Woundabout Read online

“And we made friends with Nico,” Cordelia said.

  Aunt Marigold tilted her head like an owl. “I don’t know any Nico.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Calander’s son,” Gray said. “They run the greenhouses outside town.”

  “Oh.… Well, I don’t know if you should really be talking too much with people from outside town… but I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves.”

  Cordelia and Connor nodded, but shared a look when Aunt Marigold turned away. They themselves were technically outsiders, weren’t they?

  After dinner, the children, Aunt Marigold, and Gray went to the den and watched a movie together. It was a funny movie with a leopard that people had to sing to, but Connor and Cordelia kept thinking about the crank, and the other places in town where they could wind it, and the other magical things that might happen. Aunt Marigold fell asleep on the sofa, and Gray put a blanket over her. Cordelia and Connor went back up to bed and closed themselves in Cordelia’s room. They took the crank out from under the bed and stared at it. It was just a piece of metal, but somehow it had made trees bloom.

  “I want to try it in the other holes we saw,” Cordelia whispered.

  “Me too,” Connor whispered back. Neither of them had ever been particularly bad children, but they’d never really felt as hemmed in as they did now. It was as if the weird streets of the town were a knot or spiderweb that they were caught in, and when they tried to move, it just got tighter.

  “You think we should give it back to the Mayor?” Cordelia asked.

  “I don’t know,” Connor said after a moment. “He made it sound dangerous—like a weapon. He didn’t want it falling into the wrong hands, remember? But this is a good thing. It made the park bloom. Why would anyone want to stop that? Especially a Mayor, whose job is to make a town its best?”

  “Yeah,” Cordelia said. “The Mayor was mean, but I don’t understand how anyone could hate a beautiful park. This crank is magic.” She stroked the crank as though it were Kip. Kip jealously nudged his head under her hand so that she was petting him instead. “We should keep it. Just for now. Until we understand it better.”

  “We could sneak out,” Connor said. “I made a map—I know part of the town. We can try it on those other holes.”

  If asked, the children would describe their desire to wind the crank in more holes very differently: Connor would describe it as the need to demolish a run-down building, so that a better one could be built in its place, and Cordelia would say it had been like the need to develop an old roll of film found in the corner of the closet. But they both knew it was the same thing.

  “And we could look for more holes,” Cordelia said. So the children pulled up their covers and pretended to sleep until they couldn’t hear anyone walking around in the house. They took the crank out from under the bed and grabbed some flashlights they’d found in an upstairs closet. Kip followed them out of the room. They walked quietly down the stairs. The lights were out in the main entryway, so they used their flashlights to find the door. They opened it very quietly and closed it behind them. They didn’t make a noise until they were four houses away.

  No one seemed to be awake. The town was completely dark, and only their flashlights and Connor’s map, though it was unfinished and small, kept them from feeling completely lost. Even Kip seemed nervous, staying close to their legs and not running out of the range of the flashlights.

  “Let’s go to the statue first,” Connor said, looking at his map.

  He directed them there, flashlight in hand. They passed by Mrs. Washburn’s laundry, which blew in the breeze like ghosts, and they passed a bakery they hadn’t noticed before, with a big sign in the shape of a loaf of bread that said PAIN on it. Connor knew it was the French word for “bread” and whispered it to his sister, but it still seemed spooky, blowing back and forth in the wind. They passed a few more stores, the hat shop, and an old building with a carving of a windmill over the door before they came to the statue.

  The woman still held her hands out, as if begging. Connor went around the statue and stuck the crank into her back; Cordelia took a photo before they started winding, to compare afterward. Then, together, they wound the crank.

  “What’s she doing?” Connor asked, looking up as they wound.

