you promise not to get nightmares?”
Candlelight flickered in her brother’s dilated pupils. He pondered the question, then nodded. Slowly. Harlan didn’t like the spooky stuff the way she did.
The wiry, red beard twitched, which she now knew meant their teacher was amused. That beard twitched a lot during school sessions.
“Very well. Once upon a time, there were two children. A sister and a brother. They lived with their parents on the outskirts of a mysterious forest...”
“Wait,” Willa said. “This isn’t Hansel and Gretel, is it? We’ve heard that one a million times.”
“Not Hansel and Gretel, Maximus Interruptus. May I tell the story, please? Sans disruptive outbursts from the peanut gallery?”
Harlan snorted. Pops gave a small chuckle. Willa grinned. She would add peanut gallery to her lexicon.
“Sorry. Please continue.”
Fergus rolled his eyes dramatically. “They lived with their parents on the outskirts of a mysterious forest. The children weren’t allowed to enter the forest, not because of the child-eating, gingerbread house-dwelling wicked witch who did, in fact, live there. But because of the witch’s neighbor. In order to get to the gingerbread stucco, the buttercream-frosted roof tiles, and the gumdrop shrubbery, the children would have to travel past a decidedly less enticing and undoubtedly worse-tasting house.
