Ch. 5: Tree and Bough

(Return to Contents: Arheled)





'''                                       Chapter  Five '''

'''                                    Tree  and  Bough '''





           The  drumming  roar  of  the  rain  woke  Brooke  up.

           She  blinked,  wondering  what  time  it  was. Everything was  pitch-black,  even  her  nightlight,  so  the  power  was  likely  out. She closed  her  eyes  and  lay  still.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           It  was  impossible. The rushing  patter  of  the  downpour  called  to  her,  splashing,  beating  on  roof  and  window. She heard  the  loud  splatter  of  the  drips  outside  her  window,  like  tiny  waterfalls. Her heart  began  to  pound  madly  and  a  delicious  thrill  of  excitement  coursed  through  her. Sitting up  in  bed  she  surrendered  to  the  call  and  threw  open  the  window.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           It  was  warm  outside! Damp humid  fog  blew  dimly  past,  the  moist  air  kissing  her  face,  calling  her  out. It had  to  be  in  the  60s  out  there;  but  even  if  it  was  only  50°,  who  cared? Running to  her  bedroom  door  she  locked  it  and  stood  for  a  moment,  glorying  in  the  wild  laughter  of  the  elements. Her whole  skin  wanted  to  be  out  in  it,  to  feel  it  and  delight  in  it.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “I  must  be  completely  insane.”  she  giggled. Pulling off  her  nightclothes  she  struggled  for  a  moment  with  her  underthings,  but  they  came  too  and  she  climbed  out  the  window  completely  naked. It faced  the  thick  belt  of  woods  on  the west,  at  the  rear  of  the  house,  and  gave  out  upon  the  low  sloping  roof  of  the  lean-to  where  her  dad  piled  the  firewood. None of  the  other  windows  could  see  her,  for  hers  was  the  only  one  in  this  end  of  the  upper story. Ever since  she  was  old  enough  to  have  her  own  room  she  had  done  this  whenever  it  rained  at  night. She never  got  tired  of  it.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Ice-cold  rain  splashed  all  over  her  body. She gasped  and  laughed:  under  her  breath,  old  habit  schooling  her  in  not  making  a  sound. She plunged  her  head  under  the  Drips  and  felt  the  wonderful  coldness  deluge  her  scalp  and  pour  over  back  and  breasts. She stood  under  the  cascade  and  exulted  as  water  washed  over  her  skin  and  froze  every  inch  of  her. This was  ''fun! ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Before  she  could  get  too  cold  Brooke  slipped  in  the  window  and  stood  there,  streaming  water  all over  the  floorboards,  as  she  groped  frantically  for  a  towel. There were  always  a  few  of  them  in  her  room  from  forgetting  to  return  them  after  wrapping  her  hair  from  the  shower,  and  she  soon  located  one. Scrubbing herself  all  over  soon  made  her  body  glowing  and  exultant,  and  Brooke  flopped  on  her  bed  and  rolled  around  on  the  covers  for  sheer  bliss. Then she  sobered  down  and  got  dressed.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “A  rainbath  in  the  middle  of  November.”  she  giggled. “Yep, certifiably  insane.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           It  had  always  been  this  way  for  her,  she  reflected  as  she  pulled  the  covers  close. Water excited  her,  delighted  her,  drove  her  mad  sometimes. She loved  to  swim,  even  in  cold  water,  and  frequently  would  sneak  off  for  bike  rides  to  local  swimming  holes  at  the  most  unseasonable  times. It was  as  if  she  had  an  affinity  for  it,  was  akin  to  it  somehow,  as  if  water  was  part  of  her  soul.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Child  of  the  streams.”  she  said  aloud. “Describes me  in  a  nutshell. Come to  think  of  it,  nobody  else  ever  gave  me  half  as  good  a  compliment.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Her  thoughts  turned  to  the  strange  man  in  the  brown  coat,  whom  she’d  seen  twice  now. Had he  been  about  to  say  something  to  her,  before  she  and her  friends  had  unleashed  their  silliness  on  him,  something  important  perhaps? Some words  that  would  unlock  her  future  and  show  in  one  blinding  moment  her  purpose  and  her  reason? Had she  by  her  nonsense  destroyed  that  moment  forever?

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Lying  on  her  bed  with  damp  hair  spread  out  on  the  pillow  around  her,  Brooke  felt  tears  like  thorns  come  behind  her  eyes.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Forest  got  off  his  bike  with  considerable  relief.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           He  wasn’t  much  on  biking  as  a  rule,  but  Mom  was  out  and  he  wanted  to  read  more  of  a  series  he’d  started. So he’d  left  her  a  note  and  headed  off. The November  air  was  colder  than  he’d  expected,  but  it  was  nearly  Thanksgiving  after  all,  and  soon  there  would  be  snow. He liked  snow,  in  his  own  quiet  peculiar  way,  but  he  wasn’t  insane  about  it  the  way  some  of  the  kids  at  church  were. The town  was  brown  and  gray,  bare  and  windy  and  wrapped  up  for  winter. He left his  bike  in  the  rack  and  headed  inside. Avoiding the  librarian  as  usual  he  slipped  upstairs  and  went  for  the  shelves. The book  he  wanted  was  there,  and  he  sat  down  in  a  chair  next  to  a  young  girl  of  eleven  who  was  staring  out  the  window. As all  the  computers  were  full,  though  only  a  fragment  of  the  Library  Gang  was  in  evidence,  she  was  probably  waiting  her  turn. He stared  at  the  cover  of  Shadowmancer  Returns  with  the  pleasant  sense  of  anticipation  that  comes  just  before  enjoyment  of  a  treat.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Hey,  I  know  you!”  the  eleven-year-old  girl’s  voice  broke  in  on  his  reverie. He looked  up,  apprehensive. “You’re Forest,  aren’t  you?” He nodded,  trying  to  remember  where  she  might  know  him  from.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “I  thought  so. I met  you  at  the  computer,  remember? You were  looking  up  something  about  Arheled. I’m Bell.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">             “Bell…Light?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “You  do  remember!”  she  said  delightedly. “How’ve you  been?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">             “Pretty  good.”  An  uncomfortable  silence  fell  as  each  one  tried  to  think  of  something  else  to  say.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “What  is  the  Road?”  Bell  said  suddenly. “The one  they  closed.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “It  has  something  to  do  with  Arheled.”  said Forest. “He wouldn’t  talk  about  it. In my  dream.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “You  dream  a  lot?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Really  weird  dreams.”  Forest  replied.  If they  are  dreams  at  all,  he  added  silently.  Because I  think  some  of  them  did  exist  in  actuality.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">            “Tell  me.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Uhh…I…the  Tree,  sometimes…the  dead  Tree…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">            “The  Tree.”  said  Bell  slowly. “Is it…silver?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “You’ve  seen  it,  too?! Have you??”  he  blurted.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">            Her  face  was  serious. “Once.” she  answered. “A magnificent,  glorious  Tree. It was  like  a  mountain. I was  really  far  off,  but  it  was  all  alight,  you  know,  glowing?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “They  grew  light.”  he  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “They? There’s more  than  one?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “There  were  Two.”  said  Forest  sadly. “But they  died. Darkness drank  their  blood  of  light. They are  dead.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Do  you  still  dream  about  them—“

