Rose silently closed the door to Evelyn's room and turned to Wyatt with heavy eyes.
"Let's get something to drink," she murmured.
They went downstairs and Wyatt watched as Rose poured a glass of lemonade from the pitcher she'd brought over along with the sandwiches and cobbler.
She handed one glass to Wyatt and they made their way out to the porch.
It was only eight o'clock, which meant it was nearing the twenty-fifth hour Wyatt hadn't slept. But now that his mother was settled and in bed, he actually felt a little more awake.
"You said your aunt had been the one to take care of her after your father's death," Rose said. "Did you know her very well?"
Wyatt shook his head. "I think I met her once, but I can't even remember why. All I knew was that she was poor and that Mother gave her a small check every month, which was why my aunt felt obligated to take her in."
"Hm." Rose took a long sip of lemonade. Wyatt couldn't help but marvel at how she looked exactly like each one of the Penny girls, even though they all looked completely different on their own.
She had Ophelia's button nose, Marigold's large eyes, and Birdie's straight, serious brow.
Her eyes were filled with sympathy as she said, "Your mama's sick, Wyatt."
She reached over and patted Wyatt's hand, a gesture that would usually make him flinch, but when it came from Rose, it just made him sad.
"I suspect some type of dementia that's been furthered by the neglect she's endured for the past six months. I'd tell you to make sure she sees the doctor, but I don't reckon he'd be able to do anything other than tell you what you already know."
Wyatt deflated. "She should've come here with me in the first place. I should've checked in sooner..."
"Honey, it's not your fault at all."
Wyatt studied his hands. His memories began trailing back to a place that he'd worked so hard to forget, but could never seem to get rid of completely.
"She hasn't always been like this," he said quietly. "It started in, um, in Holland."
"During the war?" Rose asked.
Wyatt nodded once. He hated, hated talking about it. He hadn't talked about his life before coming to America in ten years and he wasn't about to start now.
"Mother had an accident during an evacuation," he said. Even the vague answer brought dormant memories back to life. He cleared his throat. "A, ah, a piece of shrapnel in the skull. She lived with it for years until we struck it rich and she was able to get surgery in California. But ever since then..."
He heaved a sigh.
"That explains it, then," Rose said. "Thank you for telling me, honey."
Wyatt watched the ice cubes bob up and down in his glass. "Is there anything we can do for her?"
"I'm afraid not," Rose replied. "But now that she's here and she'll be taken care of, she might improve."
But the damage has already been done, was what she didn't say.
What she did say was, "If it gets to be too much..."
"I can handle it," Wyatt said. "But thank you."
Rose stood up and placed her glass on the table beside the rocking chair. "You're part of our family now. Don't be afraid to make us part of yours. You understand?"
Wyatt nodded.
"Oh, and one more thing," Rose said as she went to step down the porch. She winced pityingly. "I think Birdie forgot to put the sugar into the cobbler tonight. We haven't told her that, but just...eat it warily."
At the thought, Wyatt grinned for the first time in a week.
Wyatt woke up just as the sun crested over the hills, blinding him.
He sat up from his position in the rocking chair, every nerve in his body either tingling or groaning in protest. Surprisingly, though, he felt rested.
After the months he'd spent sleeping in the greenhouse, he wasn't so particular about his bed anymore.
He instinctively stretched out his left shoulder, where tiny pinpricks of pain made him cringe. He'd been shot by his brother Hal two months ago and the pain was always raw in the mornings.
He got up and made a meager breakfast of grits and eggs, both of which were a little too salty and a little too dry.
He ate his portion in three or four bites and brought the rest up to his mother.
He knocked on the door, but there was no answer so he carefully nudged it open with his foot.
Evelyn sat at the desk, brushing out her long hair. Wyatt was glad to see that she'd dressed herself and had lost some of the glazed, distant expression she'd been wearing for the past three days.
"Well it's about time," she huffed, placing her hairbrush down with a firm thunk. "I've been up for hours and--oh Wyatt--you could've at least made some tea."
"I only have coffee," Wyatt said.
Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. I have a headache today, so I won't be needing any lunch."
"Can I get you anything else?" Wyatt asked.
Evelyn wasn't listening. She stood up from her chair at the desk and leaned over it to look out the window.
"I say, there's a herd of girls in our front yard!"
A herd of what?
Wyatt came beside her to look over her shoulder. He laughed despite himself, which turned out to be a sort of relieved sigh. "Those are the Penny girls, Mother."
