The Forest of Sleepers (Nowhere Book 2)

t h r e e : m o e ' s

The train coming back to Nowhere was even worse than the one Wyatt had taken going to California.

Although it wasn't as crowded, the train was stifling--hot, and then cold, as if the draft couldn't decide what to do with itself. The rattling was merciless, sometimes chattering Wyatt's teeth when the track was particularly hazardous.

"Never saw such an atrocity," his mother muttered beside him. When she spoke, it was as if she were having a private discussion inside her head.

Wyatt had tried to make conversation with her as he packed up her suitcase, but she would act as if she didn't hear him, and then answer the question several comments later.

His aunt wanted them gone as soon as possible, which was something Wyatt hadn't been expecting. She said she couldn't stand another minute with his mother's demands, the baby's crying, and her husband's complaining.

So, Wyatt had to find the soonest departure and stuff all of Evelyn's belongings into a single suitcase. It was strange, packing his mother's things.

Some of it was familiar, like the tiny glass poodle that had always been on the mantle. It was funny that she kept it over everything else in the house--it was the only thing that didn't match the rest of the glassware. Evelyn had always been a stickler for things like that.

Once, on a trip to New York, Evelyn had ordered a new sofa to be sent ahead to their hotel room because she'd heard that the current one clashed with the wallpaper.

He remembered a time when they'd go on family trips and she'd have a separate car following them for the sole purpose of carrying her trunks. She had more dresses than Wyatt could count. More jewelry than a maharaja. More knickknacks, trinkets, and comfort items than any one person could keep track of.

Now, Evelyn's elbow rested atop everything she owned.

Wyatt tried not to stare at her, but it was hard not to. Had it only been six months since he'd seen her?

Even with her declining health, Evelyn had always been beautiful in a tragic sort of way. But now...now, she just looked old. Worn. Tired.

"How are you feeling, Mother?" Wyatt asked.

"We can't stay," Evelyn was murmuring, "not for too long. We have too much to do around the house, and the guests..."

Wyatt waited quietly until her conversation was over.

She reached over and patted his hand. "Tired."

"Here." Wyatt took off his jacket and bunched it up on top of the suitcase Evelyn had insisted on putting between them because she "didn't trust the staff" to keep it safe. "You can use this as a pillow."

To his surprise, Evelyn obeyed. She looked frail curled up in the seat like that, but eventually, she did fall asleep.

Wyatt exhaled slowly.

He dug through his bag and ate another one of Ophelia's cookies. He also pulled out the poetry book Birdie had given him.

It was terribly worn: the spine, especially, was in tatters, the pages were deckled though Wyatt was almost positive they hadn't been to start with, and there was writing scribbled in the margins and above the titles and squished between words.

Just by holding it in his hands, Wyatt knew that he'd been given a treasure. And by Birdie Penny, no less.

The book, entitled simply "The Oxford Book of American Verse", was something special, he knew.