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Uh-uh.”  Forest  shook  his  head. “Not since  they  died. A couple weeks  ago—no,  it  was  back  by  Halloween—I  saw  them,  though. After they  died.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “What  happened?”  Bell  breathed. Her eyes  were  wide  and  glowing. Somehow Forest  forgot  that  he  never  could  say  the  things  that  he  thought;  it  was  as  if  she  was  part  of  him  and  he  could  speak  to her.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “They  grew  out  the  Sun  and  Moon.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           There  was  silence  in  the  library.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           The  chatter  of  teens  at  the  computers  behind  them  was  a  mere  murmer. Pipes clicked  and  groaned  as  the  heat  cut  in. And Bell  and  Forest  gazed  at  each  other,  one  wide  with  wonder,  and  one  intent,  lost  in  mystery.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “But  they  were  dead.”  Bell  whispered.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Forest  shook  his  head. “One ancient  branch  suddenly  bloomed. Their roots  glowed. The silver  Tree,  all  the  blossoms  died,  all  but  one,  and  it  grew  so  big  it  bent  the  whole  branch  down. The golden  Tree  put  up  a  new  shoot,  sudden  and  huge,  and  bending  it  down  was  a  giant  fruit  of  flame. They watched. The Gods  held  their  breath.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Then  what  did  they  do?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Forest  frowned. “I don’t  know. Things got  pretty  chaotic  after  that. I saw  all  sorts  of  things  at  once. I saw  white  ships,  the  loveliest  ships  you  ever  saw,  and  they  were  burning. There was  a  giant  forge  with  tools that  were  alive  shooting  about  every  which  way  at  the  gestures  of  a  gigantic  figure  all  aglow  with  the  light  of  the  thing  that he  was  making;  it  was  like  the  whole  place  was  turned  to  luminous  silver. It was  awesome. Then I  saw  this  giant  mountain,  I  mean  it  was  steep,  and  it  was  like  so  high  that  the  stars  had  to  steer  around  it  as  they  passed,  and  suddenly  they  started  dimming.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “The  black-blue  sky  was  getting  bluer. You know  when  the moon  is  full  and  the  sky  around  it  is  this  sort  of  dark  dull  blue? It was  like  that. The stars  were  alarmed. I heard  them  calling  in  strange  silvery  voices,  like  ice made  of  frozen  light. Then suddenly  huge  figures  of  light  heaved  with  giant  hands  as  if  they  were  throwing  the  mother  of  all  rocks,  and  the  Moon  hurled  overhead  and  into  the  heavens,  and  the  stars  shot  away  from  him  and  waited  at  a  distance. He ignored  them  and  sailed  out  majestically  over  the  earth.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “I  thought  the  Moon  was  a  she.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Well,  it  sure  felt  like  a  he  in  my  dream.”  said  Forest. “And then  the  really  awesome  thing  happened. The sky  turned  blue. Real blue. I couldn’t  see  the  stars  but  I  heard  them  shouting. I could  see  the  world. The black  seas  turned  blue. The lands  flamed  into  green.”  He  stopped,  his  face  alight  with  the  memory  of  that  moment.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “But  what  was  it…was  something…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Forest’s  eyes  shone. “The Sun  was  rising.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           He  gulped  a  little  and  went  on. “She was  floating  like  a  ship  of  hot  air. Her heart  was  a  globe  of  unburning  flame. It was  the  fruit. The Gods  had  forged  the  Sun  and  Moon.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           It  was  a  while  before  Bell  spoke. “What did  the  Moon  look like?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Forest  gazed  past  her,  out  the  window. The high  belfry  of  Christ  Church,  unhidden  now  by  any  leaves,  rose  opposite  him,  and  the  queer  pendant  insets  beneath  the  steeple-brim  seemed  almost  to  swing  back  and  forth  as  he  looked. “Round.” he  answered. “On the  bottom. It rose  in  front  like  a  huge  man  had  melded  himself  into  the  prow,  sort  of  like  a  Viking  ship  figurehead,  you  know? and it  was  made  of  glass  it  looked  like,  all  thin  and  shimmery,  and  there  was  a  giant  blossom  resting  in  the  middle  amid  lakes  of  silver  fluid  light.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Awesome.”  Bell  breathed. “And I  thought  my  dreams  were  somethin’!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “So  you’re  the  fellow.”  a  girl’s  voice  said  behind  Forest. It was  a  sweet  voice,  clear  and  somehow  white. He looked  up  and  saw  a  slender  teenaged  girl,  perhaps  a  year  or  two  older  than  him,  with  dark  golden  hair  and  brilliant  pale  eyes  of  a  startling  light  blue,  warm  and  rather  humerous. “The one  who  told  Mr.  Rougat  in  science class  that  the  Sun  and  Moon  grew  on  trees.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Uh…”  said  Forest.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Sorry  to  be  so  rude,”  the girl  said  quickly. “I was  at  the  computer  just  behind  you. Do you  know  Julian  and  Delilah?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Yeah.”  said  Forest. It was  all  he  could  say.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Yeah,  they  were  talking  about  you  a  while  back,  and  when  I  heard  that  remark  about  them  growing  on  trees  all  I  could  think  of  was  this  huge  tree  dangling  twin  globes  of  light  from  it’s  twigs  before  flinging  them  to  outer space.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “How  much  did  you  hear?”  Bell  asked  tartly. “Because Forest  says it  was  a  lot  different.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Forest? Pleased to  meet  you,  I’m  Brooke  Pond.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “This  is  weird,”  said  Forest,  and  grimaced. This is  definitely  not  a  coincidence,  was  what  he  had  tried  to  say. “My name  is  Forest  Lake.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “And  mine  is  Bell  Light.”  said  Bell  proudly.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Brooke  whistled. “This is  so  cool. I wonder  how  many  other  kids  are  out  there with  these  kind  of  names.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Very  few.”  said  Forest.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Yeah,  I  mean,  serious,  I  know  a  couple  of  girls  named  after  flowers,  and  there’s  another  Brooke  goes  to  my  church,  and  I  think  I  heard  somebody  called  Travel,  but  they  have  normal  last  names  like  Beecher  and  Case,  you  know?”  Bell  was  saying.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Maybe  we’re  meant  to form  some  kind  of  weird  fellowship  or  something.”  Brooke  was  saying  at  almost  the  same  time. “What do  we  all  seem to  have  in  common?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “What  bond  unites  us.”  Bell  quipped.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Forest  listened  drowsily  and  considerable  enjoyment  to  Brooke  and  Bell  animatedly  comparing  interests  and  friends  and  favorite  books  and  totally  forgetting  why  exactly  they  were  on  this  topic. It was  very  nice  to  listen  to  girls  talking  about  intelligent  things  for  once. All the  same  there  was  one  key  element  they  were  missing,  and  never  hitting  on;  he  felt  it,  but  could  not  name  it,  and  it  irritated  him  no  end. Perhaps they  would  arrive  at  it  if  he  would  only  listen.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “…So  I  was  at  the  beach,  right,  this  is  really  funny,  a  huge  wave  comes  up  and  it  just  covers  me  up  and  I  like  couldn’t  swim  to  save  my  life  no  matter  how  much  I  fought,  and  Ben  had  to  pull  me  out  of  the  current  and  it just  totally  ate  our  sand  castle…”  Brooke  was  saying.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Wave. Why was  he  thinking  about  waves? Devouring sand  castles…towers…the  consuming  wave…