  “She’s moving,” Cordelia said. They heard a click and the crank wouldn’t wind anymore, so they pulled it out and went around to look at her, comparing her with the photo Cordelia had taken beforehand. The woman’s head had moved, so it seemed she was looking right at them, and the corners of her mouth were raised slightly. Her hands began to move. The movements weren’t natural or fluid, but jerky, like a puppet’s. She straightened up and uncoiled her legs, so she wasn’t kneeling on the podium but sitting on it like a chair. She kept moving her hands, holding one hand up, palm flat, fingers extended. She closed all her fingers but one, as though she were counting. The other hand rose up and pointed at the river.

  “What is she pointing at?” Cordelia asked, taking a photo. Connor looked down at his map.

  “I think she’s pointing at the hole by the river.”

  “She’s pointing at another place for the crank?” Cordelia asked.

  Connor shrugged. “That’s what it looks like from my map,” he said. “We should go over there anyway, to check it out.”

  Taking the crank, the children walked quietly to the river and over the bridge. The water looked inky black in the darkness. It was so still it barely broke the silence of the night.

  “What do you think will happen here?” Cordelia asked.

  “I have no idea,” Connor said. “I didn’t think a crank could make grass grow and flowers bloom.”

  “Maybe fish will jump out of the water. Or the water will turn gold,” Cordelia said, taking a photo of the river. The flash from her camera reflected off the still water like a mirror, and for a moment, the whole city felt lit up. Connor and Cordelia became very quiet, hoping no one had seen them.

  There was no sound except the soft murmur of the slow-moving river, like a dripping faucet.

  “Okay,” Connor said, and stuck the crank into the hole in the ground by the river. He started to turn it. This one was harder to push. It felt not stuck exactly, but heavy, as though whatever he was cranking weighed hundreds and hundreds of pounds. And nothing seemed to happen as he cranked. He wound the crank around three times and then he had to stop to catch his breath. Cordelia was still looking around, trying to find whatever was changing.

  “Wait, do you hear that?” she asked. Connor shook his head. All he could hear was his own panting.

  Cordelia looked over the edge, at the river. The water was moving now. Slowly, like a brook, but steadily. It made the sound of a faucet dribbling water, instead of just dripping it.

  “The river is flowing,” she said, and took a photo, the flash lighting up the town again for a moment, like lightning. “Crank it again.” Connor stood and started pushing and this time Cordelia helped him, and they wound it five more times. When they stopped, they could hear the river rushing before they even looked over the edge. It was moving fast, and pushing against the brick walls on either side, white foam lashing up and spraying their faces like rain.

  “Wow,” Cordelia said, taking a photo. They stared at the water for a few minutes, enjoying the cool spray on their faces. The water made them feel relaxed somehow, like a day at the beach. “Let’s go back and see the statue. If she was pointing at this crank-hole, maybe she’s pointing somewhere else now.”

  The children walked back over the bridge. They were faster now, and louder, excited by the sound of moving water and the sense that the town was more alive than it had been before.

  The statue had changed. Now she held up two fingers on one hand, and pointed in another direction.

  “Where does that one point?” Cordelia asked, taking another photo.

  “I don’t know. It’s almost like she’s pointing into the cliff.” The statue was pointing in the direction of the rising slope of the city, bu
t instead of pointing up along it, she seemed to be just jabbing her finger at it. “Do you want to see if there’s a door, or maybe a building she’s pointing at? Go a little farther on?”

  Cordelia looked down at Kip, who was nervously pressing himself against her leg.

  “I think…” Cordelia said. “Maybe that’s enough for the night. I don’t want to get in trouble if someone realizes we’re out of bed.”

  “Yeah,” Connor said. “I was thinking the same thing. Plus, who knows what effect the river will have on the town? It could start up a water mill, or flood someplace.… It’s better if we wait before we try anything else. Let’s see what happens.”

  “You think we could have just accidentally flooded someone?” Cordelia asked, pulling at the hem of her skirt with worry. She imagined people’s houses filling with water and people floating away on beds in the middle of the night.

