Chapter Nine
They found themselves in a wide, open living room. A pair of canvas sofas sat to the right, a potted yucca and miniature banana tree separating them. To the left, set against the entire length of a wall, were books—endless rows of books from floor to ceiling. Annie was staring at the shelves when she realized she no longer held the Magic Tree House book Kathleen had given them.
Before them were two large doors, both open; a warm, constant breeze blew through, filling the room with the natural perfume of flowers.
Beyond the doors was the garden.
“Is she out there?” Jack asked nervously.
Annie had a strong feeling she was, but shrugged and said, “Let’s find out.”
The garden was sprawling, but well tended. Annie recognized a few types of flowers, but many were exotic and unrecognizable. The outer border of the large expanse, an eight-foot wooden fence, curved slowly around to either side of the house.
A path of seashell-encrusted flagstones wound lazily between raised beds of flowers. They took a route at random and at once heard the soft sound of a shovel entering soil. Over and again. With each step, the sound of digging grew louder. They could not, however, locate the gardener.
Finally, the path ended and they saw her, a virtual twin to the Mary they’d met in Dark Creek, minus the gloomy cast to her features. This Mary was humming as she dug shallow pits with a thin spade. They watched in silence as she pulled small, orange flowers from a plastic pallet and placed them carefully into each hole.
Then she looked up.
A physical jolt passed between the three of them.
Both Jack and Annie felt an immediate connection with this woman, more so than the other. Annie thought, madly, back on all the variations on the Magic Tree House books they’d seen. Weren’t there, in fact, many other Marys as well? An infinite number of Marys, including deviations in her name?
The gardener stared up at the children and felt a similar connection. A swell of love and affection filled her heart, weakening her knees.
“Children,” she said, then shook her head. These weren’t children, they were adults!
“Hi, Mary,” Annie said, squatting down before her. Jack remained standing, feeling like crying and laughing at the same time.
And then things started to click in the author’s mind, like roman candles firing in sequence at a fireworks event. Loud whomps of ignition followed by prismatic explosions of understanding.
“This is about the book,” the older woman said.
“It is,” Annie said.
Mary rose slowly, carefully removing her blue, paisley gardening gloves.
“We need your help,” Jack said,
Mary Pope Osborne nodded, understanding beginning to fill in the empty spaces in her mind.
“Come with me,” she said, leading Jack and Annie back through the garden and into her home.
* * *
They stepped back into the living room, past the wall of books and over to a beautiful roll-top desk. Mary sat slowly in a matching chair and took the glasses from the chain around her neck. She held them before her for a moment, staring through the lenses, then set them on her face. Without thinking, she pushed them gently into place and sighed.
“I retired from publishing almost nine years ago,” she began. “My journey through life has had many ups and down, but I’ve always been very proud of my writing. Especially The Magic Tree House stories.”
Annie, standing to the woman’s right, noticed suddenly just how old she looked. Older, even, than the crazy Mary they’d just met. Jack, on Mary’s left, was also aware of her age.
“Jack and Annie made me feel alive. They were my special children and I loved them dearly.”
The writer reached out and pulled up on the slatted tambour, revealing the hidden desk-space within. Inside were books, papers and assorted writing implements. Knowing its exact location, she withdrew the small notebook and turned to face her guests.
The cover was worn, though more from endless handling than neglect.
“The adventures of Jack and Annie were never concluded,” she said in a daze. “My publisher and I decided that if The Magic Tree House story arc was left unfinished, children would imagine further journeys and quests for years to come.”
“But you changed your mind, didn’t you?” Annie said softly. “You wrote one final adventure.”
“I…” Mary said, her fingers running nervously over the notebook cover.
“What happened?” Jack asked. “Did they not like it?”
Mary looked up at him with a sad smile. “They never saw it. I never showed this to anyone.”
After a brief silence, Mary set the notebook on her lap and reached out to take both their hands. Brother and sister stepped closer, watching as the writer’s cool, dry fingers caressed the blue, glass rings.
“I believe what’s happening, but can’t understand how it’s possible,” she said, closing her eyes. First Annie, then Jack knelt down before her.
“Vortigern kidnapped your children,” Mary said, tears flooding her now opened eyes. “I made that happen. I wrote the words. I sent Teddy and Kathleen after you, too. I destroyed Camelot. I burned Morgan’s tree house to the ground.”
“Where are they?” Jack asked, taking both of Mary’s hands. “Where are our children?”
“Are they safe?” Annie asked in a panic.
Mary pulled her hands back and set them against her head. “This can’t be happening!” she said in a thin tone threatening to crack.
“Please,” Annie said. “Are Malcolm and Julia okay?”
“I don’t know,” Mary said. “I never finished the story. I didn’t know how to save your children.”
Suddenly understanding, Annie said, “You need to finish it. You have to put yourself in the story.”
“Yes,” Jack said. “Write what’s happening now. You have the power to do this. You can change things. Finish things.”
Mary finally looked back at them. “But what’s real? Did I create you, or am I here because of you two and… Morgan?”
Annie took a deep breath and said, “I think, maybe, it’s a little bit of both.”
“More like a lot of both,” Jack agreed. “That’s got to be it! It’s like we both started in different places, but now we’re meeting in the middle.”
“And we need your help,” Annie interrupted. “You need to bring our kids back before something really bad happens. We need you, Mary.”
And there it was.
“So if I open my notebook…” Mary began. She lifted the cover and both Jack and Annie saw the book’s title high on the first page:
AN HOUR FOR OBLIVION
Annie knelt higher and withdrew a pen from the desktop. It was nothing more than a simple medium point black pen.
She handed it to the writer.
Mary choked back a sob, then reached out and embraced the two people who had given her so much happiness. Jack and Annie returned the hug twofold.
Mary sat slowly back and uncapped the pen. Turning the pages, she stopped only when reaching the final sentence in the notebook.
In a well-practiced, though hesitant hand, Mary wrote the following words:
Though darkness had nearly consumed the entire kingdom of Camelot, Vortigern’s plan of destruction was ultimately doomed to fail…
She raised her eyes to look upon the faces of Jack and Annie, but her sweet children were gone.