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           He  shook  his  head,  furious. It had  something  to  do  with  last  night’s  dream,  the  one  he  couldn’t  remember. It was  exasperating.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “What  am  I  seeing?”  he  murmered. “If I  really  am  one  of  those  who  can  see,  then  what  is  being  shown  me? Not just  the  Tree. Something more…something  big…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “…when  I  was with  Brad,  it  was  just like  Hey,  how’s  it  going? but now  this  other  boy  in  school  is  hitting  on  me  and  Brad’s  like  How  can  you  possibly  do  this  to  me,  Bell? and I’m  like  What  the…? where did  you  ever  get  that  idea?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Forest  got  up  abruptly. He didn’t  feel  like  wasting  time  listening to  girls  discussing  boy  troubles. He was  hungry  and  wanted  to  think. And paint. Maybe if  he  finally  finished  painting  the  Tree  he  might  remember  his dream. Neither girl  noticed  him  leave. Even though  he  was  used  to  this  happening—and  used  it,  on  more  than  one  occasion—it  miffed  him  a  little  for  some  reason. They were  still  happily  chattering  as  he  headed  down  the  stairs  to  check  out  his  book.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Silver  gleaming  and  dripping  from  the  boughs. Dews of  glowing  white  edged  on  the  bottom  of  the  droplets  with  his  brightest  silver  pencils  and  paints.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Deep  lustrous  velvet-green  for  the  upper  leaves,  and  from  under  every  leaf  tiny  rays  of  white.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Glowing  white  bole  and  glowing  white  boughs,  light  both  shining  and  streaming  from  the  wood.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Swinging  small  flowers  at  the  sides  of  the  farther  twigs  and  tips of  every  branch;  he  could  not  picture  their  incredible  detail,  even  with  his  thinnest  silver  ink,  so  he  made  them  incandescent  and  indistinct. The result  fitted  well  enough.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           All  during  Thanksgiving  break  Forest  painted. His aunt  and  grandmother  came  over,  as  well  as  some  of  Mom’s  friends,  and  the  grown-ups  were  having  enough  good  times  downstairs  for  him  to  escape  memory  for  incredible  periods. Mrs. Lake did  remember  to  feed  him  and  yell  at  him  to  come  down  for  dinner;  Forest  ate  as  fast  as  he  could  and  bolted  back  upstairs. The Tree…with  the  reflection  of  the  Other  Tree  and  even  some  protruding  limbs  of  new-green  and  fiery  gold  leaves  and  trumpet-like  blossoms  of  golden  orange  flame…the  deep  faintness  of  the  shadowy  background…far  from  finished,  but  closer  to  it.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Come  and  breathe  the  fresh  air,  Forest. ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Gold  and  yellow  and  glowing  red  filled  his  mind. Silver, white  and  laurel  green. New-green and misty  dark  blueness. He gloried  in  it,  although  eye  and  head  ached.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Too  long  have  you  sat  in  the  shadows. Come and  see  what  the  wind  and  the  sky  are  doing. ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Forest  put  aside  his  pens  and  rinsed  his  brushes. He stumbled  a  little  as  he  got  up;  he  was  stiff  and  sore  from  not  moving. Clumsily he  went  over  to  the  window.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Let  me  see  it,  Forest. ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Not  quite  knowing  why,  Forest  took  the  large  sheet  of  damp  thick  paper  and  the  drawing  board  it  was  fastened  to,  and  headed  downstairs  with  it. The house  was  dead  and  silent:  that’s  right,  Mom  had  called  up  that  they  were  going  out  somewhere. He opened  the  front  door.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “May  I  come  in? asked the  man  in  the  brown  leather  coat. A bitter  wind  hissed  into  the  front  hall  through  the  doorway. “It’s very  cold  outside,  and  one  cannot  talk  well  in  the  cold.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Um,  sure,  come  on  in.”  said  Forest,  a  delighted  grin  breaking  over  his  thin  pale  face. “Nobody’s home,  but  there’s  lots  of  leftover,  so  please  go  ahead.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           The  man  smiled  as  he  cut  some  blueberry  and  mincemeat  pie  and  added  whipped  cream. “May I  see  the Tree?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           Slowly,  almost  reluctantly,  Forest  brought  out  his  tremendous,  secret  painting  and  gave  it  to  him.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           The  man  held  up  the  board. His weathered  gentle  face  grew  grim,  sad,  laden  with  memory  and  laden  with  laughter  long  passed  from  the  earth. A glow  was  arising from  the  paint. In the  dim  sitting  room  it  seemed  to  bear  a  soft  halo,  as  if  the  Tree  was  awaking,  was  coming  into  life.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “What  a  marvelous  likeness.”  he  murmered. “Not as it  was,  but  a  glimpse  of  it,  incarnate  for  eyes  to  behold  it  that  can. Did you know,  Forest,  that  the Trees  lived  on,  or  one  of  them  at  least?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “But  they  were  stabbed.”  the  boy  stammered. “The darkness  of  the  rider  drank  their  life.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “And  from  them  grew  the  Sun  and  Moon.”  the  man  in  brown  answered. He took  off  his  fur-muffed  cap  he  had  worn  against  the  cold  and  raked  one  hand  through  his  hat-ruffled  hair. Black as  coal  it  looked  against  the  brightness  of  the  painting. “Each bore  one  fruit  and  only  one  in  all  its’  ages  of  living. The fruit  of  the  Second  became  the  bark  of  the  Sun,  but  what  of  the  other?” “The Moon  was  made  of  a  blossom,  not  a  fruit.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “The  fruit  I  speak  of  arose  long  before,  when  the  Gods  were  still  in  bliss  and  no  shadow  on  Tavenda  lay. So rare  and  wonderful  a  thing  was  it  the  Gods  were  at  a  loss  for  what  to  do  with  it. In the end  they  deemed  it  was  meant  to  be  grown,  and  so  they  put  it  down  into  the  earth  and  watched  for  it  to  wake. And behold  as  they  watched  it  put  up  a  shoot  of  pure  white  wood  and  dark  green  leaf,  and  it  grew  tall,  and  large,  until  it  was  higher  than  the  Gods  and  bore  blossoms like  living  snow,  and  there  stood  a  tree  in  the  image  of  the  Tree  of  Silver,  elder  of  the  Two:  but  it  gave  no  light  and  drank  no  light,  growing  as  any  other  tree  of  mortal  worlds. And the  Gods  took  it  to  the  Tavenda,  who  yearned  to  see  both  the  Trees  and  the  Stars  who  were  hidden  by  the  Trees,  and  they  set  it  in  their  city  and  it  grew  tall  and  fair. The fruits  of  this  tree  were  taken  to  the  mortal  shores  over  time,  as  a  gift  from  king  to  king,  and  as  a  treasure  snatched  from  the  great  disaster.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Does  it  still  grow?”  said  Forest  breathlessly.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           The  man  in  brown  shook  his head. “Only across  the  Vanished  Sea,  in  the  immortal  lands  forever  sealed to  mortals,  Forest. Not here  in  Arda. Not upon  the  mortal  shores.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Why?”  Forest  cried. “What happened  to  it?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “It  was  forgotten  in  the  changes  of  the  world.”  the  other  answered,  his  voice  remote  and  distant. “It was  destroyed  in  the  Great  Submerging,  when  the  ancient  world  was  washed  from  off  the  earth  and  even  the  memory  of  the  Elves  was  destroyed. No seedlings  remained. One fruit  alone  escaped,  but  that  fruit  was  laden  with  doom,  for  it  was  foretold  over  it  that  if  it  was  planted,  it  would  never  fruit  again. So it  has  been  treasured,  in  secret  places  and  hidden  hills,  from  age  unto  age  of  the  Dominion  of  Men. And Men  have  spread  across  the  earth,  and  nowhere  can  the  fruit  be  safely  planted  as  it  must  be  in  the  last  Age  of  the  World,  for  Men  will  destroy  it  as  they  destroy  in  the  end  all  things  that  are  fair.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “But  I  don’t  understand.”  said  Forest. “A tree  as  fair  and  wonderful  as  this  would  not  be  harmed. The environmentalists  would  declare  it  an  endangered  species.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “No,”  the  stranger  said  firmly. “The White  Tree  is  bound  with  the  Kings  of  Men,  whose  line  has  disappeared;  bound  with  their  fate,  it  will  not  abide  being  made  into  an  altar  by  the  fools  who  think  Man  is  a  pestilence  on  Nature. Nor would  it  be  free  even  then. The scientists  would  take  it  and  would  dismantle  its’  nature,  and  drag it  down  into  a  thing  of  experiment. No, Forest,  the  world  can  no  longer  endure  the  White  Tree of  Heaven.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “The  fruit  will  die  soon  if  it  is  not  planted,  am  I  right?”  said  Forest.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           The  man  in  brown  stared  at  him. “You have  keen  sight  indeed,  son  of  the  trees. And I  should  expect  no less,  for  it  was  for  that  cause  that  I  called  you.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Is  the  fruit  still—in  the  world?”  Is  it  still  where  mortals  can  see  it,  was  what  he  had  meant  to  say,  but  the  man  understood  and  answered  him  anyway.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “I  planted  it.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           At  this  flat  statement  Forest  looked  quickly  up,  his  eyes  wide  and  bright  in  the  dim  room,  as  if  they  caught  the  light  of  his  strange  painting.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Where?”  was  all  he  could  say.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “I  hid  it.”  the  man  in  brown  replied. “What is  not  there  cannot  be  harmed,  and  what  men do  not  see  they  do  not  destroy. Every hundred  years  it  can  be  seen  for  one  mortal  night,  but  the  Road  will  let  none  touch  it,  nor  it  pass  forth.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “What  is  the  Road?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           The  man  in  brown  finished  his  pie  and  took  a  slice  of  turkey. A twinkle  shone  in  his  amber-and-blue  eyes. “You do  not  know  of  the  peril  ‘mid  which  we  stand,”  he  began  to  sing  in  an  odd  melancholy  tune,   “you  do  not  know  of  the  dangers  of  this  land…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “How  can  I  know  the  dangers  if  no  one  will  tell  me  them?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           “Because  dangers  were  not  meant  to  be  known,  but  to  be  evaded.”  the  man  in  brown  answered. “Warnings are  not  intended  to  explain. The Tree  lives,  and  the  Trees  are  dead,  and  the  Tree  painted  may  be  more  than  it  may  seem. Paint them,  Forest. But do  not  incarnate  them,  nor  seek  to  call  up  what  has  been  concealed. When the  Road  is  sent  it  does  not  brook  dissent,  and  the  call  of  the  Road  is  not  easy  to  gainsay.”

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<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           December  drew  on. In the  churches—for  all  of  them,  Methodists  and  Baptists  no  less  than  the  Catholics,  had  come  to  accept  and  celebrate  Advent—the  pine  wreaths  and  thick  candles,  three purple  and  one  pink,  were  set  up  and  lighted  each  Sunday. It grew  steadily  colder. From being  barely  frost-temperature at  night,  it  became  usual  for  it  to  be  in  the  20s,  and  then  in  the  teens,  and  then  single  digits. Lara delighted  in  the  cold. The streams  became  fringed  with  ice,  layer  on  horizontal  layer,  around  every  rock,  and  every  pendant  twig  too  near  the  water  became  a  pear-shaped  blob  of  silvery  grey  that  grew  steadily  thicker. Ice clods  rose  up  from  every  damp  place,  vertical pillars  meshed  together,  a  couple  inches  every  day,  and  every  day  a  new  layer. Lilac just  wanted  it  to  snow.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Lara  liked  the  grim  weather. Even when  she  had  to  wear  layers  indoors,  she  liked  it. The little  house  was  drafty,  despite  all  the  plastic  on  the  windows  and  some  extra  insulation. Lilac, of  course,  just  curled  up  in  a  ball  by  the  heater  and  wrapped  herself  in  quilts  and refused  to  budge.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Now  if  we  could  only  get snow  by  Christmas.”  she  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  don’t  understand  how  you  can  be  such  a  snugglepuss  and  still  want  snow.”  Lara  said  affectionately.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Mmmp,  it’s  warm  in  here.”  Lilac  mumbled  with  a  dimpled  grin  and  buried  her  head  in  the  covers. Summer, who  was  supposed  to  be  being  minded  by  Lara,  began  to  grunt  very  oddly  from  her  bassinet. “And Summer  smells  bad.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh,  she’d  better  not.”  said  Lara. Scooping the  big-eyed  infant  up  she  glared  at  him  in  mock  ferocity. “Do you  smell bad? You’re not  supposed  to  smell  bad.”  she  growled. Summer flapped  one  tiny  arm.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “How  dare  you  smell  bad?”  Lilac  put  in,  grinning  even  more.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Those  who  smell  bad  shall  be  anathema!