The sight of them reminded him that he was here. He was back in Nowhere. It wasn't all a dream.
And in the daylight too, he could see Gwydyr just a few yards away. To him, it looked like a plain forest standing on the edge of civilization, even though no one else in civilization could see in.
You had to be chosen in order for your eyes to be opened, and for some inexplicable reason, Wyatt's had been.
"Your father was always a cad," Evelyn said, "I guess I shouldn't have expected you to be any different."
Wyatt's countenance fell into a scowl, but he didn't entertain a response. There was no point in it.
He went downstairs and met the girls on the porch.
Ophelia twisted a brown curl around her finger, which was her usual guilty tic. She kept glancing toward the greenhouse and Wyatt knew Ophelia would be the one to spill her own secret before he was ever in danger of doing so.
Marigold looked out of place as if she didn't know whether or not Wyatt wanted her here. He did. She was smiling, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
And then there was Birdie, who was knelt down, petting one of the chickens that had wandered up to her, her hair tied up in a bright red handkerchief.
"I hate to tell you, Wyatt," was the first thing she said, "but old McDougal here likes me better than you."
She looked up at him then and smiled. It reached all the way to her eyes.
"You can have him, then," Wyatt replied. "Anything new with you, Bernadette?"
Birdie shrugged a shoulder. "Bought a cow. Got myself fattened up for the winter. The usual."
"How's your mama?" Marigold asked in a hushed tone, as if Evelyn would be able to overhear.
An awkward sort of sobriety settled over the group--a sense of adulthood bearing down on them in that moment, forcing them to remember reality.
"Rose said she's got some type of dementia. It doesn't look good, but she's still able to take care of her own basic needs, so we'll get by."
"That must be so hard for you," Ophelia said in a wistful voice.
Wyatt thought about it for a moment. The events of last night was no criteria for "how hard" it would be. He'd been up for more than twenty-four hours, traveled across the country, and been plagued by a nightmarish fortune-telling cat.
He could tell Evelyn was more ornery than she used to be, but so was everyone in America whether they had dementia or a higher tax rate.
He said, "It's different." He put his hands in his pockets and nodded towards Gwydyr. "How's the forest?"
Marigold cast her eyes downward in a way that made Wyatt lift his eyebrow curiously.
"Our parental unit is slowly but surely getting used to the idea," Birdie said. "We're not allowed to go by ourselves, lest the trees swallow us up whole or something. Which, of course, is a possibility, but if we ever want to explore it, they can't know that."
"We haven't even seen any new ghosts since the eclipse," Marigold added, "which is pretty strange. We're thinking the forest might be holding them since it replaced the clearing."
Ophelia's eyes widened as they drilled down into the porch. She looked as guilty as a convict holding a bloody knife.
"Ope?" Birdie asked. "You okay?"
"Fine!" she squeaked.
"Erm, thanks for stopping by," Wyatt interjected quickly, trying to cover up her blunder. The words "there's a ghost hiding in the greenhouse" were written all over her face.
He said, "I wish I could say Mother would love to meet you, but she doesn't seem too thrilled to even see me at the moment."
"Well, I know you must be bone-tired," Marigold said, "but did you need a ride to school?"
School.
The concept seemed so far away. Wyatt hadn't even spared a thought towards his homework or classes since he'd received the letter and started packing for California.
It took him a moment of staring vacantly at Marigold before he said, "I--I don't think I'll go back today. It's Friday, anyway, so I'll just start back up on Monday."
"Swell," Marigold replied. "We'll see you tonight. Maybe we can all take a stroll through Gwydyr."
She said it in the same way someone spoke of a secret lover. Gwydyr.
"Swell," Wyatt repeated and returned their waves goodbye.
Before Birdie left, however, she said in a low whisper, "If we're getting too annoying, just lock the doors or hang up a flag of surrender and we'll get the message."
Wyatt snickered. "Thanks, Bernadette."
She turned to leave, but Wyatt called, "Wait."
When she came back, he lowered his voice. "Any luck on the Sal Hickory case?"
A shadow passed over Birdie's face--a dark one that revealed how many nights she'd stayed awake thinking about it.
She replied, "I'll see you later."
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Another week, another mystery XD And the gang's back together!
~What are you most hoping to see in this story?
~What do you think became of old ornery Sal?
~What do you think happened to Wyatt in Holland?
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