  “Probably not…” Connor said. “The banks of the river have been walled over. But maybe we flooded a crop field somewhere. Like, a dry one, and it’s growing now, just like the park.”

  “That would be cool.” Cordelia yawned.

  “We can look for more tomorrow,” Connor said, “when we’re supposed to be at the park.”

  “This will be our routine,” Cordelia said, and the children giggled.

  Connor looked at his map. “Aunt Marigold’s house is this way.”

  At home, the children opened the door very quietly and snuck back up the stairs to bed. There they put on their pajamas and hid the crank under Cordelia’s bed again. They lay down on the blanket on the floor, Kip already asleep between them and snoring.

  “I bet Dad and Pop would have thought all this cranking was really cool,” Cordelia said into the darkness.

  “They would have loved it,” Connor said. He and Cordelia were quiet for a long time, but they each knew the other one was awake.

  “I miss them,” Connor said.

  “Me too,” Cordelia said.

  Chapter 16

  The next morning, the children ate breakfast in bed, washed and dressed, and went downstairs as though they hadn’t been sneaking around town last night. Gray was at the sink when they went into the kitchen, and Aunt Marigold was reading a book at the table. Gray looked over at them in his usual neutral way.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked. The children nodded. “Good. I’m not quite ready to go yet. Let me make you some tea while I finish the washing.”

  They were drinking their tea with little biscuits when someone rang the doorbell. It rang once, and then over and over again very quickly before Gray could answer the door. The doorbell sounded frightened.

  “No one comes over this early,” Aunt Marigold said. She looked worried. She bunched her dressing gown around her and retied its belt very tightly.

  Mrs. Washburn ran into the kitchen suddenly. She was holding a basket of wet laundry that she hadn’t yet hung out to dry.

  “Marigold!” she shouted, though Aunt Marigold was right there. “The river! It’s… moving.” She said the word moving in a whisper. The children looked at each other and then very quickly looked back at their tea. Gray went back into the kitchen.

  “No,” Aunt Marigold said. “That’s impossible. The Mayor wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Come see!” Mrs. Washburn said, and raced out of the room, leaving a trail of water where her wet laundry had dripped.

  Aunt Marigold stared after her, then dashed out of the room. A moment later she ran by the kitchen door, wearing a coat over her robe.

  “What’s so strange about the river moving?” Connor asked Gray in what he hoped was an innocent tone.

  “It doesn’t,” Gray said without looking up.

  “But all rivers move,” Connor said.

  “Yes, but ours moved as little as possible. Until now, it appears.”

  The children studied Gray, wondering if he knew that they were responsible. But he didn’t look up, and they couldn’t tell from his tone of voice.

  “Maybe we should go look,” Cordelia said. Connor nodded, and they got up and left the kitchen, dragging along Kip, who was trying to eat what was left of the biscuits off their plates.

  Chapter 17

  They gathered their things and headed outside to see the river. Even if they hadn’t known where it was, it would have been easy to spot. People were lined up on either side of the river and over the bridge, all of them staring down at the rushing water.

  “The sound is so soothing,” the children heard someone say as they walked. They spotted Aunt Marigold and pushed themselves so that they were on either side of her, looking down at the river. She didn’t even notice. She was staring at the water and mumbling very softly to herself.

  “Ohdearohdearohdearohdearohdear.”

  “Is everything okay?” Connor asked. “It’s just a river.”

  “It isn’t supposed to be moving this quickly,” Aunt Marigold said. “It means things are changing.”

  “Is that bad?” Cordelia asked.

  “Of course it’s bad,” said the Mayor, appearing suddenly behind them. “We keep things steady here. As little change as we can. We may not be able to control the weather, but… everything else”—he swept his hand out in front of him, gesturing at the whole town—“we keep it from changing. When things change, it’s bad. Your parents’ death was a change. You’re fond of questions, so let me ask you: did you enjoy that?”

  “N-no,” Connor stammered. Both the children suddenly felt ashamed of themselves without knowing why. They could feel the eyes of the crowd staring at them.