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Their  diapers  certainly  shall  be!” Laughing, Lara  went  off  to  change  the  baby. When Summer  had  a  nice  new  diaper  Lara  strolled  around  the  bedrooms,  dangling  the  bassinet  from  one  elbow  band  alternately  making  faces  at  the  baby  and  gazing  out  the  windows. Summer gurgled. Lara put  her  down  with  relief—she  was  getting  heavy—and  leaned  on  the  windowsill  of  her  own  room,  gazing  out  at  the  two-inch snow  cover  on  the  steep  hill. She sighed. The moon  hung  low  in  the  trees  on  the  right. The hill  below  her,  marred  and  scraped  nearly  bare  of  snow  by  the  treads  of  Midwinter  sleds,  looked  mottled  in  the faint  blue  light  where  the  sun  had  melted  it. There were  no  streetlights  on  Mountain  Road,  and  only  the  yardlights  of  the  farm  beneath  her  spoiled  the  scene. Lara twisted  her  neck,  gazing  up  to  where  the  stars  stared  down  like  ancient  white  jewels  strung  upon  the  trees.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Summer  made  noises,  but  her  big  sister  didn’t  hear  her. She was  listening  to  something  else,  elusive,  cold,  silver  and  blue;  something  was  singing,  haunting  and  melancholy  and  ominous,  on  the  very  edges  of  hearing. It could  not  have  been  the  wind,  for  there  was  no  wind,  and  the  trees  around  her  did  not  move. Something was  singing,  the  echo  of  singing,  like  the  voice  in  the  wind  she  had  heard  so  long  ago,  a  month  ago,  a  thousand  years  ago;  and  Lara  listened,  frozen  into  place.

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<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">Empty heavens  filling  till  the  night  is  spangled  day ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">Stars so  close  and  banded  as  to  drive  the  dark  away ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">Stars swirl-warring  as  the  heavens  shake  and  play ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">Doomed as  they  stand  near  and  say… ''

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<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           A gust  of  wind  roared  through  the  oak  branches. The  deep  moan  drowned  the  strange  singing,  rising  up  to  overwhelm  it  on  all  sides  of  it,  and  like  a  single  slash  of  light  Lara  saw  a  shooting  star flash  and  die  across  the  heavens. Only meteors,  she  knew,  but  the  sight  somehow  filled  her  with  an  inexpressible  sorrow,  as  if  she  was  seeing  the  destruction  of  one  more  shard of  some  unimaginable  war. The wind  rose  to  a  scream  and  in  the  scurrying  shreds  of  moon-silvered  cloud  she  saw  outlined  for  a  moment  a  terrible  face,  looking  into  hers;  but  the  clouds  shredded  apart  and  were  gone,  and  the  wind  roared  on  and  took  them  with  it. And as  the  silence  and  cold  settled  back  upon  Riverton,  Lara  heard  the  singing  once  again.

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<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">Shapes and  shadows  form  as  they  parade  across  the  sky ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">The world  that  they  mirror  as they  all  go  down  to  die ''

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">Stars unwinking  gaze  upon  the  Earthland  going  by 

<p style="margin: 1em 0px">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">Shining upon  their  own  doom. ''

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<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  voices  dipped  steeply  at  the  last  note,  as  if  plunging  into  destruction,  and  were  gone. Lara remained  at  the  window,  tears  frozen  to  her  lids  as  she  listened,  listened  for  more,  but  the  voices  had  gone  and  the  singing  was  silenced.

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<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Ronnie  Wendy  looked  around  as  Mass  got  out,  but  among  the  many  faces  draining  out  of  the  pews  he  didn’t  see  Travel’s. He felt  disappointed. It would  have  been  so  nice  if  she’d  come  over,  but  she  hadn’t. There was  no  help  for  it;  he  was  going  to  have  to  go  to  St. James.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Thin  powdery  snow  covered  the  ground,  and  a  frigid  December  wind  hissed  at  his  nose  as  he  pulled  up  his  scarf. The Midwinters  hadn’t  been  around  as  much, and  even  though  Lara  had  showed  up  today,  she’d  seemed  distracted,  those  blank  bright  eyes  haunted  and  shadowy. She’d smiled  and  talked  a  little,  but  almost  as  if  she  just  wanted  to  be  polite. He hadn’t  lingered.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Inside  St. James turned  out  to  be  smaller  than  he’d  expected. He had  the  hardest  time  remembering  not  to  bless  himself  with  holy  water  that  wasn’t  there  or  to  not  genuflect  before  entering  the  pew. Catholic habits,  he  thought  with  a  smile. He wasn’t  even  early,  as  it  turned  out;  Father’s  sermon  had  been  long,  and  there  was  the  Advent  wreath  lighting,  so  the  8:00  Mass  had  actually  gotten  out  at  9:15. There seemed  to  only  be  a  few  people  here;  twenty  at  most,  he  counted. One dark-haired  girl  flanked  by  a  lumbering  silver-headed  man  and  a  tall  stiff  old  woman  sat  near  the  front,  and  he  wondered  if  that  was  Travel.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           To  occupy  himself  as  the  mass  proceeded  he  gazed  around  the  interior. Small and  square,  the  sanctuary  walls  painted  a  dull  peach,  the  rest  grey  and  ancient  white,  thick  squat  columns,  fat  arches. He kept  being  distracted  from  his  scrutiny,  especially  before  mass,  by  the  fact  that  nobody  left  him  alone. Little old  ladies  were  always  coming  up  and  welcoming  him. He was  relieved  when  the  service  began.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  readings—except  here  they  called  them  “lessons”—passed  by  him. More and  more  Ronnie  felt  the  strange  atmosphere  of  St. James as  he  gazed  around  him. Dull, queer,  grey  and  brown,  tomblike  walls  and  catacomb  pillars:  it  felt  like  half  a  church,  a  church  halved,  dying,  cut  off  from  its’  source. How true  that  was  of  the  Episcopal  church  as  a  whole,  he  thought. A branch  severed,  what  little  sap  remained  drying  up,  leaves  wilting. It is  not  the  true  Church. He gazed  at  the  stained  glass  windows,  brilliant  stained  glass  like  jewels  of  red  and  green  and  blue. Except for  one  window.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Seek  ye-e  first  the-e  ki-ing-dom  of  God…”  sang  the  scanty  congregation.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           That  window,  halfway  up  the  left  side,  was  without  color. Pale dull-hued  glass  depicted  grim  colorless  saints—or  angels,  it  was  hard  to  tell. Ronnie stared  at  it  hard.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  service  had  many  songs  Ronnie  remembered  singing  at  St. Joseph’s. It was  very  like  a  Catholic  Mass. Including a  lousy  Sign  of  Peace  where  everybody  went  around  shaking  everybody  else’s  hand  and  Ronnie  had  to  respectfully  incline  his  head  to  avoid  shaking  hands. He felt  supremely  irritated. Like most  Catholics  he  preferred  to  worship  in  quiet  anonymity.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Hos—aaa—anna….Hosannna… <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           They  can’t  even  pronounce  Hosanna! Ronnie thought  in  disgust. Just as  bad  as  the  Praise  &  Worship  charismatics  at  the  7:00  Mass. To hear  Hosanna  pronounced  Hoz-aih-nna  instead  of  Hos-onna  was—jarring,  to  say  the  least. He remembered  at  the  youth  group  he  had  sarcastically  inquired  “Who  is  Anna  and  why  do  we  worship  her  hoses?”  but  nobody  got  the  point.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Afterwards,  dexterously  avoiding  his  landladies  who  apparently  went  to  this  church  and  were  trying  to  welcome  him  to  death,  Ronnie  made  his  way to  the  dark-haired  girl.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Are  you…Travel?”  he  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           She  recognized  him  at  once. “Oh! Hey! Ronnie from  Super  Stop  &  Shop! How are  you?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Pretty  good. I got  tired  of  waiting  for  you  to  come  over.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “All  part  of  my  deep-seated  plan  to  bring  you  into  the  fold. Hey Dad,  this  is my  friend  Ronnie. Ron, this  is  my dad,  Mr.  Lane,  and  my  grandmother.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Hi!”  Mr. Lane said  with  a  sunny  old-man  grin  as  he  shook  hands. “An honor  to  meet  you.”  Grandmother  Lane  murmered  as  she  gave  a  slight  bow. Ronnie returned  the  bow  and  replied,  “And  you  likewise.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Come,  Rufus,  these  two  have  some  talking  to  take  care  of,  and  Travel  did  bring  her  own  car.”  said  Grandmother  Lane,  steering  Mr. Lane easily  down  the  aisle.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “So…what  shall  we  talk  about  first?”  said  Travel  after  a  pause  of  about  half  a  minute  during  which  they  stared  blankly  at  each other.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh,  the  names  of  the  stars,  and  of  all  living  things,  and  the  whole  history  of  Middle-earth  and  Over-heaven  and  the  Sundering  Seas.”  laughed  Ronnie.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Mercy!”  Travel  wailed. “If the  giving  of  information  is  to  be  the  cure  of  your  inquisitiveness—“

