The Sisters of Nowhere

e l e v e n : v i d a l i a s

The three Penny sisters were lounging around the back porch after Rose shooed them out of the house so she could mop (she had a particular way of doing it that the girls could never manage, and were therefore banished from the house until everything was dry).

Marigold was pacing. Back and forth, back and forth. She'd been planning to work on Mr. Cerbus's motorbike and had been excited about figuring out how it worked, but was now forced to wait outside for the time being.

Birdie was curled up in the rocking chair, completely oblivious and unbothered as she read a book, which was what she'd been doing for the past two hours anyway.

Ophelia was violently filing her nails (she'd broken one of them while sewing a dress for the play and now had to make them all even again).

"So what have we decided about Wyatt Best?" Ophelia asked, blowing the dust away from her fingers.

This shook Marigold out of her pensive stroll. She sat on the step and looked out at the woods behind their house. "I like him. He fits in with us."

"Do you still like him?" Ophelia teased.

Marigold shot her a mischievous grin. "Maybe. He'll come around, I think."

Ophelia snickered, then polished her nails off on her skirt. "I like him too. He had my stamp of approval for good company. What about you, Birdie?"

Birdie didn't look up from her book when she said, "I think he has a terrible case called being a realist."

Marigold rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Birdie. Maybe you two can try to be friends."

Birdie turned the page. "I don't need friends; I have sisters."

Ophelia covered the side of her mouth and fake whispered to Marigold, "Don't worry, she'll have Sal Hickory."

Even Birdie laughed at that.

Rose popped her head around the screen door, her hair tied up in a red handkerchief, and said, "Marigold, I think you accidentally bought Vidalias instead of red onions yesterday. Would you mind going back to the store for me?"

Marigold stared at her mother in shock. "Why me?"

"You're the only one who can drive," Rose replied. "Maybe your sisters will join you."

Ophelia kept sawing at her nails and Birdie sunk further into her chair.

"Come on!" Marigold begged. "Don't make me go alone."

Birdie looked out into the woods, squinting her eyes. "Do you hear something, Opie?"

Ophelia shook her head. "The cicadas are pretty loud this afternoon."

Marigold grumbled something unintelligible and went to get her shoes.

All she'd wanted was to fix that motorbike.

Now she was running errands. On a Saturday.

You bought the wrong ones, Marigold mocked in her head as she got into the truck and drove it into town. I need red onions, not Vidalia.

By her calculations, she could drive to and from the store and be back home in just under thirty minutes. Then she'd be free.

She flew through Allen's Grocery so fast that she nearly knocked a stack of produce over in her wake. She was in such a hurry that she almost didn't feel the static tracing over her skin as she stood in line at the counter.

Her head immediately jerked up, startled by the presence of a ghost in the store. She hadn't seen one when she came in, and ghosts usually stayed in the streets or in the clearing.

It was unmistakable--the chill sweeping across her ankles, the friction in the air, crackling audibly in her ears even though no one else could hear it.

And right in front of her, standing in line in front of her, was a boy she hadn't seen before.

He wore ragged clothes and was apparently buying a box of Tide detergent.

The first thing Marigold thought was, Ghosts don't need laundry detergent.

The boy didn't look like a ghost. He was flesh and bone. His blond hair was close-shaven and almost looked as if he were bald. There was a harshness to his profile that accompanied a jagged scar from his temple all the way down his neck and disappearing beneath his ripped shirt collar.

Marigold was almost tempted to reach out and touch him. None of the ghosts she'd ever seen in Nowhere were this corporeal.

But this was an eclipse year, after all. Could it have something to do with that? Strange things tended to happen when the eclipse drew near, and it was set to happen in August. Even so, nothing this strange--or this powerful--had ever happened that Marigold could think of.

As she stood, blatantly staring at this stranger, he sensed her gaze and turned.

As soon as her curious eyes met his stormy ones, he disappeared. There one second, gone the next.

"Miss Penny?" Allen, the store owner, was calling. "You gonna buy your groceries or just stand there like a statue in winter?"

"Did you see that boy?" Marigold asked.

Allen frowned. "No, there was nobody--"

"Just put this on our tab, please," Marigold said, shoving her groceries toward him. "I'll pick it up later."

"You sure? It'll only take--"

But Marigold was already gone.

She raced into the street, half expecting the boy to be there, but he wasn't. He wasn't anywhere.

She sighed dismally and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

Where could he have gone?

As she went back to her truck, glancing over her shoulder more than once, hoping he'd be back.

Who are you? She wondered.

She drove home in silence.

She'd forgotten the onions.

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