  “Don’t be so cruel,” Aunt Marigold said. “They didn’t cause this.”

  “Oh, Marigold,” the Mayor said, shaking his head in disappointment. “There’s nothing else it could be. They’re the only thing that’s new. Think it through.”

  Behind him, the children heard someone shout, “Yeah, they’re the only thing that’s different!”

  The Mayor smiled when he heard this, and the crowd seemed to be murmuring in agreement. The Mayor’s eyes narrowed, and he stared down at the children.

  “Change is always bad, Marigold,” he said, not taking his eyes off Connor and Cordelia. “I told you that. I told you to let social services take care of this… problem of yours.”

  “I won’t abandon them,” Aunt Marigold said quietly. She took one slow step, then another, her ankles shaking slightly, until she stood between the Mayor and the children so that they could no longer see his face.

  “Everyone gets abandoned sooner or later,” the Mayor said in a low voice. “If your niece and nephew were somehow involved,” he went on, louder this time, so everyone could hear him, “we will find out, and we will punish them.”

  Cordelia and Connor were on the verge of tears. The mention of their parents’ death had felt as if someone had hit them in the face, even if no one actually had. Kip was trying to comfort them by rubbing his head up against their legs, one at a time.

  “You’ll have to prove it first,” Aunt Marigold said.

  “They’re the only new ones, Marigold,” the Mayor hissed. “I decide who stays in the town, and when I prove it was them, I’m going to expel them.” He stepped to the side so that he could glare at the children. “Think you’ll like that? Foster care? You’ll probably be split up, sent to different homes, never see each other again.”

  “Let’s go home,” Aunt Marigold said. “Mayor, you can handle this problem. You’re the one who was supposed to keep track of the crank, after all.”

  The children looked up at the mention of the crank. It was the weapon the Mayor had meant! And they were the ones using it—they were the ones the Mayor wanted to stop. They returned their eyes to the ground, trying not to show their surprise.

  Aunt Marigold took both of the children by their hands and led them away from the river and the crowd that was watching them. They could feel the eyes of the crowd and the Mayor on them all the way home.

  Chapter 18

  Why don’t you
children go read?” Aunt Marigold said when they got home. “It’ll take your mind off things.”

  “Did we do something wrong?” Cordelia asked. Everyone, even the Mayor, was asking questions now, so she thought it would be okay to ask another.

  “No,” Aunt Marigold said, crouching down so she could look them in the eye. “Our town is special, you see. We all decided a long time ago that change is something to be avoided. It usually brings pain. So we figured out a way to keep the town from changing. To keep everything slow and steady. We have our routines, and there are other… things, too, that keep everything steady. They’re like locks. That way, nothing bad ever happens. The river is supposed to be one of those locks. As long as it doesn’t move, the town doesn’t change. So people are frightened, is all. They’re scared bad things might happen.”

  “Can’t some change be good?” Connor asked.

  “Yes,” Aunt Marigold said after a moment. “But it can be so bad, too.” She looked away, and the children could tell she was remembering something. Maybe it was the phone call she got telling her that her brother was dead. Maybe it was seeing Benny’s car crash. “It can be awful. The way we live is safer. You’ll see that in time. Now go read. I need to go back. The whole town will be discussing what to do. The Mayor is very angry. I hope you’ll forgive him for the horrible things he said.”

  Aunt Marigold left again, and the children went upstairs. Cordelia pulled out her photo album, and both children stared at the pictures of their parents, forever unchanging in the photos.

  “Do you think the Mayor and Aunt Marigold are right?” Cordelia asked her brother. “Do you think it’s better if things never change? Our parents wouldn’t have died, then, like he said.”

  “I think,” Connor said, rolling onto his back, “that some change is good, and some is bad. And our parents dying was the worst. But before that, they met, and got married, and had us. Those were all changes. None of that could have happened without change. And those were all good things, right?”