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  shall  spend  all  the  rest  of  my  days  in  answering  you!”  both  of  them  said  at  the  same  time,  and  laughed.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Not  bad,  you  can  even  quote  Lord  of  the  Rings.”  said  Ronnie.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “By the  page.”  she  answered  brightly.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Do  you  know  the  history  of  Middle-earth?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Probably  not  well  enough  to  give  a  complete  summary  of  it,  but  enough. You know  where  he  got  the  word  Middle-earth  from? It was  originally  Midgard  from  Norse  mythology.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Well,  it  had  a  bit  of  a  different  meaning  there.”  Ronnie  replied. “They held  that  the  universe  was  a  huge  tree  with  nine  worlds  in  its’  bole,  and  ours—Midgarth—was  between  Surt  or  Muspelheim  the  fire-world  and  the  worlds  of  the  Light-Elves  and  the  Gods. Old English  rendered  it  middengeard  and  by  that I  think  meant  the  middle-world,  between  the  East  and  the  West.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Be  interesting  to  look  it  up.”  said  Travel. “Muspelheim? So in  Voyage  to  Arcturus,  that Muspel-fire  the  hero  seeks  at  the  expense  of  everything  good,  is  actually  evil?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “The  funny  thing  is,”  said  Ronnie,  Tolkien  intended  Middle-earth  to  actually  be  our  world,  in  the  remote  past,  before  the  Flood,  before  the  Ice  Age—even  before  Atlantis.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “You  serious? Where’d the  Misty  Mountains  go  to,  then?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Well,  it  actually  is  pretty  interesting,  if  you  get  out  a  map  of  Europe  and  look  at  it. I mean,  if  Lindon  broke  off  from  the  Blue  Mountains  and  they  in  turn  got  sundered  by  drowned  land  from  the  area  east  of  the  Lune  River,  you  get  Ireland  and  England,  and  the  Gulf  of  Lune  splits  Cornwall  from  Wales. Then suppose  the  Misty  Mountains  are  tectonically  displaced  so  as  to  run  NE  along  the  coast  of  Norway..”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “But  that  would  drown  the  Shire!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Possible,  but  if  that  got  displaced  as  well  it  would  end  up  in  the  Netherlands.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yeah,  the  Dutch  are  a  little  like  hobbits  in  some  ways.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Or  were  before  modern  culture.”  said  Ronnie  darkly. “The Entwives  would  like  their  country,  certainly. Then you  have  the Baltic  Sea  filling  the  Anduin  Vales,  and  the  Mirkwood—which  was  originally  in  the  Edda  as  Myrkwudu,  you  know—“

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “The  Edda?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Sorry. A bunch  of  Norse  epic  poetry  called  the  Edda. But if  Mirkwood  became  Middle  Germany,  that  would  leave  Wilderland  as  the  entire  Germanic  countries,  and  the  Alps  as  the  White  Mountains,  and  then  you  have  of  course  Mordor.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Unless  the  Great  Sea  should  enter  in  and  wash  it  with  oblivion <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">!”  Travel  exclaimed. “Of course! The Black  Sea  is  Mordor!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “And  Minas  Tirith  becomes  Byzantium  if  you  slur  it!”  Ronnie  said  excitedly. “Of course,  Spain  and  Italy  are  a  problem…but  if  the  White  Mountains  split  in  two  and  peeled  Gondor  off  to  the  south,  and  if  the  seabed  around  Andrast  was  raised  and  Africa  tectonically displaced  north…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Then  the  Sea  of  Rhûn  would  become  the  Caspian  Sea!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Exactly.”  said  Ronnie. “Which brings  up  an  interesting  point. Tolkien always  felt  he  wasn’t  ‘inventing’  so  much  as  ‘recording’  something  that  was  ‘coming  through’  to  him. And in  fact,  in  one  of  his  letters  he  says  how  he  got  a  visit  from  a  man  who  reminded  him  of  Gandalf. He had  found  a  lot  of  paintings  that  seemed  designed  to  illustrate  episodes  in  the  Lord  of  the  Rings,  and  he  wanted  to  know  if  Tolkien  had  been  influenced  by  them. When it  became  obvious  Tolkien  had  never  even  heard  of  them,  the  man  fell  silent. Suddenly he  said,  “Of  course  you  don’t  suppose,  do  you,  that  you  wrote  that  whole  book  yourself?’  Tolkien  said  that  was  ‘pure  Gandalf’,  and  knowing  better  than  to  ask  him  what  he  meant,  replied,  ‘No,  I  don’t  suppose  so  any  longer.’ ”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “That’s  creepy.”  said  Travel. “You think  that  writers,  in  some  strange  intuitive  way,  are  chosen  to  suggest  or  bring  back  the  past  that  has  vanished? But how  does  that  square  with  the  Bible?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “The  Bible  had  only  one  purpose,  to  record  the  saving  of  humanity  by Christ,  starting  with  the  Chosen  People  and  ignoring  everything  else. For all  we  know  the  ancient  Hebrews—well,  the  Patriarchs,  actually,  since  Heber  didn’t  come  till  after  the  Flood—could  have  been  living  quietly  in  Khand  or  Near  Harad  while  the  Easterlings  moved  all  around  them. Genesis is  really  sketchy  about  pre-Abraham  days.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh  yeah,  I  forgot  how  far  back  the  Flood  goes.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Flood  deposits  in  ruined  cities  put  the  Deluge  at  about  7000  BC,  roughly. Even bump  it  up  to  6000  BC  and  you’re  still  prior  to  most  of  known  history. Egypt—only to  3  or  4000  BC. China—maybe a  little  farther. Same with  India.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “They  say  mankind  originated  in  Africa.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Because  they  find  ruins  older  than  Egyptian  there? Piffle. The Garden  of  Eden  was  at  the  headwaters  of  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates;  but  scientists  do  not  believe  in  the  Bible.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “But  what  about  the  solar  bodies? They were  orbiting  the  Earth,  right  in  the  upper  atmosphere  if  I  remember. How’d he  deal  with  modern  cosmology?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “He  didn’t.”  said  Ronnie. “He never  solved that  problem. At one  point  he  was  about  to  unmake  the  whole  mythology  to  bring  it  into  line  with  modern  science,  with  how  the  heavens  are  today;  because  he  felt  the  myths  were  true  on  some  strange  level. He gave  up  on  that,  but  still  realized  it  was  a  problem.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Travel  laughed. “Oh goodness. Here we  are  actually  treating  the  Lord  of  the  Rings  as  real. Isn’t that  just  crazy? I mean,  we  look  up  at  the  Moon  and  we  can  see  the  dark  plains  on  its’  stone  surface. We see  the  Sun  and  the  Planets,  and  we  know  they  are  far  away,  and  that  the  Sun  is  a  ball  of  burning  gas.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “That  is  not  what  a  star  is,  but  only  what  it  is  made  of.”  Ronnie  quoted  Narnia.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “True  that! Isn’t it  a  pity,  though? You look  at  Lord  of  the  Rings  and  you  wish  that  it  was  real,  it  hangs  so  close  together,  it  feels  so  true. But I  guess  we’ll  never  know.”  Travel  said  sadly.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Not  upon  this  Middle-earth,  at  any  rate.”  Ronnie  agreed.

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<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Christmas  decorations  were  being  strung  up  in  the  big  reading  room,  and  Forest  sat  on  the  brown  plush  furniture,  concentrating  on  a  book. It was  hard  to  read,  with  the  giggling  of  the  teenaged  assistants  who  were  setting  up  the  tree  across  from  him. Long skinny  Mindy,  merry  and  friendly,  was  bopping  pretty  brown-haired  Miranda  over  the  head  with  ornaments. Forest put  down  the  book  and  listlessly  picked  up  a  collection  of  stories  about  Highland  Lake. Something was  teasing  at  him,  pulling  him:  that  dream  he  could  not  remember,  perhaps,  trying  to  emerge. Something about  a  beach. He frowned  at  a  color  photo  of  the  beach  at  First  Bay. Waves…waves pounding,  devouring  sand  castles…devouring  towers  and  temples…steam  exploding  from  a  volcano  as  the  sea  covered  it…

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           He  gasped. He no longer  sat  in  the  library. He stood  on  an  unseen  height,  looking  out  over  a  green  and  white  city  of  such  beauty  and  culture he  could  only  gape. It made  the  skyscrapers  of  Hartford  look  like  crude  and  primitive  towers,  of  a  decadent  civilization  incapable  of  rising  past  a  certain  level. But the  land  was  dark. Huge storm  clouds  boiled  and  lashed,  and  clouds  poured from  the  mountain  in  the  center  of  the  land,  and  smoke  came  ceaselessly  from  the  temple  on  the  hill  above  the  city,  smoking  like  a  volcano. He heard  the  crack  of  thunder,  and  then  greater  than  thunder  the  shout  of  mighty  horns. Ships like  floating  cities  or  swimming  castles  were  moving  slowly  past  him,  black  and  red  and  gold,  rowing  ponderously,  inexorably,  to  overthrow  the  very  Gods  themselves  and  cast  down  the  stars  from  heaven. And from  the  darkness  of  the  temple  the  rider  of  the  darkness  heard  the  horns  and  laughed.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  sky  snapped  asunder. The earth  folded  beneath  him,  slanting  to  left  and  to  right,  and  where  it  broke  a  giant  fissure  yawned  amid  the  sea,  sucking  it  down. Forest was  rushing  backward  now  as  the  land  sank  like  a  foundering  ship  and  the  wave  climbed  over  it,  over  hill  and  tower  and  burning  mountain,  and  the  land  was  gone. Chasm and  sea  were  shrinking  as  he  shot  farther  up  and  back,  and  huge  reaches  of  land  were  coming  into  view,  and  he  could  see  the  entire  earth  bending  and  crumpling  as  if  gigantic  hands  were  pushing  down. The earth  was  not  round. It had  been  flat,  like  to  a  mighty  ship,  lands  and  seas  only  upon  the  surface. Underneath were  ancient  jags  and  enormous  grots  and  roots  of  stone,  and  as  he  watched  from  what  had  to  be  outer  space  he  saw  this  underside  being  squeezed,  compressed,  melting  in  the  violence  of  its’  bending  until  it  became  solid,  a  core  of  black  glass  a  thousand  miles  thick,  and  it  was  alive. Half-molten rock,  soft  as  dough,  squeezed  out  of  the  bottom,  spreading  out  as  if  smoothed  by  the  same  power  that  was  bending  the  entire  world,  until  there  before  him  a  globe  now  hovered. Where had  once  been  only  a  small  heart  of  fire,  was  now  a  sealed  sea  of  it,  and  molten  rock  pulsed  around  its’  core. He saw  the  seas  spreading  out  into  new  beds,  and  steaming  there  stood  a  new  land  along  the  seam  of  the  bent  world. He saw  the  air  bent  as  well,  and  heard  the  weeping  of  the  stars  as  they  were  made  to  forsake  their  ancient  paths  and  walk  in  new  roads  around  the  world  that  was  round.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “The  world  was  flat.”  he  said  in  awe.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  library  rushed  back  upon  him,  almost  as  if  dropped  in  front  of  him  with  a  crash. He sat  in  a  daze  for  some  time  as  the  voices  of  the  chattering  girls  flickered  in  and  out  of  his  awareness,  along  with  snatches  of  the  tremendous  vision  he  had  been  jolted  into  remembering.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">“Are you  all  right?”  said  a  girl’s  voice  in  some  concern. Forest, still in  a  daze,  barely  registered  the  spare  trim  form  and  hollow,  almost  blank  face  of  the  girl  addressing  him. When she  spoke  all  he  saw  were  her  eyes:  blank  in  rest,  they  flashed  into  life  with  a  sort  of  abstract  intensity. Almost like  stars.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “The  stars  are  weeping.”  he  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh  dear,  you  really  must  be  feeling  bad. Let me  see—no,  you  don’t  have  a  fever. You feel anything?”  she  said  in  a  concerned  voice.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I…no,  it’s  just…I  saw…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “What  did  you  see?”  said  the  girl,  sitting  on  the  coffee  table  in  front  of  him. “Maybe if  you  can  tell  me  about  it…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  can’t.”  said  Forest. “I can’t  tell  you. You haven’t  seen  the  Tree.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “The  Tree?”  said  the  girl,  regarding  him  very  strangely.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Forest  felt  acutely  foolish. Why did  he  always  come  out  with  weird-sounding  things  and  seem  so  stupid? He looked  at  the  ground  and  wished  she  would  go  away.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Why  were  the  stars  weeping?”  she  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           He  thought  about  not  saying  anything  at  all. Maybe then  she  wouldn’t  think  him  an  idiot. He felt  slow  heat  crawling  through  his  face.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Because  they  had  to  change  their  courses,  Lara.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Forest  looked  up  quickly. The man  in  the  brown  coat  was  standing  behind  his  chair. He had  a  scarf  pulled  tight  around  his  neck,  but  his  head  was  bare,  and  the  wind  outside  had  stood  his  dark  hair  all  on  end.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Do  I  know  you  from…? Oh, wait,  I  saw  you  at  St. Joseph’s, didn’t  I?”  Lara  exclaimed.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Do  not  look  down  on  those  who  can  see.”  he  said  solemnly. “And do  not  call  attention  to  them  having  sight. To do  so  would  be  dangerous.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “From  what?”  said  Lara,  that  intense  focus  in  her  eyes  again.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “All  Creation  will  make  league  to  destroy  him.”  Forest  said.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “But  I  don’t  see  what…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Lara,  you  will  simply  have  to  take  my  word  for  it.”  the  man  in  brown  said. “The Door  of  Night  is  open.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           From  the  sudden  shock  in  her  face,  Forest  knew  the  ominous  words  conveyed  something  to  her. “I saw  a  face  in  the  clouds…”  she  said. “A terrible  face.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yes.”  the  man  in  brown  replied. “He is  loose. Forest, now  that  you  have  met,  may  I  introduce  Lara  Midwinter  of  Riverton. Lara, this  is  Forest  Lake  of  Wintergreen  Island. Mark him  well,  for  he  is  not  easy  to  see;  for  his  own  protection  he  was  hidden. Do not  be  afraid  to  speak  to  her,  Forest. She has,  in  her  fashion,  seen  the  Tree.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “But  she  didn’t  know  what  it  was.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  man  in  brown  looked  at  him  with  a  mysterious  expression. “She is  of  the  stars,  Forest. Do not  expect  her  to  see  the  same  as  you.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Both  children  gazed  at  him,  intent,  wondering.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “We  will  have  snow  tonight,  I  can  feel,”  he  said,  pulling  up his  scarf. “Not much, but  enough. It’ll pretty  much  ruin  the  ice  upon  the  Long  Lake,  which  is  a  pity. It was  just  starting  to  be  thick  enough  to  walk  on. The ice  fishers  were  out  none  the  less,  of  course.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “They’re  insane.”  said  Forest.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  agree  they  at  times  lack  the  brains  God  gave  little  peanuts.”  Brown  agreed. “I always  wait  for  a  stiff  freeze  before  I  go  out  there. Last time  I  was  in  these  parts  the  lake  was  at  the  mercy  of  all  the  factories  along  the  Outlet,  and  water  just  went  up  and  down. Not good  for  the  ice.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “That  must  have  been  a  long  time  ago.”  said  Lara,  looking  fuddled.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “The  last  of  them  expired  in  the  70s.”  the  man  in  brown  leather  said. “Hydroelectricity had  its’  perks,  but  perhaps  it  is  as  well  that  it  is  gone  from  our  hills.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yeah,  my  dad  is  always  saying  that  they  make  such  a  fuss  about  power  plants  and  complains  that  all  the  water  power here  would  solve  their  problems,  and  I’m  thinking,  There  go  the  streams.”  said  Lara.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Boyd  laments  in  the  Annals  the  spoiling  of  Robertsville  Falls  by  the  factory  there,  but  today  the  concrete  structures  that  remain  are old  and  beautiful  with  wear,  and  downstream  in  the  Gorge  only  some  masonry  remains  of  that  intrusion. They had  to  carry  out  an  archaeological  dig  to  find  the  former  industries!”  He  looked  up  suddenly. “Ah, there  is  your  mother,  Forest,  come  to  pick  you  up. It is  time  we  must  leave. We are  well-met,  Lara,  Forest.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Goodbye.”  said  Forest  with  a  shy  grin. “It was  nice  to  meet  you  again!”  said  Lara  to  the  man  in  brown. “Bye, Forest. Glad to  have  met  you.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Um,  same  here.”  said  Forest  awkwardly.

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<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Bellie! How are  you?”  Brooke  squealed.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Brookie!”  Bell  squealed  back, and  both  girls burst  into  giggles. “Come on  in! It’s too  cold  out  here!” “Why, thank  you.”  said  Brooke  laughingly  as  she  came  into  the  detached  blue  house  beside  the  bike  way. “Brrr! I like  winter,  but  single  digits? I tend  to  draw  the  line  there!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “It  is  so  awesome  you  got  your  license! Are you  going  to  get  your  own  car?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Hey,  I  just  turned  16. I think  driving  on  my  own  is  quite  enough  of  a  concession! Mom and  Dad  are  worried  as  it  is.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Hello,  Brooke.”  said  Hunter  Light,  coming  in  from  the  living  room. “What are  you  girls  planning  today?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh,  I  was  thinking  we’d  watch  a  movie.”  said  Bell.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “No  way! I wanted  to  see  the  beaver  dams! You told  me  all  about  them  and  now  I  won’t  get  to  see  them!”  Brooke  pouted.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh,  fine. We’ll go  for  a  walk  and  then  we’ll  watch  a  movie.” “Don’t tell  me—it’s  going  to  be  Beauty  and  the  Beast.”  said  Mr. Light.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Dad! No! It is  not!”  Bell  laughed. “I got  out  Bridge  to  Terebithia  for  just  that  reason!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Bridge? Ugh. I saw  that  one  way  back. Didn’t like  it.”  said  Brooke. “The story  went  all  wrong. Why did  they  have  to  kill  the  imaginative  girl  so  meaninglessly  halfway  in? I mean,  they  should  have  had  her  killed  in an  epic  duel  with  the  Dark  Master twig-thingy,  and  the  things  they  imagined  be  real,  only  visible  by  activating  your  imagination.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh  geez,  now  I  don’t  want  to  watch  it.”  complained  Bell.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Hey,  I  do  have  a  car! We can  go  to  Blockbuster’s  and  rent  Ghost  Rider!”  Brooke  laughed.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “You  sure  like  to  waste  money.”  said  Bell  as  she  headed  off  to  bundle  up.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           When  she  was  ready  the  two  girls  headed  out  into  the  cold. It was  blue  and  white  outside;  the  two-inch  snowfall  of  yesterday  lay  like  a  coat  of  paint  over  the  grey  and  brown  of  the  Still  River  swamplands. The sun  shone  bright  and  cold,  low  in  the  southern  sky—in  winter  it  was  never  in  the  east  or  west  but  in  the  south—and  the  blue  air  high  above  made  the  pale  grey  of  the  trees  all  the  more  distinct. The air  was  clear,  clean  and  deeply  cold. Bell consulted  the  outdoor  thermometer  and  dramatically  announced  it  was  19°. Brooke gave  an  exaggerated  sigh  of  relaxation  and  nearly  got  snowballed. There was  no  wind.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           They  shuffled  up  the  bike  path,  deeply  scarred  by  many  frozen  footprints,  heading  north  past  Burrville. After they  crossed  the  road  from  Burr  Mountain  the  bike  path  went  past  an  electricity  substation  with  all  sorts  of  poles  and  wires  and  such  like,  and  woods  drew  in  on  both  sides. The heard  the  odd  dry  whiss  of  cars  on  the  half-snowy  surface  of  Winsted  Rd  about  30  ft  away  on  the  left,  behind  the  belt  of  trees  on  that  side. On the  other  the  swamps  lay,  still  and  frozen  under  the  coat  of  white,  the  red  blush  of  winterberry  showing  here  and  there  among  the alders. The watercourse  of  the  silent  river  was  mostly  frozen  over,  save  for  here  and  there  where  patches  of  open  water remained  around  bushes  or  blockages. The beaver  dams  were  reached  in  due  course,  crescent-shaped  nets  of  twigs  and  branches  and  reeds  all  laid  so  they  slanted  upstream,  sloping  on  the  outside  and  steep  where  they  held  the  water  back.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  bet  you  could  cross  the  river  on  that.”  said  Brooke.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Don’t  you  dare!  It’ll  probably  collapse!”  shrieked  Bell.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh,  you’re  probably  right. I’m cold. Let’s go  watch  something.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Hey,  you  know  what?”  said  Bell  excitedly  as  they  hurried  back. “Dad says  you  can  drive  me  to  church  by  myself! He’s got  a  football  game  he  really  wants  to  watch,  and  he  figures  as  long  as  he  does  some  praying  he’s  keeping  the  Sabbath  so  it  isn’t  really  necessary  to  go  to  church.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I’m  Methodist.”  said  Brooke.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Well,  we  can  go  to  your  church,  then! I’ve always  wanted  to  see  what  it  looks  like. And it’s  not  like  you’re  Catholic.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Your  dad’s  anti-Catholic?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “No,  I  mean  he’d  have  less  issues  with  me  going  to  a  Methodist  church  than  a  Catholic  one.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yeah,  one  Protestant  church  is  much  like  another,  but  the  Catholics…there’s  something  distinct  about  them.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  wonder  why  that  is.”  Bell  said  pensively. “I mean,  I’ve  met  Catholics,  and  they  seem  perfectly  normal.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “They  believe  the  weirdest  things.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  liked  the  church,  though,  St. Joseph’s. The statue  of  St.  Joseph  on  the  front,  like  he’s  watching  over  Winsted—and  those  spires  on  the  altar—“

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yeah,  ours  is  kinda  small,  but  the  Lord  is  with  us.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Did  you  know  there  are  five  churches  in  Winsted,  all made  of  stone?”  Bell  remarked. “I heard  a  queer  rhyme  about  them  once,  back  in  October.  Hammers  and  urns,  say  the  bells  of  1st  Church…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Who  told  it  to  you?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Bell  grew  sober. “A strange  man  in  a  brown  leather  coat,  with  these  really  wise  old  eyes,  sort  of  ancient,  you  know? He didn’t  look  more  than  40,  but  those  eyes…I’ve  only  seen that  sort  of  look  in  very  old  men.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I’ve  seen  him,  too!”  Brooke  gasped. “Holy smoke! That’s the  guy  who  talked  to  me  at  the  meatball  supper!” Bell stopped  so  suddenly  the  snow  squealed  under  her  sneakers. “What did  he  say?” “Well, I…it’s  hard  to  remember  after  all  this  time…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “It’s  important. Everything he  says  is  important.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Brooke  grew  serious  as  she  reached  into  her  memory. “He gave  me  a  riddle  about  a  well,”  she  said  slowly,  :”and  he  wasn’t  too  pleased  when  I  asked  his  name. Oh! He said  something  across  the  room  just  before  I  lost  sight  of  him…he  called me  child  of  the  streams…he  said  he  would  have  need  of  me,  because  the  Road  was  returning.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Despite  the  breathless  cold  all  around  her  Bell  felt  uncomfortably  hot  and  prickly. “When did  they  close  it,  say  the  bells  of  Methodist’s…and  Forest  said  they  closed  the  Road.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “He  did?”  said  Brooke. “That’s freaky. What’s all  this  about  the  bells?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Bell  recited  the  ominous  rhyme,  her  voice  thin  and  strange  in  the  iron  air. Brooke grew  pensive  as  they  entered  Bell’s  yard. “This sounds  really  serious.”  she  said. “I wonder  what  all  this  has  to  do  with  us.”

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<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Sunday  was,  if  anything,  colder  than  before. Bell was  all  bundled  up  when  Brooke  drove  in,  and  lost  no  time  racing  to  the  car  and  climbing  inside.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Brrr-err-err-err,  rr-rr-rr.”  she  sang.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Fortunately  for  you  I  have  the  heater  on.”  Brooke  commented.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh  great,  now  I’m  going  to  have  to  take  all  this  stuff  off.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Brooke chuckled. “I won’t  put  it  that  high  up.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           In  due  course  they  pulled  up  along  Main  St  outside  the  grey  stone  United  Methodist  Church,  and  Brooke  parked  near  the  bank  next  door  as  there  was  no  room  in  front  of  the  church. It stood  massive  and  sturdy  on  the  corner  where  High  St  descended  to  Main,  the  bell  tower  on  the  south  square  but  with  a  pointed  roof  instead  of  the  flat  merloned  structure  above  Bell’s  church. A rounded  dome  covered  the  nave. There was  a  pair  of  double  doors  on  the  High  St  corner  and  a  single  pair  farther  over  on  the  left,  a  side  door  tucked  in  a  niche  next  the  stairs. The double  pair  was  unshovelled  as  the  entry  there  was  closed  for  repairs,  Brooke  explained. They walked  up  the  granite  stairs  and  pulled  open  the  blue  wood  doors,  which  looked  comfortingly  familiar  to  Bell. Inside was  a  small  vestibule  with  white  walls  and  dark  wood  flooring. A stair  wound  upward  to  the  galleries  on  the  left,  while  an  open  door  straight  ahead  led  into  the  school  area  where  the  inevitable  old  ladies  were  getting  cookies  ready. Swinging plain  doors  on  the  right  opened  into  the  church  interior.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Can  we  sit  in  the  back?”  Bell  whispered. “I feel  kind  of  shy.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “There’s  no  need  to  worry,  Bell,”  her  friend  answered,  “they’re  not  going  to  throw  you  out.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">“No, but  they  might  welcome  me  to  death.”  Bell  muttered.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Humoring  her,  Brooke  took  a  seat  in  one  of  the  far  back  pews. A couple  old  people  came  up  once  or  twice  and  asked  if  they  wanted  to  sit  with  the crowd,  but  Brooke  refused  and  Bell  breathed  easier. There were  exactly  25  people  in  the  pews  and  they  seemed  to  have  gathered  in  the  central  area.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           As  she  got  used  to  the  place,  Bell  began  slowly  to  relax  and  look  around. The church  was  built  in  a  semicircle  like  hers,  but  was  a  little  bigger,  with  great  overhead  galleries  curving  across  the  rear  side  of  the  semicircle. Warm golden-brown  woodwork  fronted  the  small  but  strangely  decorative  altar  with  the  pulpit  above  it. Great windows  on  the  south  and  west  let  in  a  flood  of  sunlight,  warm  and  colored  like  honey  from  the  peach  tinting  of  the  diamond-paned  windows. A watery-colored  stained-glass  window  of  the  Rich  Young  Man  was  just  visible  above  the  gallery  from  where  the  girls  sat. Red poinsettias  and  bows  lent  a  bright  focus  to  the  golden  brown  of  the  woodwork. The Methodist  church  had  a  curious  atmosphere  about  it,  a  warmth  and  contentment  of  repose  as  it  were. It was  a  small  restful  church. Bell wondered  if  each  of  the  Five  had  a  distinct  and  different  atmosphere.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Pastor  Miller,  very  old  and  shaky  but  with  an  odd  sprightliness  of  manner,  was  preaching  about  Herod. Bell listened  with  considerable  interest  when  he  remarked  that  Dionysius,  when  he  made  our  calendar,  made  a  mistake  when  he  tried  placing  the  time  of  Christ’s  birth. Bibical scholars  when  comparing  accounts  found  Herod  died  apparently  in  4  BC,  if  you  matched  certain  events  in  his  reign  with  certain  dated  events  of  Roman  history  of  that  time,  added  to  the  reference  to  the  census. Which meant  Christ  was  born  in  6  BC—six  years  Before  Christ! The implications  of  this  were  most  intriguing,  as  it  meant  our  calendar  was  six  years  short,  and  this  year,  instead  of  being  2011,  was  actually  2017.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">The service  was  much  like  hers,  with  hymns  and  Scripture  lessons  and  loooong  sermon. She glanced  down  at  the  blue  carpet—deep  blue,  like  lake  water—and  ran  her  hand  absently  over  the immense  thickness  of  the  carved  pew  end. She was  delighted  when  one  of  the  hymns  turned  out  to  be  a  Christmas  carol:  carols  were  her  favorite.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  love  this  one!”  Brooke  whispered  excitedly. Bell gave  a  wide  grin  and  they  began  singing  “The  First  Noel”  with  great  enthusiasm,  although  their  light  thin  voices  didn’t  rise  above  the  organ. Another voice  did,  however,  a  deep  and  heart-stopping  male  voice  somewhere  behind  them,  blending  and  thundering  with  the  deeper  and  louder  notes  of  the  pipe  organ. As the  last  tones  of  “born  is  the  Ki-ing  of  I-israel”  faded,  Bell  turned  her  head  quickly  to  see  who  had  been  singing. A sifting  fall  of  white  dust  like  very  fine  snow  was  all  that  met  her  eyes,  and  there  was  no  one  in  the  pew  behind.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “That’s  weird.”  said  Brooke;  she  had  turned  as  well. “I guess  he  slipped  out.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Who  was  it?”  said  Bell. “He has  such  an  awesome  voice. I wish  I  could  have  seen  him.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  don’t  know.”  Brooke  mulled. “I’ve never  heard  anyone  sing  like  that  before. Wasn’t anyone  I  know.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “If  you  don’t  mind,  I’ll  go  see  if  they  have  cookies  while  you  can  greet  everybody.”  Bell  said  quickly  as  several  old  people  began  exiting  the  pews  in  their  direction. Brooke gave  her  a  friendly  cuff  and  Bell  giggled  and  made  her  escape  into  the  school  area. A large  central  room  rose  for  two  stories,  a  balcony  running  around  it  with  rooms  opening  off  it,  the  walls  white  and  woodwork  dark  brown. A table  near  the  door  had  a  red  and  green  tablecloth  on  which  were  arrayed  plates  of  coconut  macaroons,  cookies,  Italian  cookies,  sugar  cookies,  all  sorts  of  cookies. Bell smiled  with  anticipation  as  she  loaded  her  plate. The big  man  in  front  of  her  was  moving  too  slowly  and  she  reached  around  him. He had  an  odd  smell,  like  wood  smoke.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Not  polite  to  grab,  little  Light.”  said  the  man.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           She  looked  up,  startled,  into  deep  old  blue  eyes  fading  to  amber  at  their  hearts.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh!”  she  said,  putting  one  hand  on  her  bosom. “You started  me.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “You  are  starting  on  the  right track.”  said  the  man  in  the  brown  leather  coat. “It took  you  long  enough. What a  good  thing  I  started  things  early.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Brooke  was  with  me.”  said  Bell. “I’m so  glad  you’re  here;  we  have  some  things  to  ask  you.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “The  answers  must  be  sought,  Bell,  not  given.”  he  answered. “There are  five  of  you,  one  from  each  church  and  one  from  each  village,  and  a  sixth  from  Winsted  who  is  most  important  of  all. The Road  is  not  your  province,  though  you  shall  find  it;  you  are  Bell,  and  the  bells  are  your  concern. What is  the  meaning  of  the  five  stone  churches,  and  what  are  the  secrets  that  each  one  conceals? That is  the  answer  you  hunt. A Merry  Christmas,  little  maiden.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “A…a  Merry  Christmas  to  you.”  she  stammered. The man  in  brown  leather  turned,  still  bearing  his  plate  of  cookies,  and  strode  out  the  door. Brooke was  just  coming  in. He handed  her  the  plate as  he  walked  by. “I will  see  you  in  the  spring,  child  of  the  streams.”  he  said. Her eyes  bulged.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Wait! Stop!” gasped  Brooke. “Please…who and  what  am  I?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Are  you?”  the  man  in  brown  said,  lifting  his  brows. “You are  Brook. Water is  yours  and  you  are  its. Follow Bell,  not  Bell  you,  for  she  needs  your  help  in  her  quest.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “But…”  Brooke  stammered.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           The  man  in  brown  pushed  through  the  door  and  was  gone.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Bell  joined  her  dumbstricken  friend  and  began  eating  a  cookie. “And that,”  she  observed  dramatically,  “is  the  guy  who  told  me  the  rhyme.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Let’s  go.”  said  Brooke,  shaking  herself. “I wanted  to  hit  the  Winsted  Diner  with  you,  but  now…what  did  he  say  to  you,  anyway?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “There’s  five  of  us.”  said  Bell. “One from  each  church  and  one  from  each  village. Oh, and  a  sixth  from  Winsted.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “What  villages?”  said  Brooke  as  they  bundled  each  other  up. “I know  you’re  from  Burrville,  and  I’m  from  Winchester  Center…I  suppose  that  would  count  as  a  village…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Wait,  there’s  Colebrook,  Riverton…Pleasant  Valley…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Ronnie  Wendy’s  from  Pleasant  Valley.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh,  you  know  Ronnie?? My dad  and  I  met  him  when  we  wandered  over  to  check  out  St.  Joseph’s.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I’ve  met  him  at  community  dinners  and  Stop  &  Shop. Where I  work,  you  know. He’s Catholic.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “And  I’m  from  1st  Baptist—but  why  does  the  rhyme  say  New  Baptist? Where’s that? There’s First  Church  of  Christ,  and  they’re  Baptists  as  well,  Baptist  Congregationals  that  is,  even  though  they  never  mention  the  Baptist  part  on  the  sign…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Ronnie  said  once  that  Christ  Church  ought  to  be  called  Old  Baptist  ‘cause  it  was  the  first  one  built.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Oh  yes! That man  in  brown,  you  know,  he  said  the  Baptists  split  and  went  off  and  built  my  church. Said they  had  minister  issues. So that  would  make  my  church  New  Baptist,  and  Christ  Church  be  1st  Church  with  the  hammers  and  urns…”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “So  there’s  Ronnie…and  us…and  that  Forest  kid  from  the  library…Catholic,  Methodist,  1st  Baptist—er,  New  Baptist…that  leaves  two  missing.”  said  Brooke.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “We’re  gonna  have  to  do  some  church-hopping.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  am  not   going  to  a  Catholic  church!”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Who  said  we’re  going  to  it?”  said  Bell. “Brr! Can we  go  somewhere? Instead of  standing  here?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Yeah,  let’s  get  to  my  car!”  shivered  Brooke,  flapping  her  arms. They ran  across  the  snowy  lawn  in  front  of  the  church,  which  was separated  from  the  bank  parking  lot  by  a  privet  hedge. Just as  they  were  rounding  the  corner  where  the  hedge  meets  the  sidewalk  by  Main  Street,  Brook  tripped  on  something  and  fell  flat  on  the  frozen  cement.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Ohhhh!”  she  gasped,  trying  to  get  up.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Brooke,  are  you  OK? Brooke!” cried  Bell.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  guess,”  grumbled  Brooke,  sitting  up. “I feel  like  I  scraped  my  knee…and  I  know  I  skinned  my  hand. What the  heck  did  I  bang  into?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “This…oh,  this  is  so  cool. Look, this  must  be  a  milestone.”  said  Bell.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           Under  the  lee  of  the  hedge,  jutting  from  the  lawn  two  feet  in  height,  was  a  worn  finger  of  grey  stone. It was  irregular,  but  one  side  had  been  planed  flat,  and  chiselled  on  it  in  the  flourishing  letters  used  on  carvings  two  hundred  years  ago  it  said:

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: Harrington; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">           26 <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">½ <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: Harrington; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">  M.  to  H.  67  M.  to  Albany.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “Wow,  yeah,  I  never  even  noticed  that. Isn’t that  neat?”  said  Brooke.

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “More  than  neat.”  said  Bell. “I think  it’s  the  connection  your  church  has  to  this—Road.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “It’s  just  a  marker  between  Hartford  and  Albany,  New  York,  Bell.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “I  know.”  said  Bell. “Come on. Let’s get  you  up  Do  you  still  want  to  hit  the  Diner,  or  do  you  want  to  head  back  home  and  fix  something  while  we  tune  out  my  dad  groaning  and  cursing  at  the  enemy  team?”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">           “My  dad  groans  and  curses  at  his  own  team.”  said  Brooke. “When they  lose,  that  is. Which is  half  the  time.”

<p style="margin: 1em 0px"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri">