POPPIES BLOOM IN SPRING

A written creative work submitted to the faculty of San Francisco State University In partial fulfillment of The Requirements for The Degree

Master of Arts * A 4 5 ^ In English: Creative Writing

by

Tammy Jeanette Allen

San Francisco, California

January 2017 Copyright by Tammy Jeanette Allen 2016 CERTIFICATION OF APPROVAL

I certify that I have read Poppies Bloom in Spring by Tammy Jeanette Allen, and that in my opinion this work meets the criteria for approving a written creative work submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree: Master of Arts in English: Creative

Writing at San Francisco State University.

Andrew Joron Assistant Professor of Creative Writing

Michelle Carter Professor of Creative Writing POPPIES BLOOM IN SPRING

Tammy Jeanette Allen San Francisco, California 2016

In the year 1920, eleven-year-old Poppy Ruskins gets her father back from the Great War, but witnesses the death of her older brother Ted who falls through the ice in a nearby pond.

As Poppy and her family grieve from this sudden loss, Poppy encounters mythical creatures such as the Easter Rabbit and the Sandman that have found a sudden interest in her and her family. It is with the help of these creatures, her family, and her friends that allow Poppy to come to terms with her grief and lack of closure, as well as explore her own mortality.

I certify that the Annotation is a correct representation of the content of this written creative work.

Date ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book is dedicated to my Great-Grandma Chappell, Grandpa Allen, and Granddad

Tomlin. Many thanks to my mom for being a wealth of information and support, and to

Prof. Joron for seeing its heart.

v TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1...... 1

Chapter 2...... 9

Chapter 3...... 26

Chapter 4...... 37

Chapter 5...... 43

Chapter 6...... 50

Chapter 7...... 58

Chapter 8...... 71

Chapter 9...... 79

Chapter 10...... 88

Chapter 11...... 95

Chapter 12...... 112

Chapter 13...... 113

Chapter 14...... 118

vi 1

January, 1919

Chapter 1

The letter finally came today: Pop was coming home! Mother’s hands shook as she

read his faded hand-writing, her voice was thick with tears, but it was true! Mother took a

breath as Poppy and her teenaged older brother Ted clung to each other

“He won’t be here right away,” Mother said, wiping her eyes with her

handkerchief. “He has some more traveling to do in Germany, but by the end of next

month he should be home!”

Poppy shot up and whooped in the air as her mother laughed in relief. Ted, though

he was sixteen and fuzzy bits of hair was starting to grow on his chin, buckled down and

cried on the floor. Mother swooped down on him, stroking his stringy blonde hair as he

sobbed on her dirty apron. Poppy stood dumbstruck.

Mother held an arm out to her and said, “We need you too, Poppy.”

Somehow Poppy moved her numb limbs to sit next to Mother and press against her

cotton dress. She could taste the fear that both Mother and Ted had been hiding from her

for all these months, and tears sprung up in Poppy’s eyes too. She had been sad and

scared too, of course, but now time felt like it stopped and was forcing her to feel so sad

and scared that she could die.

Eventually the tears stopped flowing and they could all breathe easier again in their

small bungalow that Pop and his brothers built. Time shifted forward again. A lump of bread dough sat half-kneaded on the countertop, the heat of wood stove was cooling off, 2

the chicken coop still needed to be cleaned, and Pop was starting his journey home.

“Sorry,” Ted mumbled as he wiped his red face and glittering hazel eyes.

Mother kissed the top of his head and he glowed a brighter red. Mother knelt down

and pecked Poppy on the head, which made her giggle.

“All right, let’s get going with chores, then. Did you take care of Ghost, Ted?”

Mother asked.

“No, ma’am, I’ll go take care of it now,” he answered and quickly left.

Poppy turned to follow him when Mother called her back.

The girl tugged at the ends of her long sleeves. “I only want to watch him do it, I

won’t get in the way,”

Ghost was their three-year-old albino mule that Pop brought home when he was a

colt without saying where he found him. Even though he had a much sweeter temper than

their milk cow Clara, Ghost was not fond of having his hooves picked and he made a

show of it whenever Ted or Pop came out with the picking utensils.

“I know,” Mother said softly and touched one of Poppy’s bright red braids, “but I

think we should let him have his privacy now. You can help me finish the bread.”

“Okay,” Poppy sighed, but perked up at a sudden thought. “May I put the bread in the oven, ma’am?”

Mother’s dark blonde eyebrows furrowed over her brown eyes. “How old are you again?”

“Eleven.” 3

“I believe an eleven-year-old is old enough to put bread in the oven.”

Poppy hugged her mother around the middle, holding in her squeals of excitement.

***

A lot had changed since Pop first left to fight in the Great War last March. It was

hard to believe that almost a year had past since he had left, and it was almost harder to

believe that he was coming home. Several of the Japanese immigrants who worked on the

farms had left to fight in the war, and only some had returned with scars on their faces,

arms, and legs. Poppy’s best friend, Ai, had a cousin only a couple of years older than

Ted who had come back home with only half of an arm left. He wasn’t allowed to talk

about what war was in front of Poppy or Ai.

Still, Poppy heard scraps of war stories offered freely one day when she and Ted

went to Haverhill Sundry to buy candy and pencils. Men kicked out of Comer Saloon

huddled up by the barrels of pickles and beans. They swapped stories about crouching

along the trenches that smelled like rotted corpses, and would compare the bums left by

mustard gas. Poppy couldn’t wrap her mind around how mustard could be so harmful that

it could kill someone.

As they walked back home, Poppy blurted, “How can mustard can hurt someone that badly?”

Ted shrugged. “All I know is that it’s a gas, and if you breathe it in, it bums.”

Poppy covered her mouth and nose with her hands, imagining her lungs burning 4

and trying to breathe air but breathing poison instead. Ted tugged on her braid to snap her

out of her walking nightmare.

“Hey, don’t worry about mustard gas. The war’s over now, no one uses that stuff

anymore.”

“Okay,” Poppy said, her hands still covering her faee.

Two weeks passed sluggishly by since Pop’s last letter came in mail. It was a

Sunday, church was over, and it was a clear January day. Poppy sighed a deep, bored

sigh, her warm breath fogging up the window. She felt her mother’s skirts crush against

her own.

“I want Pop to be home now,” Poppy whined.

“I do too, but we must be patient.”

“Can I go ice skating, please?”

Mother frowned as she stared outside the window, her eyes falling on Ted as he

locked up Ghost and Clara in their tiny stable.

“You can go as long as Ted goes with you,” Mother said.

Fifteen minutes later, Poppy shivered like the first sprout of spring grass as she and

Ted trudged through the snow with ice skates over their shoulders to the small pond about a twenty-minute walk from the house. Ted held her hand in the pocket of his sheepskin coat as they walked. Suddenly a shiver ran up her spine and her body shook as if was tickled by Jack Frost himself.

“If it’s too cold we can head back,” Ted said and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. 5

“N-no-n-no,” she said through chattering teeth. As quickly as the shiver came she

felt a surge of warmth and calm. “Just a shiver. Besides, I’m warmed up already!”

He laughed and they continued to the pond that was fringed by two of the lonely

skeletal trees along the snow-crusted flatness of the land fenced by the just visible mountain range. Surprisingly, no other kids from the nearby farms were at the pond

“I guess it’s too cold for everyone else to show up,” Poppy said as she strapped the slightly rusted blades on her shoes.

He laughed at that and added, “Well, maybe they will come later.”

Secretly, Poppy wished that no one else would come. Over the last week she, Ted, and Mother had folks come over every day to share the good news. It was good to see

Mother so happy, and it was good to be happy with her neighbors and friends, but right now she just really wanted to be with her brother.

“Faster, faster,” Ted teased as he let Poppy pull him in a lap around the pond.

“You’re so heavy!” she cried out before her foot slipped and she fell.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said as she let him help her up. “You pull me now!”

“Okay. Ugh, you’re heavier than me, heavier than an elephant,” he groaned as he strained his shoulders to pull her over the ice.

“You’re sooooo weak.”

“Am not, you just eat too much.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” 6

He laughed heartily at that as he pulled her around pond as easily as if she weighed as much as a bouquet of poppies.

“What are you going to do when Pop gets back?” Ted asked, not looking at her.

“All sorts! We’ll go to town and eat candy, and maybe get a new book, and we’ll play all sorts of games. What do you think you’ll do when Pop get back?”

“Oh I don’t know. Men’s stuff.”

“What do men do?”

“I can’t tell you that, it’s for men to know only. I don’t ask you or Mother about women stuff.”

Poppy put on a burst of speed and skated next to him.

“/ don’t know women stuff either and Mother won’t tell me,” she panted as she tried to keep up with him.

“You’ll learn it one day. You can’t be a girl forever.”

“When did Pop tell you men stuff, then?”

“When he left,” he croaked, then cleared his throat, “but he’s coming back now, so

I guess I won’t need to know all that stuff until I move out.”

“You aren’t leaving soon, are you?”

“What? No, no it’ll be a while yet before I move out. I still have to figure out what kind of work I want to do if I want to move out at all.” He looked down and smiled at her. “Girls have it easy. You only have to worry about getting married and how many kids you want.” 7

“I guess,” she said, though she felt uneasy and couldn’t quite say why, so she didn’t say anything else about it. “I’m gonna build a snowman, do you want to help?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll be there in a minute.”

She left him at the middle of the ice, where he skated in connecting semi-circles.

She had almost reached the pond bank when a sharp snap pierced her ears.

“Poppy,” Ted said in a voice just above a whisper.

She looked down by her shoes and saw that the ice was still whole beneath her feet.

Slowly she turned and saw her brother at the source of a web of deep cracks in ice.

“Poppy, look at me.”

She looked up from his shoes to his pants to his shirt to his face and finally his hazel eyes and she felt the full force of his fear. She started to move towards him but he held his arms out and shook his head.

“Don’t get closer. I’ll come to you. Look at me, Poppy.”

Their eyes met again. He gulped at the freezing air and slid his left leg forward.

The ice crackled but he moved his right leg.

The ice held and so he moved his left leg.

Ted held her gaze, and she imagined a rope springing from his heart and attach to her hers. The scenery around them fell away as she willed him to move faster out of dang—

The ice broke and he fell through. He tried to grab the jagged edges of ice but they crumbled in his grasp. His head bobbed up once before he sank. 8

Poppy stared at the negative space of where he had stood, a gurgle of black water sputtering over the ice.

Not daring to move from her spot, she called out, “Ted!”

Her eyes stared at the black hole that punctured the white ice. Suddenly it made sense to Poppy that if she just stood exactly where she was, he would pop up from the water and answer her as if nothing had happened. She took this stray thought that managed to exist in her blank mind and held on to it for dear life.

“Ted?” she called out again, though her voice strained to get through her tightening throat.

More ice crumbled into the water, widening the gap into the unknown world that

Ted had fallen into.

A thought floundered to the front of her mind: You need to get help. Poppy stumbled backwards on stiff legs and fell into the snowbank. Stars popped in her eyes when another thought suddenly hit her between the eyes: GET HELP OR HE WILL DIE.

She scrambled up the bank and fell on her face again. Her ice skates were still tied to her boots. She tore them off and ran bare foot in the snow, crying out for Mother in between her gut-ripping wails.

By the time she reached the back door of her house, she knew he was gone. 9

Chapter 2

Empty tin cups were scattered along the kitchen counters and the table tucked in the comer. Muddy footprints overlapped each other on the wood floor with the melting bits of snow. There was still a faint smell of the salty head sweat in the air from the people who had volunteered to help find Ted and get him out of the pond.

It was nighttime now and Mother deflated on the pale yellow couch. Poppy leaned into her, pressing her ear against her chest so that Mother’s heartbeat could muffle the stark silence. Moments ago this room was filled with people drinking coffee and murmuring their regret. They were men and women from the neighboring farms and

Haverhill, friends and acquaintances, volunteering to find Ted in the pond and went out in grim earnest, only to come back without him. Though they had tried, it was too dangerous to try to get him out until the pond had thawed. Mother served them coffee and leftover bread and butter, thanking them for at least trying.

After several long, silent minutes Mother finally said, “I think it’s time for bed.”

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

Mother squeezed her shoulder. “Of course you can, love, but you need to throw on your pajamas first.”

Poppy curled herself up tighter. Her pajamas were in the bedroom she and Ted shared, and she had managed to avoid it all day. She looked up at Mother with tears growing in her eyes.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Mother asked. 10

No, I want you to get my pajamas so I don’t have to go to our room, Poppy thought at first and then scolded herself. She wiped her eyes, swallowed her tears, and nodded.

Mother took Poppy’s hand and they crossed the square living room to the hallway, turned right and immediately faced the white closed door. Mother took in a long, shaky breath before opening the door.

Inside the room was dark as pitch, the moonlight blocked out by the thick winter curtains that covered the one window. Poppy clutched Mother’s arm with both hands as they carefully stepped into the room.

“Did you leave anything on the floor?” Mother asked.

“I don’t think so?”

Mother sighed her usual sigh when she was irritated about something, but that sigh ended with a short laugh. There was a click and the room was illuminated by the nightstand table lamp that stood between the bunk beds and the dresser. Poppy took her pajamas from under her pillow and ran out to change in the bathroom in the middle of the hallway. Her whole body shook as she tried to hold back a new wave of grief while she changed. She compromised with herself and let herself cry as she brushed her hair in front of the mirror.

When she had finally calmed down, she left the bathroom to look for Mother.

Mother was still in Poppy and Ted’s room, her arms folded on his bed and her nose in his sheets. Poppy hung out in the hallway, wanting to go to her parents’ room but at the same time not wanting to interrupt Mother. Poppy hugged herself, her stomach groaning as it 11

tied itself into knots.

“Go to bed, Poppy,” Mother said, though she didn’t look at her. “I’ll meet you in a moment.”

“Okay,” Poppy said and walked down the hallway to her parents’ room that was exactly opposite of her and Ted’s room. She burrowed herself under the thick quilts and wool blankets and waited. She waited and waited...

... and waited until the next morning when she woke up curled up under Mother’s left arm, her eyelids stiff from crying in her sleep and her head as heavy as a lump of lead. Pale sunlight slipped between the thick red curtains and fell at the foot of the bed, not offering warmth but a cold reminder that time had not stopped for them. On a normal day Poppy would wake up in her bed, with her cloth doll Sarah at her side, and look up to see Ted’s legs hanging above her. Now she stared up at the flat ceiling with a cobweb caught between two planks of wood.

Mother stirred, her bones cracking as she stretched.

“Sleep okay?” Mother asked once she settled back in bed again.

“No,” Poppy grumbled.

“Me neither.”

Poppy studied her Mother’s tired but dry face.

“Did you cry?” Poppy said with a sniff.

“No, I didn’t. I don’t think I can right now,” Mother said. “I’m too sad to cry.”

Poppy bent her eyebrows and Mother continued, “Sometimes I get so sad that 12

crying doesn’t make me feel better, so I don’t.”

Mother sighed and brushed the hair out of Poppy’s face. “Anyway, we better get up and going. The day isn’t going to wait for us.”

Clara’s impatient low interjected in their conversation, and Poppy burst into a fit of giggles.

“I don’t think Clara’s going to wait for us either,” Mother said as she pushed herself out of bed. “Let’s get a move-on, Poppy.”

The day went on quickly with more work to do now that Ted was gone. As Poppy stomped out to milk Clara she kept her head down, trying not to get even a glimpse of the pond. Her raw memory pressed against her skull, trying to make her relive yesterday. She shook her head as she entered the two-stall gray stable. Ghost chewed on his stall door, his clear blue eyes wide and worried. Poppy scratched his neck and scolded him, but he continued to chew on the door. Clara leaned her fawn-colored head over her door and lowed again.

“I know, I know,” Poppy said and left Ghost to chew on his door.

Once Clara was out of her stall and being milked, a somewhat peaceful quiet fell upon the bam. Clara’s milk hissed and rattled in its bucket. Ghost stopped chewing and was now pacing in his stall, the straw crunching under his hooves. The stables creaked under its snow cap. It was in this quiet that Poppy allowed herself to dream of what it would be like to have Pop back here again, and she would visit him at his butcher shop after school—no, no she didn’t want to go back to school. She wanted to go on a picnic 13

with Pop and Mother, and they’d have sandwiches and pie and lemonade on a nice grassy field somewhere far away from everything else.

She could feel the warm summer breeze and smell Pop’s specially-cured ham sandwiches and Mother’s blackberry pie on the worn rag quilt. Mother leaned onto Pop, who was smoking a cigarette between his thin lips. Ted, still dressed in his winter coat and pants, shoveled down a hefty piece of blackberry pie.

“Ted!” Poppy cried out.

His hazel eyes locked with hers for a moment before a loud crack shattered the summer reverie and she watched him fall through the ice, the bottom of his chin cut by a jagged piece of ice before the black water swallowed Mm.

Clara mooed and stamped her back foot, knocking over the bucket. Poppy quickly set the bucket upright, but half of the milk was spilled on the dusty floor. Clara turned her head towards Poppy and glared at her. Poppy tried to milk again, but no milk came out of the udder.

“Sorry Clara,” Poppy sighed.

Clara snorted but didn’t kick the bucket again. Poppy tried to keep focused on her work so she wouldn’t think about Ted, but it was impossible to do when she did part of

Ted’s chores like feeding Ghost and Clara or bringing wood in for the stove. Chores had to be done, though, because the day wasn’t going to wait for them. By the end of the day

Poppy was so exhausted that she fell in a dreamless sleep beside Mother in her parents’ bed. 14

The next couple of weeks passed by in a haze punctuated by visitors who came to give their condolences to Poppy and Mother. When Rev. Thomas stopped over, he and

Mother made arrangements to have Ted’s funeral once his body had been retrieved. Other visitors, like Mr. Ash from the butcher shop Pop worked at, brought over cured ham and

Mrs. Ash’s fig cookies. Mrs. Sato from the nearest farm brought over a basket of fruit and her three daughters, Ai, Hisa and baby Kinu. While Mrs. Sato and Mother talked in the kitchen, the girls sat with their paper dolls in the living room. Ai gave her paper doll to five-year-old Hisa and said something in Japanese. Hisa grinned and answered back in

Japanese before busying herself with the dressing the dolls.

“I told her not to bug us,” Ai said before leaning on an arm.

“Okay,” Poppy said.

Ai looked down at her chewed finger nails. “I’m really sorry about your brother. He was really nice.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“Are you going to come back to school soon?”

“I don’t know. Mother asked me if I wanted to go to school this week but I didn’t want to, so she said I didn’t have to.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll tell Yoon and Yukiko tomorrow. We can bring you your schoolwork too. Maybe we can all study together?”

Suddenly Poppy wanted them all gone and the quiet to replace the chatter that was just filling in empty time. She balled her fists and sniffed, feeling guilty about wanting to 15

send her best friend away. Her throat grew hot and tears flooded her eyes. Poppy covered her face with her hands.

“Oh no, oh don’t cry,” Ai said as she hugged Poppy. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

“It’s not you,” was all Poppy could say as she hugged Ai back and they both cried.

* **

At about five in the morning, Mother shook Poppy awake.

“Get up, love, it’s time to pick up Pop,” Mother whispered.

For the first time in weeks, Poppy whooped with joy as she hopped out of bed to get ready. When she put on the high-waisted dress, the sea-blue skirt ended just at the middle of her knees when she stood up and the sleeves were tugged at her shoulders when she tied the bright red ribbon at her throat. She frowned at herself looking uncomfortable in her favorite dress in the mirror. It still fits, she thought and threw on her coat to hide the dress’s shortcomings before Mother could see and make her change.

By the time the sun cracked through the lavender sky, Poppy was sitting in the green-painted buggy as Mother drove a freshly washed Ghost onto the main road. The road was still sticky with mud made from freshly melted snow, and the goop coated the black iron wheels and splattered up Ghost’s legs. There was nothing but thawing fields on either side of the buggy and the town of Haverhill just a mile and a half ahead. One bird hiding among the wild shrubbery warbled out a morning song.

They passed by the white-washed schoolhouse that also served as the Protestant church on Sundays on the outskirts of Haverhill. Mother’s eyes shined with sudden but 16

unshed tears, and Poppy hugged her. They hadn’t gone to church, let alone visited town, in these last few weeks. On Sundays they would sleep in until Clara’s lowing would wake them up, and once she was milked they did little else but eat cold soup and stare out the window, their family Bible left untouched in Mother’s dresser drawer.

They drove by the Amie’s Butcher Shop, Haverhill Sundry, Lawson Bros.

Tailoring, the Corner Saloon and Hotel, and Haverhill Pharmacy, and left Haverhill behind. They followed the power lines that connected Haverhill to the much larger railroad town of Ambar. It wasn’t until the early afternoon when the dirt road abruptly changed to asphalt that crisscrossed between the many brick-laid shops and houses. Black automobiles speckled with mud zipped around the few horse and buggy that plodded down the streets. A pair of boys on bicycles swerved in front of Ghost, causing the mule to stop. A car honked behind them and pulled ahead of them just as the laughing boys rode away.

Poppy said, “It’s so busy—”

“Not now,” Mother said before clenching her jaw and cracking her whip. “C’mon,

Ghost, we have to keep moving!”

After a few more cracks Ghost finally started walking again. Poppy didn’t know how Mother did it, but they were able to navigate through the tangle of streets to the train station. Once they had found a place for the buggy with a full trough for Ghost, they entered the open-air wood station that stuck out from the brick and cement of the rest of the town. The platform was crowded with faces Poppy had never seen before, and her 17

heart raced as she and Mother squeezed into the shuddering and stamping mass of people.

Surely, these people couldn’t all be strangers. She heard from Ai that the Yashimotos’ were welcoming back a son and daughter as well, but she didn’t know exactly what day they were coming back. Poppy held onto Mother’s hand tightly as she stood on her tip­ toes to try and find another familiar face as they all waited for the train to arrive.

The train whistled long and low, and the crowd cheered in response. Poppy bounced in her spot, trying to see between shoulders for the train. The whistle blew again before the black engine pulled forward, tugging along car-loads of waving soldiers in their olive drab uniforms.

“D’you see Pop? Do you?” Poppy yelled over the crowd.

Mother didn’t answer as she strained her neck to see the train better, her hand clamped tightly over Poppy’s. Mother pulled Poppy through the crowd to the metal gate where there were children clambering all over it and calling out names of loved ones as soldiers piled out with oversized kit bags hanging off their shoulders. Poppy’s heart bounced back and forth between her ribs when she would see a lock of red hair or a squashed nose or—

She saw Pop step off the train step and tugged down his hat on his stiff red hair.

Even though his uniform looked baggy and his once chubby cheeks were smooth, hard, and tanned, she knew it was Pop. She waved her hands, shrieking like everyone else. Pop strode up to the gate with the other soldiers until he saw Poppy. He dropped his kit bag and picked her up from the crowd. She buried her head in his bony shoulder and breathed 18

in his musty smelling uniform and his sweat. He kissed her hair and paused to kiss

Mother as she threw her arms over the both of them.

Even though Poppy was so, so, so happy to be hugging Pop again, she felt a sting of sorrow taint her joy. Their family would never be whole again.

Pop insisted on driving back home, which Mother was too happy to oblige. Ghost greeted Pop with his strange call: it was both a donkey’s bray and a horse’s whinny, and it was loud enough to make the people passing by jump. Pop laughed as he stroked the mule’s neck before they hopped into buggy and driving out of town.

“This town’s grown twice its size since I left,” he said and gently ribbed Poppy. “It looks like you’ve grown twice your size since I left too. Didn’t I ask you to stay small for me?”

“I can’t help it!” she laughed.

“Ted had grown a foot,” Mother said flatly. “I think he was about as tall as you,

Ollie”

Poppy shrank between her now silent parents. Pop took in a long, shaky break and let it out slowly.

“It’s going to be different,” Pop said, “but we’ll muddle through it.”

“1 spoke with the reverend, made arrangements when the ice finally melts,” Mother said.

“Good.” 19

“You should speak with him too, when you get the chance.”

“I guess I will this Sunday, eh?”

Mother nodded once and continued to stare at the landscape. Poppy asked Pop how the trip was back to California, and he quickly started on his ship ride from France to

New York.

The day slowly passed as they drove down the generally quiet road, except when they passed through Haverhill. Everyone had seen them coming and came out of their stores, cheering as they passed through. Pop paused for a moment to shake hands with his coworkers and a few others before pressing along towards the bungalow.

Poppy noticed a shadowy hump farther down the road. As they rode in the twilight that shadow morphed into a red-roofed cottage sitting amongst a bed of greenery along the side of the road. Ghost rose his head up, his pale eyes alert and his nostrils sniffing the air. The back of Poppy’s neck tingled and she pressed against Pop.

“When did that house get there?” she asked.

“What d’you mean? That house has always been there,” Pop said with a laugh.

“Even before I got shipped off it was rotting there.”

“We passed by it on the way to pick up Pop. Maybe you were dozing off on the ride to the station,” Mother said as she patted Poppy’s cheek. “You do look tired, love. You should take a nap when we get home.”

“I’m not tired,” Poppy grumbled. She craned her neck back to get one last look of the cottage and saw the massive wall of dark green shrubbery that over took part of the 20

house. “Does anyone live there?”

“Not when I left,” Pop said.

Mother shrugged. “I don’t think anyone lives there. The bushes must be from the

last owner.”

“Who was that?” Poppy asked.

Pop and Mother looked at each other, clearly thinking hard but unable to find an answer.

“Who did live there before?” Mother said.

Poppy felt another prickle on the back of her neck before Ghost shrieked and bolted down the road. Mother clutch Poppy to her breast as Pop pulled up on the reigns. Ghost slowed to a trot, chomping at his bit. Pop swore under his breath then said, “Simmer down, Ghost.”

“Did he see a snake?” Poppy asked, but Mother shushed her.

Ghost, however, relaxed and eased up on his bit. Pop shook his head and they continued driving down to the bungalow.

Once they arrived, Pop helped Mother and Poppy down and said, “You girls get dinner started, I’ll tack up Ghost.”

Poppy and Mother hurried inside to warm up dinner. Poppy helped stoke the fire so it would quickly heat up the pot of chicken stew Mother was stirring. After several taste- tests Mother said, “Can you go tell Pop that dinner’s ready?”

“Yes, Mother,” Poppy said as she ran out the door. 21

When she entered the stable, she saw that Ghost was munching on his grain in his

stall and his gear polished and hanging, but no Pop. Her heart tumbling down into her

stomach, she left the stable and walked away from the house until she could clearly see

the bald trees that sheltered the pond. She squinted and couldn’t quite tell if she was

looking at a tree or her father.

“Pop?” Poppy called out.

Poppy breathed a sigh of relief when Pop jogged towards her. Even though he

smiled, his brown eyes were red-rimmed and glassy.

“Everything all right, bug?” he asked.

“Dinner’s ready.”

“Perfect timing, I was just about to come back. C’mon, let’s go eat,” he said and

held out his hand. Poppy took his hand with both of hers and they walked back home.

*

Pop leaned on the bathroom door and said, “Now Poppy, I know you’ve been

sleeping in our room, but tonight you’ve got to sleep in your own bed.”

Poppy squeezed her hairbrush so tightly it hurt. “Can I sleep on the couch instead?”

“Poppy,” he said sternly.

“Please, Pop, don’t make me go in there. I want to sleep on the couch instead.”

“You can’t go through life avoiding hard things. Tonight you’re sleeping in your room, and that’s final.”

She looked away from his hard eyes and mumbled, “Yes, sir.” 22

“Good,” he said and left for the living room. Poppy closed the door just as the first

fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

She took her time brushing every strand of hair and washing every pore on her face

until she heard a warning knock on the door. When Poppy left the bathroom, she saw that

her bedroom door was wide open. Pop sat on her bed hunched over a tattered dime novel

in the lamp light, waiting to tuck her in like he did before he left for the war. The

bedroom looked friendlier with him there, but different. Pop looked much more intense

than she remembered. His rigid body barely breathed as he read, his face so close to the

book that he could almost fall into the pages.

“Did we send you that book?” Poppy asked as she sat next to Pop.

He jerked his head up in response. “Yes! It’s one of my favorites too. I’ve re-read

this enough times that I had dreams about it.”

“Where did you sleep?”

Pop laughed. “Sometimes on a cot. Most of the time on the ground. Always packed

like sardines, though. It depended on where we were and what we were doing. You,

however, sleep in a bed.”

Poppy kneeled at her bed and enunciated every word of her bedtime prayer, her

dread of sleeping alone clinging to the back of her throat. She crawled under covers and

Pop tucked her in as tightly as a caterpillar in a cocoon. He took her hand and kissed it.

“I know I was hard on you, Poppy. Tonight will be hard, but it’ll be better tomorrow. Once you get used to being in this room, it will be better,” he said. 23

“Did you get used to sleeping on the ground?”

Pop pursed his lips before answering gently, “I had to, or I wouldn’t get any sleep.

Good night, Poppy.”

“Good night, Pop. Can you leave the door open, please?”

Pop kissed heron forehead. “Sure. Get some sleep now:”

He turned off the light and left the room with the door wide open for a tiny bit of

faded living room light to enter. She closed her eyes and listened to the murmur of

turning pages. All too soon that sound was interrupted by the click of the lamp and the

careful footsteps to her parents’ bedroom. Their bedroom door moaned shut and Poppy’s

eyes flew open.

Her body quivered with energy that raced from limb to limb. She tried laying on her belly, laying on her right, laying on her left side, and finally laying on her back, her heavy covers kicked away. She lifted her legs up and thumped against the bottom of

Ted’s bunk with the balls of her feet. There was no “quit it, Poppy” in an annoyed whisper from Ted, no hanging halfway out of his bunk to grab at Poppy’s foot, no parent to come in and tell them both off to go to sleep. Poppy let her legs fall on the bed, her body tiring but her mind still fully awake.

“1 wish you were here, Ted. It’s lonely in here without you,” she whispered to herself, feeling stupid but feeling better at the same time. Talking to herself was better than having no one to talk to at all.

The bed above her softly creaked as if someone rolled over. Poppy lay rigid in her 24

bed as she listened. The creaking stopped, but Poppy remained still.

“Ted?” she asked.

Nothing answered, but now Poppy’s curiosity was making her want to go up to

Ted’s bed to check. She slipped out of bed with her blanket held tightly across her

shoulders. She felt around for the ladder until she found a well-worn rung. Her nostrils

were suddenly filled with the smell of old bam hay and dirt. She let go of the ladder, and

the smell disappeared. She touched the ladder again, but the smell did not return.

“I’m making this up, I’m making this up, I’m making this up,” she said as her

throat tightened up. “I just miss you a lot. I just want you here.”

She clambered up the ladder and collapsed on his bed, the mattress warm as if he had just left it. She buried her head in his pillow, her eyes and nose and throat hot and

salty when she heard Ted say, “Poppy.”

She lifted her head and saw him standing in the middle of a room so dark that she couldn’t see past her own nose. Ted, however, she could see as clear as day, as if he had brought the sunlight with him. He stood in his winter clothes, his arms hanging relaxed at his sides, a slight smile on his face.

“Ted!” she cried.

She swung her legs over the bed and was about to jump to him when he said calmly, “Don’t get closer.”

“What? Why not?”

“Poppy, look at me.” 25

“I am looking at you.”

He stared at her with blank eyes, and his mouth twitched into a frown. Poppy lifted her legs to her chest, fear welling in her stomach.

“You’re not Ted,” she said. “You look like Ted but you’re not him. You can’t be because he’s... because he’s... ”

“Dead,” he said flatly. “Ted is dead because you wanted to go ice skating, because you were bored. All because you were bored. Are you bored now, Poppy?”

She covered her ears with his pillow and yelled, “Stop it, stop it, stop it! It’s not my fault.”

“You should have pulled him from the ice.”

“He told me to stay.”

“You watched him standing on the cracked ice.”

“He told me to stay.”

“You watched him fall.”

“He told me to stay!”

Morning light burned against Poppy’s eyelids crusted over by dried tears. She opened her eyes and saw that she was still in her bed, her blankets crumpled on the floor, the back of her nightgown glued to her damp back. 26

Chapter 3

Poppy was up and dressed for her first day of school, her slate and chalk in her

burlap bag that hung on her wrist, her lunch pail packed so full that it felt like she was

holding a pail of rocks. Mother had gotten up early to pack everything, but now she

sprawled out asleep on the couch.

“I want to tell her good bye,” Poppy whispered to Pop.

He took her hand and led her to the front door. “Let her sleep. I’ll walk you to

school.”

They left the little house hand-in-hand and started to walk down the long muddy path that cut through the patches of new grass that was outnumbering the patches of dirty

snow. She knew that volunteers from town would try to go looking for Ted again, but her parents wouldn’t say when.

“Do I have to go back to school now?” she whined and pulled on his hand.

“I thought you liked school. You’ll be with your friends, you’ll get to learn new things—”

“He won’t be there, and everyone will... ” she trailed off, suddenly feeling sick.

“Talk to you about Ted? Yes, they probably will. They’ve lost a friend and they’ll be mourning with you.”

“I wish they wouldn’t talk about him. Can’t I just go to work with you instead?”

His grin cut deep along his face. “They’ll be talking about him there too. Trust me,

Poppy, it’ll be easier after today. The first day is always the hardest. We get you back to 27

school, we’ll get back to church—yes, church. We need God more than ever now.”

“I know,” she said flatly and kicked a pebble further up the road. She had been

dreading church a lot more than she had been dreading school, but she didn’t dare tell

Pop that. At least in school she’d be learning math and writing, but at church she’d be

learning God’s reasoning to take Ted’s life. Pop let go of her hand, put his arm over her

shoulders, and gently hugged her.

“I know,” he said softly.

They walked quickly down the path until they approached the red-roofed cottage, but now the door and windows were wide open as a shadow bobbed about inside. The

shadow emerged through the front door as an old woman with fiery orange hair and white

papery skin all wrapped up in a cozy evergreen coat. She waved at them, her smiling

green eyes magnified by her large glasses.

“Hello there, neighbor,” Pop said with a new cheer in his voice, “or are you a new neighbor? I’ve been gone for a while and haven’t quite caught up with all the news.”

“I’m new, hun. Just moved in today and the place needed a good airing out, among other things.”

“I’m Oliver Ruskins and this is my daughter, Penelope, but we all call her Poppy.”

Poppy smiled shyly and said, “Hello, ma’am.”

“No need for the ma’am, just call me Gladys, Mrs. Gladys Faymere,” she said and shook his hand.

Pop said, “Well, Gladys, it’s certainly good to meet you. Right now Poppy needs to 28

go to school and I need to go to work, but if you ever need anything, we’re the first house just up the road here. Myself and my wife Sadie would be more than happy to help you

move in.”

“That’s kind of you, and as you can see, my door is always open!” she laughed, but

turned her attention to Poppy. “Once I’m set up, you and your friends are always

welcome if they’d like a special treat.”

“Thank you, Gladys.”

Pop nodded and said, “Have a good day now, Mrs. Faymere.”

“You too!”

Gladys waved at them before scunying back into the cottage. Poppy and Pop continued their walk towards the school when Pop said, “Now what’s made you so shy?”

“Isn’t it strange that she’s all by herself?”

Pop shrugged. “I don’t know, and I wouldn’t pry, Poppy. She probably just wanted a nice, quiet place to retire.”

They chatted until they reached the white-washed, single-roomed house on the outskirts of town that served as a school on the weekdays and church on Sundays. Poppy squeezed her father’s hand tighter when she could see the small crowd of children and teenagers waiting for the teacher to announce class. She immediately saw Ai, Yoon, and

Yukiko runs towards her and Pop with great big smiles on their faces. Yoon was a

Korean girl who always had pale pink ribbons in her dark brown curls, and who had just moved to the United States three months ago. Ai and Yukiko were both American bom, 29

but Yukiko’s parents were from the northernmost island, Hokkaido, and Ai’s from the southernmost island, Okinawa.

Ai hugged her first with her wiry arms, following Yukiko who hugged her with her pudgy arms. Yoon bowed her head a little bit to greet Poppy, and said slowly, “I am happy that you are here.”

“Me too,” Poppy said, and noticed that the older boys were watching her and Pop.

She could see the Ash brothers, who were sixteen and didn’t get along with Ted at all, leaning against the wall with Charlie Lawson and Fred Turn. Sitting on the porch steps of the house was Mike Ernest and Kenji Matsumoto, but no Ryu Iwata. He's probably running late; she told herself

The teacher, Mrs. Evergreen, opened up the front door and called the children to class. Poppy’s friends walked ahead of her, giving Pop a chance to hug her tightly once more.

“You’ll do fine today,” he said and kissed the top of her head.

“I’ll try,” Poppy said, her words muffled in his shirt.

“You’ll do fine.”

He let her go and walked towards town. With a great sigh, Poppy drug her feet into the class room and took her seat between Ai and Yoon at the second pew. Mrs. Evergreen gave Poppy a rare smile as a silent welcome back and started the lesson by reviewing what would be on a test at the end of the week. Poppy both wished she was back home and regretted staying home so long. Her fingers shook as she scribbled the lesson down, 30

trying to make sense of all that she missed over the last couple of weeks. She wore down

her chalk so quickly that her nails accidentally scratched the slate, sending a shock up her

arm. She shook her hand and continued to draw with her nub of chalk.

After the never-ending frenzy of the first lesson, Mrs. Evergreen finally announced

the recess period. Poppy, Ai, Yukiko, and Yoon huddled under the apricot tree at the side

of the school, their lunches kept warm on their bellies. Yoon wordlessly offered her a rice roll with egg and something else yellow and something else red all wrapped in seaweed,

and Poppy took it and gave her one of the small meat pies that still had a hint of warmth to it.

“Thank you. What is this called?” Yoon asked.

“Meat pie.”

“Meat pie,” Yoon repeated and nodded towards the rice roll. “Kimbap.”

Ai whined at Yukiko, “Your bento is so pretty. Wanna trade?”

“No!” Yukiko squealed, clutching the wooden box filled with delicately arranged bits of food.

“I’ll trade you a gyoza for your tamagoyaki.”

“Fine,” she said, picking up a piece of the sliced egg omelet with her wooden chopsticks and putting it on top of Ai’s pork potstickers.

“You can take the umeboshi too,” Ai said, pointing at the little shiny red pickled plum that sat in the middle of the mound of white rice.

“No thanks, you can have it,” Yukiko said, then grinned and said something in 31

Japanese in a universal scolding tone that made its meaning clear: it’s goodfor you. The

girls burst out in laughing, even Poppy, and for the first time that day she was glad to be

back at school.

Once the giggles had passed, Poppy said, “I’ll try it.”

Ai made a face. “It tastes really bad, Poppy.”

Yukiko elbowed Ai. “It doesn’t taste that bad.”

“Maybe a little piece?” Poppy said and raised up her roll. “I have a kimbap to wash

it down with.”

Ai relented and tore off a little piece for Poppy, who popped the piece in her mouth.

A sharp sourness mixed with a biting saltiness burst on her tongue. One of her watering eyes twitched shut. Poppy swallowed the pickled plum and tore a big bite of the kimbap.

They were still laughing when she finished the roll, and she laughed with them.

The next few school days went by much easier than the first, especially when Ai and Yukiko volunteered to help her with her homework. She also learned that Ryu Iwata started working at Haverhill Sundry with his uncle after Ted had died, so he didn’t go to school anymore. When she would wait for Pop outside the butcher shop, she’d stare at the sundry store across the street and occasionally see Ryu in the big square window.

Poppy had guessed that he and Ted were friends since they always sat together at the back of the classroom, but Ted always sat by himself at recess, by the clump of wild bushes that was just out of earshot from school chatter. 32

On Friday, Poppy had to walk home alone since Pop said he’d be working late. She looked back at the comer seat at the farthest pew where Ted usually sat. No one said anything about Ted to Poppy over the last week, not even her closest friends. They all knew he was gone, but did they even care? Poppy stormed out of the classroom. She finned for some time down the road, until she saw the cottage.

Didn ’t I wish that no one would talk about Ted to me? said a little voice in the back of her head, but it didn’t sound like her. Instead, the voice sounded like Gladys

Faymere’s sweet, grandmotherly voice.

Poppy approached the newly erected white picket fence that boxed in the pruned, dark-leafed bushes at the front of the cottage. The round front door was unpainted, the walls chipped, and most of the lawn was either dead or crabgrass. It bothered Poppy that this was here in the first place, and that a new neighbor just happened to move in the day

Pop came back. Poppy stood on her tip-toes to looked up at the foggy windows and saw a poof of orange pass by. She fell back on her heels just when Gladys opened the door.

“Hello, dear.” Gladys said as she approached the fence. “Poppy, was it?”

“Yes, ma’—I mean, yes, Gladys,” Poppy said, feeling overwhelmingly shy again as she looked down at her muddy shoes.

“Walking all by yourself today?”

“Yes. Pop’s working overtime today.”

“I see. Would you like a fresh gingerbread cookie to help you the rest of the way home?” 33

Poppy’s mind split two ways: she could decline, continue on the path and forget that this cottage ever existed, or she could take a chance, accept the hospitality, and see if she could figure out the mysterious cottage.

“Yes, please,” Poppy said as innocently as she could.

Gladys opened the gate and beckoned Poppy. “Coming right up! Come in and warm yourself for a moment, too.”

“Thank you,” Poppy said, following Gladys up the rickety porch stairs.

The cottage was all one room separated by two floor-length patchwork quilts.

Gladys disappeared behind the quilt to what Poppy assumed to be the kitchen, since the smell of gingerbread was strongest on that side of the house. Poppy stood next to the oversized couch covered with white crocheted doilies. Numerous bookshelves jutted out from the white brick wall and held a mishmash of large books, some looking very old and crumbly. Poppy looked up and gasped: hanging tight over the ceiling was one more quilt, but not the faded patchworks like ones that separated the rooms.

The ceiling quilt looked like a stain-glass window into fairy land. A lady fairy was dressed in a magnificent white gown that looked like an upside-down gardenia, hand-in- hand with a gentleman fairy who dressed like a prince, his purple tunic made of plush velvet. Their wings were elaborate gold embroidery that were glittered against the dark blue background. The flower they hovered over was a rainbow bloom of colors and patterns.

“Oh, you like that?” Gladys said as she handed Poppy the gingerbread cookies 34

wrapped in a thin gingham napkin. “Took me a year to complete, but it’s one of my favorite quilts. Have you ever heard of Thumbelina?”

Poppy thought for a moment, thinking of her three-book collection of fairytales. “I don't think so.”

Gladys went to the bottom bookshelf by the front door and thumbed through the books.

“It’s about a tiny girl bom from a flower, and after several frightening adventures, she marries a fairy prince and is given a pair of wings as a wedding present so she could be Queen of the Flowers. Ah!” she said, and pulled out a thin blue book. “Here’s the book if you’d like to borrow it”

Poppy took the book with her free hand and pushed it close to her chest. “Thank you! I’ll be careful with it.”

“I know you will, hun. If there’s any other stories you’d like to read, my library is always open.”

“Thank you.” Poppy looked up at the fairy quilt and could feel its comforting warmth. “Why did you make the quilt?”

“Well, when my husband died a few years ago, I was in quite a rut,” Gladys laughed a crackling sort of cackle. “I reread all my fairy tales and Thumbelina stuck to me more than the rest. Once I finished reading, my hands needed something to do, so I decided to make a quilt that would make me happy when I looked at it. What’s happier than a fairy wedding?” 35

Poppy smiled, a hot lump growing in her throat.

Gladys patted Poppy on the shoulder and said, “If you’d like, I could teach you how

to quilt something like that.”

“I’m really bad at sewing,” Poppy mumbled.

“We’re all bad to begin with, so you practice to get better. But anyway, I’m holding

you up and I don’t want your mother to worry about you!”

They left the cottage and Gladys opened the gate for her. The image of the quilt

was still vibrant in her mind, and she had a sudden desire to make something beautiful

like it. Taking a deep breath, Poppy said, “Is it okay if you teach me how to make the

fairy quilt?”

“I’d be happy to,” the old woman said, grinning from ear to ear, “but I warn you, it

won’t look exactly like mine.”

“Why?”

“Because it will look like yours. If your folks are all right with it, come here around

lunch time next Saturday.”

Poppy said goodbye to Gladys and left the cottage much more cheerfully than when

she entered it, the last of her worries about it fading away. So what if the cottage

appeared out of nowhere like magic, at least Gladys was kind. Poppy took a gingerbread

man and nibbled his sweet and spicy head.

She pivoted on her heel and looked back at the seemingly normal cottage again with a seemingly normal old woman. As she bit off the head and chewed, she wondered 36

if there was magic at work here. Magic could explain why everyone knew about the cottage except her. Poppy swallowed the cookie down her suddenly dry throat and looked down at the seemingly normal blue book. Inside the pages were a little grease worn, the black in the black in white pictures just beginning to gray.

No, she thought as she pressed the book against her chest. No, that’s silly. 37

Chapter 4

Poppy ran the rest of the way home, her heart hammering in her chest. The front door was hanging open. Poppy stopped so quickly that she skidded in the mud. Even though it was the beginning of February, the weather had been getting warmer. The pond ice must have melted. She could see Ted fall through the ice again and she looked straight up at the sky, hoping the sunlight would bum the memory out of her mind.

What nightmares was she going to have when she saw Ted?

She could hear a growing argument from inside the house. Quietly she climbed up the porch by the side and tip-toed to the open door, squatting below the windows so she wouldn’t be seen. I ’ll wait, she thought, I ’ll wait until everyone leaves and then maybe I can sneak through the back so Mother and Pop won’t see me.

Even in her head her plan sounded stupid, but it was the only one she was willing to try to follow through. She could barely hear Mr. Sato speaking in his low, even voice, but she trembled at the booming sound of Mr. Ash’s voice.

Mr. Ash said, “This isn’t my first time recovering a body especially from such a little pond. We would have found him there if he that was where he fell in.”

“Are you calling my wife and daughter liars?” Pop said in an equally loud and irritated tone.

“No, I’m saying that your son isn’t in the pond.”

The room filled with more arguing and grumbling from more men than just Pop,

Mr. Ash, and Mr. Sato. A hard thwack of hand against wood cut through the angry noise. 38

“You saw the hole,” Mother said. “You all saw the hole. Where else do you think he went?”

After a tense pause, Mr. Sato said, “It is...possible, that something carried him off.”

Mr. Lawson’s wheezing voice asked, “Like what, a coyote? Vulture? You’d think we’d see them, don’t you think?”

Mr. Sato and Mr. Iwata murmured in Japanese for a moment, setting Mr. Ash off.

“Will you speak in plain damn English for once?”

“Our apologies, Mr. Ash,” Mr. Iwata said crisply. “We were discussing a possibility that may be difficult to translate into American, a cultural thing. We’re not thinking of animals that carried him off, but some sort of spirit”

Poppy felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and her skin prickle with goosebumps.

“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of,” said Mr. Ash with a biting laugh at the end. “Spirited away. Spirited away by what?”

“Angels, demons, ghosts, spirits,” Mr. Iwata offered.

The room fell into another quiet, but a quiet tinged with fear.

Pop broke the silence. “Poppy’s running late. I’m going to the school to get her.”

Before Poppy could even stand up, Pop crossed the threshold and nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of her. Clutching his shirt, he leaned on the doorframe and demanded, “What are you doing there, Poppy?”

“What happened to Ted?” 39

“Nothing’s happened to Ted,” he panted and pulled Poppy up to her feet. “Now

listen, because this is really important, On the day that Ted died, are you sure you saw

him fall through the ice at the pond we’ve all been looking at?”

“Yes.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes! I wouldn’t lie about something like that, Pop, I swear I wouldn’t. I swear to

God I wouldn’t!”

“Watch your tongue. I believe you, Poppy, we just wanted to make sure.”

“You couldn’t find him?”

“No.”

“So now what happens?”

Pop took a deep breath that shuddered through his frame, his eyes glossy with held-

back tears.

“We’ll have the funeral without him.”

Squished between Pop and Mother in the front pew of the church on Sunday, Poppy

felt the warmth of all the people crammed in the church smothering her. She couldn’t

look at Pastor Thomas as he quoted the same passages he always quoted, said the same sentiments in a clipped, measured voice like he did at the last three funerals she attended, one including the death of Father Thomas’s father.

“Although Theodore was taken from us at far too young an age—” he droned. 40

He didn’t like being called Theodore. He liked Ted, she thought.

“•—he will enter the kingdom of Heaven with a new body that will last forever, never hungering, never thirsty, never in pain.”

He didn’t want a new body.

“Even though his death appeared a senseless one, we must remember that his life and death are a part of God’s plan, which is greater than all of us.”

1 hate you.

Hate overflowed her heart. Hate bubbled in her blood. Hate burned in her bones.

Hate pounded in her ears so she couldn’t hear anymore disgusting words from his mouth.

Hate flushed in her face for everyone to see. Hate shined in her eyes as she glared at the pastor as he stood and spoke about her brother like he was a broken toy that couldn’t be fixed.

At the end of the service, Poppy told her parents, “I want to go home.”

“We have to thank everyone for coming first,” Mother said sharply.

“No, I’m going home,” Poppy said

Mother grabbed Poppy’s arm, pulled her to her side, and spoke in Poppy’s ear.

“Stop it and act your age.”

“No!” Poppy yelled like she was out in the field and not in church.

She tore herself away from her stunned mother and pushed through the crowd. The door to freedom was full of light until the pastor stepped in front of it. He grabbed her arm and she kicked him in the leg. She only heard the gasp from the crowd before she 41

ripped away from him and tore down the path to home.

Poppy’s mind was blank as she ran longer than she had ever run before, fueled by

the hate that still roiled inside her. Only when she reached home did she feel a stitch in

her side and a burning ache in her legs. She stumbled passed the house and to the little

stable, ignoring the surprised squawk of the chickens as she plowed through. Ghost

stepped back as she entered his stall and locked the door behind her.

She sank down onto the cushion of hay, her good black dress speckled with mud

and dirt. The hate that had fueled her for today petered out, and she felt a cool hollowness

in her heart.

“I’m in so much trouble, Ghost,” Poppy said as she pulled her knees to chest and

cried.

She cried until she felt Ghost lay down next to her and rest his jaw on her head. Her

fingers rubbed his nose, and he sighed.

“I can’t go back, Ghost. Maybe we should run away.”

He snorted and pressed a little harder against her head.

“I hate today,” she said weakly and rubbed her eyes with her free hand as fresh tears ran down her cheeks. “It’s not fair, Ghost. I want Ted back. I don’t want him in

Heaven, I want him here.”

She felt sick saying such a terrible thing, but she was sure she couldn’t be the only one who wished that. She was sure she couldn’t be the only one who hated how the pastor talked about her brother, hated that he died, hated that he couldn’t be found. Poppy 42

bit on her knuckles and closed her eyes, exhausted from such a horrible, hated day.

Please let tomorrow be better, she silent prayed to anything or anyone that could hear her, and eventually fell asleep on her knees.

* Poppy woke up in her bed, still in her funeral clothes. She tiptoed out of bed and peeked through the thick curtains. It was too dark outside to be morning, but too light to be night. She rubbed her growling stomach. For a moment she forgot why she was so hungiy, until yesterday’s memories burst in a riot of color and sound. She pressed her forehead against the cold window, sighed. For better or for worse, today was a new day. 43

Chapter 5

In the spare living room of Father Thomas’s home, Poppy, her mother and father,

and the pastor himself sat around a square coffee table. Four tin cups of water framed the

white plate of soda crackers. Poppy kept her eyes lowered to her folded hands in her lap

and braced herself for the sharp words the somewhat young pastor surely had for her.

Instead, he scratched at his curly brown sidebum as he asked the family, “What can I do

for you today?”

“Poppy had something to say to you, actually,” Pop said and clasped her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Pastor Thomas, for kicking you in the leg,” she paused, trying to

remember the exact words Mother told her to say, then continued, “and acting poorly in

church.”

“You are forgiven.”

The Ruskin family stared at the pastor as he ate a cracker and washed it down

with water. He stared back at them, picking up another cracker.

Pop said, “We are awfully sorry about Poppy’s behavior. It was a very hard day

for her.”

“Clearly. Is there anything else I can do for you?” he said before eating the second

cracker.

Mother straightened herself and asked, “Was there anything she could do to make up for her mistake?” 44

The pastor drank some more water, but he didn’t answer right away because his tongue was cleaning up mashed up cracker from under his gums. Poppy bit her lips shut to keep herself from smiling at the sight.

“Were you sincere in your apology, Penelope?” Father Thomas finally said.

“Yes,” she said, and meant it. She didn’t really like him, but he probably had a good-sized bruise from where she kicked him, and she did feel bad about that.

“Then I need nothing else from you.”

Pop and Mother looked at each other in confusion, and even Poppy’s mouth fell open in shock. The late Father Thomas, though much jollier than the current Father

Thomas, would have had her clean up the church and schoolhouse for a week or something. Poppy, not wanting to get into more trouble, snapped her jaw back shut and said nothing.

They left shortly after that and walked back home. Poppy glanced at Gladys’s house as they passed, but there was no sign of her. Once they finally reached home,

Mother let out a long sigh and said, “What a strange man!”

“Now, Sadie—”

“Don’t tell me that you didn’t think the same thing. I know he’s a bit dryer than his father, but I never expected that”

“He took pity on us. It was a hard day.” Pop’s eyes glazed over. “I’m going to go check on the chickens.” 45

He left out the back door, leaving Poppy and Mother to face each other. Mother pursed her thin lips and her shoulders sagged as her spur of energy dissolved. She put her hands on her hips and straightened her back.

“Let’s get dinner started,” she said, beckoning Poppy to the kitchen.

And so life continued back into its routine monotony as the earth shook off its last bits of winter and entered spring.

Poppy only heard snatches of rumors about Ted’s disappearance in the schoolyard or when she went to the butcher shop to walk home with Pop. Perhaps the pond was connected to an underground river, and that’s why he couldn’t be found. Perhaps he faked drowning and ran away when Poppy ran for help. Perhaps a water demon or a ghost stole him away. Poppy hated the way the other kids in school looked at her now, as if she was lying about her own brother’s death.

However ...however...

They never found him, so maybe he wasn’t dead. Her heart soared at the thought.

As she walked with her parents to church that Easter Sunday* she day-dreamed about the pond and could see him clambering out of it as if he’d just taken a long swim. The near­ vision collapsed with the crack of a branch breaking from one of the trees and splashing into the pond. She heard the snap of ice and the sloppy splash as his body hit the water—

Her heart crashed in her chest, waking her from her daydream.

Poppy drowned out the pastor’s sermon with her own stormy thoughts. Easter wouldn’t be the same again. Birthdays wouldn’t be the same. Fourth of July, Halloween, 46

Thanksgiving, Christmas—each and every holiday would remind her that Ted was gone.

Her shoulders sagged with this sudden, heavy weight. Mother tapped her back and Poppy forced herself to sit up straight, and the weight sank from her shoulders and into her already overburdened heart.

After the sermon, there was a potluck brunch of macaroni salad, pickles, baked beans, deviled eggs, spring vegetables and lamb. Once the plates had been scraped clean came the egg hunt Poppy dreaded all morning.

Poppy spotted the old bush where Ted would have lunch at during recess, and decided that would be a good place to hide while everyone was busy hunting useless eggs. She pretended to be scouring the grass, checking to make sure no one followed her into the bush. She set her empty basket next to her as she pulled her knees close enough to kiss. Poppy buried her head in her folded arms, her dry, burning eyes grateful to rest in the dark. Now she understood what Mother meant by being too sad to cry.

Something poked her sharply on the back. She looked up and saw a yellow egg and a red egg in her basket. She stood up and looked all around, but no one was near her bush. She sat back down and touched the thick, tough branches. Whoever hid the eggs probably hid them in this bush, and they probably fell out and into her basket when she probably leaned back against a branch. Or it was someone playing a kind trick on her.

Once again Poppy folded herself up, but this time she held her elbow up so she could see her basket. She only had to wait for a couple more minutes when a white rabbit’s paw gently placed a blue egg in the basket. Poppy jerked up and fell back down 47

on the dirt in shock.

Putting eggs in her basket was a jackrabbit, his brown fur speckled with black gray and his legs a creamy white. Every muscle froze except for the worried wiggle of his black nose.

“Are you putting eggs in my basket?” Poppy managed to spit out.

The jackrabbit blinked his great brown eyes several times before he said, “If I tell you no, will you forget that you saw me?”

“What? No! How can I forget talking to a rabbit that talks back?” she said, a cold shock racing up her spine. “How am I talking to a rabbit that talks back?”

The rabbit sat up quite proudly, blue egg still in paw, and said, “Well you see, dear,

I am no ordinary rabbit, but an Easter Rabbit.”

Poppy threw her arms back in her lap. “You’re the Easter Bunny?”

“I am a full-grown Easter Rabbit. I am no silly bunny. Have you ever seen a bunny with long ears like mine?”

Poppy looked at his long and wide pink ears framed with black fur. “Well no, I guess I haven’t seen a bunny with ears as big as yours. I haven’t seen any Easter bunnies before now. I have to be dreaming.”

The Easter Rabbit’s looked away from her and murmured, “Yes, yes this is all a very strange dream.”

“If it’s a dream, it’ll soon turn into a nightmare,” she sighed.

He turned his eyes back to her. “Nightmares on Easter? That’s preposterous! This is 48

holiday of rebirth. What can anyone find nightmarish about that?”

“Don’t you know?”

“Don’t I know what?”

“About my brother! You’re the Easter Bu—Rabbit, how do you not know?”

The Easter Rabbit sighed and thumped his foot impatiently. “No, I don’t know about your brother, I don’t know much about any of you because I try not to get caught, but since I am caught, you must explain what you mean.”

“My brother died a few months ago, and ever since then...” Poppy’s throat seized up as she thought about the nightmares, but she swallowed hard and continued, “Ever since then, I keep having nightmares about him. I keep seeing him die over and over again. It won’t stop, and it’s all my fault.”

She wiped away her frustrated tears. The Easter Rabbit touched her free hand with his paw, his ears folded back.

“I apologize for my insensitivity,” he said in a solemn voice. “I cannot stop the nightmares, but I have an idea to cheer you up,”

“What’s that?” Poppy sniffed.

His ears flew up as he presented the turquoise-blue egg he had been holding. “I want you to keep this egg for one year. If you are able to keep it and bring it back to me next Easter, I will have a special surprise for you. What do you say to that?”

“Won’t the egg go rotten?”

“Ah-ha, clever girl,” he said and kissed the egg with his nose. “True, an ordinary 49

egg would be nothing but a stinky glob of goo by next Easter, but this is no longer an

ordinary egg. It will not rot, but it can break, so you must be careful with it.”

“Is there something living inside it?”

“That’s something you have to decide for yourself. Do you agree to take care of the

egg?”

“What happens if I drop it? Or lose it? Or—”

“I trust that you will do fine, and you have nothing to lose by trying,” the Easter

Rabbit said as he ground his teeth.

Poppy looked down at the egg that stood perfectly straight in the rabbit paw. Like

he said, what did she have to lose?

“I’ll take care of it,” Poppy said and held out her cupped hands.

The surprisingly heavy egg dropped through her fingers when the Easter Rabbit

gave it to her. Luckily the egg fell on her lap and she and the Rabbit caught it before it

fell on the ground.

“I said to be careful!” the Easter Rabbit said.

“I know you did, but I didn’t think the egg was so heavy!”

“Here, wrap it with your handkerchief and keep it in your pocket until you get

home. Find a safe hidden spot and just keep it there until next year. Bring the egg back to this bush during the egg hunt next year, and I’ll give you your prize. Understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Easter Rabbit,” she said as she dug a handkerchief out of her pocket.

When she looked back up, he was gone. 50

Chapter 6

Poppy debated who, if anyone, to tell about the Easter Rabbit and the egg. And that was just the problem: she couldn’t tell anyone. They would all think she went bonkers. The egg sagged in her pocket, threatening to rip it, until she shoved her hand in her pocket and cradled the egg.

“Poppy?” Ai called out for her. “Hey Poppy, where are you?”

Poppy stood up, taking her hand out of her pocket, the egg still clenched in her hand. Ai might understand. Poppy ran over to Ai, whose basket was much fuller of dyed eggs.

“Look at this egg I found,” Poppy said as she showed Ai the Easter Rabbit egg.

Ai’s black brows knitted, and she turned her attention to the basket.

“Your basket’s empty,” Ai said.

“No, the egg’s in my hand. It’s blue, don’t you see?”

“I don’t see anything in your hand or your basket.” She flashed a grin. “Did you find an imaginary egg, Poppy?”

Was Ai lying to her? No, why would Ai lie? She had nothing to lie about. Ai put eggs in Poppy’s basket by the fistful.

“Here, I’ve got too many eggs, so you should have some.”

“You don’t have to,” Poppy said as she dropped the Easter Rabbit egg back in her pocket. “I wasn’t really looking for eggs.”

“I kinda guessed. Your brother used to sit at this bush during recess, didn’t he?” 51

“Yeah, he used to.”

“Let’s go back to the others, all right?”

“Sure,” Poppy said, and the two returned to the church.

Her heart sank as she saw her parents slightly away from everyone else. She went

to Pop and hugged him around the middle, and he patted the back of her head. The three

of them were the first to leave the party.

*

The first thing Poppy did when she got home was to steal a rag and wrap the

Easter Rabbit’s egg in it. Even though Ai couldn’t see it, she didn’t know if her parents

would be able too. The safest place for the egg would be under her bed, in the shadowy

corner between the bedpost and the wall. She crawled into bed. As soon as she closed her

eyes, she heard Ted whisper her name.

“No,” she muttered and clamped the pillow over her ears.

“Where did you go, Poppy? Where did you go-o-o-o?” he sang.

“Stop!”

Hot fingers gripped her ankles and pulled her under the cold water. She flailed,

half a mouthful of air and water rushing up her nostrils, gold sparkles dancing before her

eyes until she was thrust up to the surface again. She clawed at the bank of the pond, the

sun beaming on her as she wheezed. Roaring laughter filled the summer singed air. She

turned and saw Ted treading water and laughing, Ryu at the bank, his hands over his mouth as he tried to stifle a laugh. 52

Ted stopped laughing when a chunk of mud hit him square in the face. Ryu

slapped his knees and laughed so hard he fell in the pond. Poppy pivoted and stumbled

for the house, crying like a baby.

“Hey! Get back here! I’m sorry! It was a joke!” Ted shouted.

Poppy tore up clumps of dirt and chucked it at him, wailing for Mother and how

she could have drowned.

She remembered now. It happened two summers ago. Ted hadn’t meant anything

by it. Thought it would be funny to scare her a little bit. Mother didn’t find it funny at all.

She sent Ryu home and paddled Ted before giving him extra chores. He didn’t speak to

Poppy for a week, and when he did, the first thing he said was, “It was a joke”

He never really apologized for it, and after a while they both had forgotten about

it. Until now, of course, in this dream of an old memory. The hot air cooled into winter

weather, the trees lost their leaves, and the pond froze over. She turned to Ted, who had been standing silently next to her as she mused. He looked down at her and pursed his

lips.

“Why do we keep coming here?” he asked.

She looked at him, confused. Usually at this point in the dream he would just be saying an almost word-for-word recitation of his last words. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you want your dreams to end this way?”

“I—I don’t want them to end this way at all! You think I like seeing you die over and over again?” 53

She looked at him more closely. He looked like how she remembered Ted. He sounded like how she remembered him, too. She knew that this was all a dream, and this was not really Ted, and that he was someone else. Something felt incredibly strange about him, like he was made of paper when he should have been made of stone.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Poppy woke up. She shut her eyes again, tried to go back to sleep, but her body felt tingly with a restless energy. She sighed, then leaned over the bed to make sure the egg was still there. She felt its coolness beneath the rag, but now it was so heavy that she could barely move it. A jolt of panic stabbed her stomach. What if it got so heavy that it broke the floor? She swung her legs over and pondered. Well, if it did fall through the floor, at least no one would see the hole it left behind.

Even though it was very early in the morning, Poppy got dressed and brushed her hair so it wouldn’t be tangled when Mother braided it. She peeked out her window, the first rays of dawn streaking over the fields and reflecting off the now completely thawed pond—where a pale mermaid dove into. Poppy rubbed her eyes and squinted at the lake, clear ripples being evidence that something dove into it.

She dashed out of her room and onto the back porch, with neither shoes nor socks on her skinny legs. A head bobbed above the surface before diving down again. She was too far away to see if it was a mermaid in the pond, or if it was her imagination, or...

Or— 54

She leapt forward, because it could be Ted. She stumbled to a halt, because it could be Ted, Was he alive, was he dead, was he somewhere in between? Was it even possible? She should wake her parents but no, if she woke them they would be angry with her and think she was fishing up fairytales, so she grabbed the rack inside the stables and took that with her to the pond in case the whatever it was might hurt her or her family or something she wasn’t quite sure of at the moment.

She ran for the pond, mud squelching between her toes. Hanging on the budding tree branches was a muslin nightgown that fluttered like a snagged ghost. As she approached the tree, she realized that it was Mother’s nightgown. Poppy shrieked.

Mother’s head bobbed up and she swam naked to the shore.

“Stop screaming, Poppy! Stop!” Mother said through chattering teeth. She kneeled on the muddy bank, an arm hiding her breasts. Her blonde hair changed to brown from being in the cold water, plastered on her pale shoulders and back. She took deep breaths before yelling at Poppy again, “Get a towel. Go!”

Poppy could only nod as she ran back into the house and bumped into Pop, who was half-dressed in his suspenders and untucked shirt. He grabbed Poppy by the shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Mo-Mother was swimming in the p-pond, she told me to get her a towel.”

He clapped her on the shoulders and ran out the back. Poppy grabbed a towel and ran out too, her parents’ voices echoing through the field. 55

“What the hell are you thinking?” Pop shouted. “What are you doing? That water’s freezing! You could have drowned!”

“For heavens sake, we’re not in Ohio. I’ve swum in colder water,” Mother answered flatly.

“What were you swimming for? What were you doing?”

Mother clenched her jaw until Poppy sheepishly arrived with the towel. Mother snatched it out of Poppy’s hands and ripped her nightgown off of the tree branch. Pop’s face, already a bright red, contorted with a strange anger Poppy had never seen before.

“You were looking for him, weren’t you?” He grabbed Mother’s arm. “Weren’t you?”

She looked away from him, her nose flared.

“Yes.”

“Jesus, Sadie, did you think I was lying to you?”

Mother’s eyes flashed to Poppy. “Poppy, get inside.”

“We’re all going inside,” Pop said and released Mother, red blooming from where his fingers held her arm.

They trudged up the hill until they reached the house. Muddy footprints were scattered all over the wood floor. Pop sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Poppy, you’re staying home from school today. Clean your shoes and change out of your school clothes, too. Sadie, go and wash up and put something dry on before you get yourself sick.” 56

Poppy did as she was told, and polished her leather shoes until they shined. She tiptoed out of her bedroom in her old clothes and worn shoes, hearing her mother curse and splash in the bathroom, and entered the kitchen. Pop grumbled as he slapped together his lunch in the kitchen, but the red had gone out of his face.

“C’mere, Poppy,” he said before shoving his lunch in his lunch pail.

“Yes, sir?” she mumbled, her hands covering her butt.

“I need you to look after your mother today, and make sure she doesn’t go near that pond.” His face softened in the deepening creases along his face. “Do you promise me that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If she ends up back in that pond, you take Ghost and ride as fast as you can to me, no matter what your mother says. Understand?”

Poppy was at a lost for words, filled up with some unspeakable horror.

As if reading her mind, Pop said, “I’m not trying to scare you, I just think Easter shook her up and she made a foolish choice.”

“Okay, Pop.”

She didn’t know what else to say. He patted her on the arm and waited until

Mother left the bathroom and laid on the couch to leave for work.

“Don’t go near that pond, Sadie.”

“I won’t,” she mumbled. 57

Pop kissed Poppy on the head, and a brittle kiss on the cheek for Mother before striding out.

“He’s not there anyway,” Mother said, her eyes closing. “Go and clean up the mud you tracked in here, Poppy.”

Even though Pop and Mother tracked in mud too, Poppy didn’t complain as she went to scrub off the mud herself. It was barely morning and she already felt exhausted.

When she had finished cleaning, she wanted to crawl up next to Mother, but the scowl on

Mother’s sleeping face scared her off She snuck back into her bedroom, closed the door, and laid down on the floor to check on the egg. It was so heavy that she couldn’t even turn it

Unable to move the egg, she unwrapped the rag and gasped at the crack that split across the shell.

“Oh no, oh no, no, no,” she whimpered before crying on the cold floor, her hand cupped over the egg. 58

Chapter 7

Mother slept through most of the day, leaving Poppy to take care of the animals

and to make her own lunch and the other household chores she could remember that had

to be done. When Mother woke up, she wordlessly shooed Poppy away so she could start

supper. Pop returned home soon after that with the evening newspaper, and he shot a look

at Mother and then at Poppy. Poppy smiled, hoping that Pop would take that as meaning

that Mother did not go back to the pond. They ate mashed potatoes and meatloaf in

electric silence.

Poppy went to bed early that night. She burrowed deep under her covers, tired and

nervous. Just as she began to doze, she heard her parents arguing. She didn’t want to hear

her parents argue, but wanted to know what they were arguing about. Her ears perked up

until they were sore, and Poppy crawled out of bed to listen to their muffled, raising voices.

“—told you he wasn’t there.”

“I know, Oliver, I know.”

“And — without thinking of me? About Poppy?”

“I wasn’t trying — that’s what you mean.”

“No, but you could have—completely selfish—”

Poppy considered opening the door to listen better, but knew the door would creak and her parents would become angry with her. She wished Ted was here. She missed him so badly, even when they would silently fight for a space on the floor to listen 59

in on what their parents were saying when they were both younger. Wiping her eyes, she

dragged herself off of the floor, but she didn’t go to her bed. She felt for the ladder and

climbed up into his cold bed.

“Things will be better tomorrow,” Ted said.

Poppy wiped her eyes, and squinted in the blinding sunlight of another perfect

summer afternoon. They were sitting at the bank of the pond again, in the shade of the

surrounding trees.

“You know how they are,” he said, ribbing her gently. “They’ll argue all night and tomorrow they’ll pretend nothing’s happened.”

Poppy reached into her pocket for her handkerchief, but pulled out the cracked blue egg instead.

“I don’t know what happened,” she said, her throat feeling heavy and swollen. “I thought it was safe, that the cloth would protect it, but look what I’ve done.”

“I’m sure it was an accident,” he said.

“Wait, you can see it?”

“Yes. Where did you get that?”

“The Easter Rabbit gave it to... ” her voice trailed off, and she knew at once that she was in a dream. “Wait, I remember now. You’re not Ted.”

He gave a sad smile.

“Who are you, if you’re not Ted?” she asked.

“You know the answer to that.” 60

“You’re a part of my dream but... but you’re more than a dream. You’re like this egg and the Easter Rabbit, you’re something more, I can feel it!” She stood up, the heavy egg cradled in her hands. “Who are you?”

He stood up, dusted off his pants, and tapped his fuzzy chin with his index finger.

“Tell me, in more detail, how you got that egg, and I will tell you who I am.”

Poppy stomped her foot with impatience, but told him the whole story with the

Easter Rabbit as quickly and in as much detail as she could muster, which is a very difficult thing to do in a dream when the mind wants to wander off to parts unknown and untie Gordian knots of its own fascination.

“Now tell me who you are!” Poppy huffed, then said, “Please.”

“The Sandman.”

Poppy stared at him.

“The Sandman is supposed to be old and fat.”

“Oh, like this?” He transformed into a little old fat man with a long beard wearing glittering gold clothes and a nightcap, exactly as she envisioned he would be.

“You are the Sandman!” she squealed, “Wait, is that really what you look like?”

“If you want me to look like this, I can,” he said with relief

“But I want to see what you really look like.”

“You are seeing what I really look like.”

“I am?” 61

“You are,” he said, waving his arms around him, “seeing as I really am, for I am

everything you and everybody else dreams o f”

“So you’re really don’t look like this?”

“I really do look like this,” he melted into the meadow, his wom-leather-soft

voice echoing throughout, ‘‘‘but I look like this too.”

“What do you look like when someone doesn’t dream?”

He morphed back into the little old man. “I look like nothing.”

“What does nothing look like?”

“Nothing.”

The warm wind chilled and the leaves flew off blackened branches. The pond

froze over. The Sandman scowled, his form morphed into Ted’s form.

“We’re nearing the end of the dream,” he said. “Why do we keep coming here?”

“You’re the Sandman, you’re making these dreams happen.”

He shook his head. “I am how you dream me to be. I try to influence your dreams to be good dreams, but every time I do, you bring us back here. I know who Ted was. I know this is where he died. Why do we keep coming here?”

“I... I don’t know. 1 don’t want to be here either. I hate this pond. I don’t want to see it ever again.”

She heard a loud thunk from the under the thin ice.

Mother was trapped under the ice, banging against it with blue-tinged arms, bubbles flying out of her nostrils. Poppy screamed and slid onto the ice. She pounded 62

uselessly against the ice, shrieking as she watched her mother choke, eyes rolled to the

back of her head—

“Make it stop!” Poppy cried, “P-please make it stop!”

The Sandman as Ted picked her up by the shoulders and shoved something in her hands, curling her fingers around it so she couldn’t see.

“I will lock myself away, so you can no longer dream,” he shouted over the crackling ice beneath their feet. “When you are ready, use this key.”

Before she could say anything, the ice broke and her senses were flooded with cold darkness.

Her eyelids flew open, and she was lying spread-eagle in Ted’s bed, completely drenched in sweat. Her left fist felt heavier than the right. She sat up and opened her hand, but saw nothing. She felt like there was a small key on her palm. When she pressed her hands together, she could guess that the key was, in fact, key shaped, but the notches were ever changing in number and size. She stared at her hands, almost seeing a warp in space as if she was imagining the key was in her hand.

Carefully she climbed down the later and checked the egg. It was still cracked, unfortunately, but she slipped the imaginary key next to the egg. She peeled off her nightgown to dry on the ladder and put on her play clothes before lying in her own bed.

Even though she was warm and dry, she still shivered. She needed to tell someone about this, but if she couldn’t see the key and if Ai couldn’t see the egg, then everyone would think she had lost her mind from grief. 63

Was this all real, though? The Easter Rabbit felt real. The egg felt real. The key

felt real. Could this be all in her head and still be real?

Without realizing it at first, she fell asleep. When she awoke, she remembered the

dream that came before she first woke up, but didn’t dream afterwards. She felt a little

sad, but also a little relieved. She had forgotten how nice it was to sleep.

She walked with Pop to school that morning, wanting to burst out with what she

knew and saw. Pop looked worn out. Mother was still asleep when they had left.

“Is Mother all right?” she found herself asking.

“Don’t worry about it, Poppy. She’ll be all right.”

“Are you all right?”

“No,” he blurted and waved his hand. “Don’t worry about me, Poppy. Worry about yourself, your school work. How is school? You doing good?”

“It’s all right.”

“That doesn’t tell me much, Poppy.”

“What was the war like?”

Pop’s eyes almost jumped out of his head. “That’s something a little girl doesn’t need to hear.”

“I’m eleven. I’m not so little anymore.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Can you stay little for a little longer? Just for me?”

“You saw people die, didn’t you?” 64

He looked straight ahead and didn’t answer. Poppy stared down at her shoes as they walked.

They passed by Gladys’s house, the shutters closed and locked. Poppy hadn’t visited her at all, even though she promised. The fairy quilt, the library... she gasped with an epiphany.

“Is it all right if I visit Mrs. Faymere, after school today?” she asked Pop.

His brow bent, he said, “This is the first I’ve heard of it. Did she invite you?”

“She said I could come whenever I wanted, and it’s been a while since last I visited her. She wanted to teach me how to sew a fancy quilt.”

“Well, if you’re wanted, you can visit her. I’ll come home for lunch today and I’ll let your mother know.”

“Thanks, Pop!”

He smiled, and she felt good that she made him smile.

*

“Ted died four months ago today,” Poppy blurted out at lunch, part of her sandwich still crammed in her cheeks. She swallowed hard.

Ai and Yukiko blanched, but Yoon looked confused. Strangely enough, though,

Poppy didn’t cry at this sudden realization.

“Is it really four months?” Yukiko asked, and counted on her fingers. Her eyes widened. “It doesn’t feel like four months.”

“I don’t understand,” Yoon said softly. 65

Ai held up her thumb and pointed to it. “January, Ted dies. February,” up went

the pointer finger, “March,” the middle finger, “and April,” lastly went up the ring finger,

“Four months. Time moves fast.”

Yoon nodded, and offered Poppy a strawberry from her lunch. Poppy smiled and

took it, and slowly ate it. A weighty silence fell upon the girls. Time moved faster and for

the first time they felt the struggle to keep up with it.

“It still feels like January,” Poppy mumbled.

“It still gets so cold at night,” Ai said, and made an exaggerated shiver. The girls

giggled politely at Ai’s antics, but they fell into a solemn silence afterwards.

After school, Ai caught up with Poppy and asked if she wanted to come over to

her house to play.

“I’m visiting my neighbor, Mrs. Faymere today,” Poppy said.

“Awww, but we haven’t played in forever! Yukiko, Yoon and I were going to go

rebuild our castle.”

“Well, if Mrs. Faymere isn’t at home, then I can come play,”

Ai shrugged. “Sounds fair. See you later, Poppy!”

Ai ran off to join Yukiko and Yoon, and Poppy went down the dirt path to

Gladys’s house. The shutters and windows were wide open, the whole cottage looking so bright and welcoming that Poppy just knew that Gladys was inside, waiting for her.

Suddenly she had forgotten about Thumbelina. Should she go back home and get the book first, even though she hadn’t read it? 66

Her thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the cottage door. Gladys stepped

out with a floppy straw hat and an old worn bag.

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting company today,” she chuckled.

“I-I’m sorry, I just wanted to say hello.”

“Just for a hello?”

“It looks like you were leaving for town.”

“Oh, I was, but I can put it off for later. Come in, dear.”

Poppy followed Gladys into the cozy little cottage, and was once again stunned by

the beauty of the fairy quilt that hung over them. Gladys begged her to take a seat on the

couch, disappeared into the kitchen, and returned with cookies and milk. Once they were

all settled, Gladys said, “Have you had a chance to read Thumbelina?”

Poppy’s cheeks felt hot. “No, I’m sorry. I’ll read it tonight, though, and bring it back tomorrow.”

“Oh, take your time, dear. No need to rush through a good story.”

Poppy sipped her milk, though she wanted to gulp it.

“How are you doing, dear?”

“All right, I suppose,” she said, but shook her head.

“Your parents are doing all right too?”

Poppy shook her head again.

“They won’t tell me barely anything,” Poppy said. “We all miss Ted.” 67

“Of course. Actually, I’m glad you came by. I was going to make a pie for you

all. Do you have any favorites?”

“Pop likes apple. Mother likes cherry. I like berry pie.”

Gladys laughed, “Well, I’ll have to make a new pie every week!”

“Thank you, but I don’t know how that’ll make anything better.”

“It won’t make anything better, but it will hopefully show your parents that

people care for them, especially during this hard time.”

“It’s been a hard time for four months already.”

Gladys patted her hand. “The heart takes a long time to heal.”

“What does that mean, though? How can my heart heal when it hurts every day because Ted’s not here and Mother and Pop fight and—”

The hot lump in her throat stoppered her words.

Gladys rubbed Poppy’s arm and said, “When enough time has passed, hopefully you will understand what I mean.”

Poppy sniffed, although she didn’t feel any tears in her eyes. Her heart was so heavy with grief, and now with her new secret about the Easter Rabbit’s egg and the

Sandman’s key. She wanted to pour her heart out and tell Gladys, but not now. Her stomach felt queasy at the thought of sharing her secrets.

“We can start your fairy quilt today, if you’d like.”

Poppy smiled. “I’d like that very much.” 68

Poppy started with a large square of white muslin, and with the embroidery hoop

sewed the “robe” of the fairy—a bright floral blue print from a cut-up feed sack. Poppy

listened as Gladys told her stories of how she moved from state to state by wagon and

train and boat, and before they both knew it, it was five o’clock. Gladys kept Poppy’s

square neatly tucked away in her dark brown woven sewing basket. Poppy left for home with a bag of cookies, much to the delight of both Pop and Mother. There was still a

strained distance between the two of them, but Poppy decided not to say anything about it.

Later that night, just as she crawled into bed, Mother entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She kneeled by Poppy’s bed, and rested her chin on her folded hands on the mattress.

“I’m sorry that I scared you, Poppy,” Mother whispered, “when I went to look for

Ted in the pond.”

“He’s not there, is he?” Poppy whispered back.

“No, he’s not. I believe you and your father, whole-heartedly, but I didn’t want to believe it was true. It kills me to know that he’s gone but... but I can’t see that he’s gone.

I still want to believe that he’s alive.”

“I do too.”

“So do I,” Pop interrupted.

Pop opened the door, and froze with his hand still on the doorknob. Mother looked at him, wide-eyed, but still firmly kneeling at the bedside. He stood awkwardly at 69

the door frame, then cleared his throat. His eyes wandered up to Ted’s empty bunk. He

walked over and leaned onto the bed frame.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring Ted home,” Pop said hoarsely. “And I know that his

death was difficult enough without having him here to bury, but we have to start moving

forward.”

It wasn’t clear whether or not Pop was talking more to himself or to his family.

Mother opened her mouth but clamped it shut as he rattled on.

“I’m not saying we should forget Ted, I’m not saying that at all. We can’t dwell

on this forever. We have to move on or we’ll just tear ourselves apart.””

“Don’t tell me how to mourn my son,” Mother said in a low, dangerous tone.

“We’re not all like you, Oliver. We can’t just put something like this behind us and act as

if nothing happened at all.”

“I didn’t say—” he must have seen Poppy’s face, because he paused, and lowered

his voice. “It’s too late to argue. Good night, Poppy.”

When he left, closing the door behind him, Poppy finally felt the tears that ran

down the sides of her face and dampened her hair. Mother wiped her tears away and said,

“Don’t worry, dear, everything will be all right. Everything will be all right.”

Mother left soon afterwards, and Poppy fell asleep. She woke up with a start to a

loud moaning. She sat up in her bed, the moonlight shining brightly in the crack between the curtain and the wall. It was very, veiy late. She heard the choked moan again, like a wounded bear. She listened to the moan until she finally figured out that Pop was crying. 70

Poppy sank under her sheets, feeling as though the world had turned under her.

The crack of the back door opening. Footsteps. Mother’s voice, not low and angry, but wavering and light. Mother cried. Pop cried. Poppy couldn’t take it anymore, and ran out of her bedroom, into the living room, and out the back where her parents held each other in the moonlight.

“Oh Poppy, no—” Pop started, but stopped when Poppy threw her arms around him and Mother.

They cried before the full moon’s shining face, openly, honestly, and full of endless grief. 71

Chapter 8

Mornings felt different. Much calmer, with everyone awake and making meaningless conversation with each other instead of dead silence. The school room was quieter, as most of the school kids, including Ai, Yukiko, and Yoon, were at home helping with the spring planting. Poppy spent this strange, quieter time studying at school or sewing with Gladys. She was growing impatient with the embroidery part of her square, because the thread often tangled or knotted and Poppy had to tease the knots out.

She finally finished the tale of Thumbelina, and borrowed a new book from Gladys every week.

One morning, Mother found the rag under Poppy’s bed, but didn’t see the egg and key that fell out of it. The egg, strangely enough, felt lighter now, so she kept both egg and key in her pockets to keep safe. Now and then she would rub her fingers across the key, trying to remember the last time she dreamed. Enough time had passed that she almost forgot what she even dreamed about.

When spring turned into summer, the school filled up again just in time to announce summer break, when it was too hot for any of them to stay in the room for very long.

*

On Ted’s birthday, June 15th, Poppy and her parents visited his grave. Their friends and neighbors each gave the family a little money to help pay for the new headstone Pop was finally able to afford. The headstone was installed the day before: a 72

nice block of granite to replace the wooden marker, carved and polished to a fine gleam.

Flowers and fruit overwhelmed the grave. The egg weighed heavier in her pocket than it had lately, and she held onto it so it wouldn’t rip in her pocket. The egg grew heavier and heavier as they walked back to the house.

The next morning, however, the egg had lost its extra weight, but another crack curve around its top edge. Poppy was tempted to peel back the shell and see what was inside, but her fear of disappointing the Easter Rabbit outweighed her curiousness, so she shoved the egg back in her pocket.

*

Poppy had been playing at Ai, Yukiko, and Yoon’s farms over the last couple of weeks. The sun grew harsh, even under the shade behind Ai’s house.

“Atsui, atsui,” Ai whined as she fanned herself. “I want to freeze my head in a block of ice.”

“We should go swimming—ow, Ai!” Yukiko smacked her shoulder, but then her face contorted with regret. “Not there, I don’t know. I’m just going to melt,”

Poppy felt guilty. “If you want to go swimming there, we can. I have to ask my mother first.”

All three girls’ faces soured.

“I want to go but,” Yoon paused for a minute to find her words, “there is death.”

“Do you mean ghosts? I think you mean ghosts,” Yukiko said.

Yoon shook her head, looking quite sick now. “I mean, there is death.” 73

Poppy finally understood. “My parents looked and looked, but he’s not there. And there’s no underground river either. He vanished. He’s gone.”

For the first time that day they all shivered with sudden cold. Poppy knew they wouldn’t want to go, and to be honest, she didn’t want to either. Had his body been found, would she feel differently? Maybe. Maybe then she wouldn’t have this feeling on the back of her neck that he was still alive.

Yukiko drew her knees to her chest and pulled on her toes. Yoon hugged her stomach like she was going to be sick. Ai stood up and dusted her skirt off.

“Let’s think about something else to do,” Ai said. “We can play hopscotch.”

The answer was met with groans.

“Tag?”

“Too hot!” Yoon piped in.

Ai plopped back down on the dirt. “Ok, we can play dolls.”

“I don’t have mine,” said Poppy.

“Me neither,” said Yukiko,

Yoon ripped out some long grass, and knotted it so the big loop on one end looked like a head and the fanned out grass looked like her skirt. The other girls squealed with delight and made their own little grass dolls, and decorated them with dandelions.

That diversion lasted until they all had to go home.

When they went to Poppy’s house the next day, however, the pond looked even more alluring as it twinkled in the distance. The girls tried to entertain themselves by 74

brushing Ghost and Clara. Yoon mostly brushed Clara, because the sight of the big albino animal and his name frightened her. Ghost finally had enough and rolled in the dirt, causing the girls to moan in frustration

“Why is his name Ghost?” Yoon asked.

“He just looks like a ghost ’cuz he’s all white like a ghost. He’s not a real ghost, though,” Poppy answered.

“Where did you get him, Poppy?” Ai asked.

“My pop found him when he was a colt.”

Ghost rolled back up on all fours and lumbered towards the pond, but stopped when Poppy tugged on his harness. He still looked at the water, his head craned.

“C’mon, your water’s this way,” Poppy said, and tugged on his harness again, but he didn’t budge.

“Hey, maybe... maybe you should let him lead us to the pond,” Ai said. “He wants to go to the pond, right?”

“Yeah, so? His water’s here.”

“He was close to Ted, right? Maybe Ghost can sense where he is. It would be good to find him, so his soul could be at peace,” Ai said in the most serious voice she had ever heard.

“What are you going on about?” Yukiko, who was also brushing Clara, called out.

“We’re going to walk Ghost to the pond and be right back. Right, Poppy?” 75

Yoon shook her head, but said nothing. Yukiko nodded, and kept watch for

Poppy’s mother. Poppy glared at Ai for a moment, but released a bit of the leash and let

Ghost lead the way down the slope to the small pond. Only a handful of dark red flowers

clung to the tree branches of the trees that surrounded the pond, but many of the small,

bright green leaves began to grow and create a little shade. Ghost tugged harder on the

leash, as if desperate to get to the pond as quick as he could. The girls looked at each

other, wide-eyed. Perhaps Ghost was leading them to Ted. The jogged next to Ghost to

allow him to trot at the bank of the pond.

He slowed, lowered his head, and drank without a care in the world. His head

lifted up, dribbling water from his pink bottom lip, and relaxed

“I guess he was just thirsty,” Poppy sighed.

“I’m sorry, I just thought... I don’t know.”

“I told you, his body’s gone.”

“It’s not the body I’m worried about. Well, it is, but... ”

“You think he’s a ghost?”

Ai shrugged. “I’m not sure, but my parents think so, and it scares them. They’re

worried that... ah... they’re worried that he’ll be a scary ghost.”

“Aren’t all ghosts scary?”

“Yeah, but there are ghosts who come back and are nice to the living, even though their souls can’t rest, and there are ghosts who are mean towards the living. Whether 76

you’re a good or bad ghost depends on how you lived and how you died. Ted was nice,

but he... he died very violently, and he wasn’t buried.”

Ghost dipped his head down for another drink. Ai wrung the hem of her pale

green skirt, staring at the water. Poppy touched the cool egg in her pocket, and felt

another crack.

Ai continued, “Obaasan, when she was still living in Japan, was haunted by her

little sister. She had been run over by a horse and carriage, but the carriage didn’t stop.

Even though my family made sure her offerings were full, her ghost would move things

around the house and whisper to Obaasan in the night. She never became violent.”

“Offerings? You mean, like the fruit you give for your grandmother?”

Ai nodded. “Fruit, incense, anything to keep her spirit happy. She wasn’t a child,

but she died before she could get married, so Obaasan thought she would be angry about

that. When Obaasan left for America, she worried her sister’s spirit would follow her, so

she still lit incense and offered food until she died.”

“Did she?”

Ai shrugged. “If she did, Obaasan never said anything about it.”

“Should I offer him food, then?”

“Well, I don’t know, if you want to? Your family’s not Buddhist, so I don’t know

if it would help or not.”

Ai was so matter-of-fact about this that it jarred Poppy. Listening to Ai talk made her almost want to be Buddhist, or at least learn more about it, and they could talk about 77

how Buddhists saw death and how people went to heaven. But Ai was looking sick, so

Poppy would ask her about it later.

Later that night Poppy would bring up the subject at dinner, and she saw the deep-

seated anger flash in Pop’s eyes when she mentioned about some Buddhist belief Ai had

told her about, and he had said sternly, “You’re not Buddhist, you’re a good Christian,

and don’t you forget it.” She weakly mumbled how she didn’t believe in it, but just

thought it was interesting. Pop said, “Do not bring blasphemy into this house, or you

won’t be talking to Ai anymore,” and left it at that.

Poppy mentioned how stupid her parents were being about it when she visited Ai

a few days later. Ai’s eyes grew wide with shock, and she looked away from Poppy.

“I don’t think it’s blasphemy, Ai,” Poppy sputtered, and touched her friend’s stiff

shoulder. “I think you’re good, and you would go to Heaven, and... ”

“It’s okay, Poppy,” Ai said as she wiped her eyes.

“But I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Poppy said, tears making it hard to see

her friend.

“I know you didn’t. Let’s play hide and seek.”

Poppy put on a smile and volunteered to start counting, but in her heart she knew

the damage had been done. She feared that Ai would never want to come over again.

The next day, however, Ai came over and asked Pop if Poppy could come out and play. Pop smiled and said sure, of course Poppy could, and called her even though Poppy could see everything from the kitchen. Pop acted as if nothing was wrong, but Ai stood 78

stiffly with her arms behind her back and looking straight at Pop’s face. It was a look that

Poppy would never forget. 79

Chapter 9

It was one of the hottest nights of August Poppy tossed and turned on her sheets,

unable to get comfortable to sleep. She turned to her side and looked at the egg and key

on her nightstand. She reached over and grabbed the invisible key, turned it in her hands.

Tonight, she felt courageous. Fear suddenly seized her. What if she saw Ted die

again? She had been able to sleep so peacefully; did she really want to stop that?

However, she felt sad to not be able to even daydream to stave off boredom. Maybe the

Sandman would let her keep the key, so she could lock her dreams whenever she wanted

too. A thought occurred to her—how could she even unlock her dreams? The Sandman

never told her how! Poppy held up the invisible key, pretending that she was putting it in

an invisible lock. She turned the key the same way she turned her house key, hoping that

it would somehow work.

“It worked,” Ted said as he turned on the bedroom light.

Poppy sat straight up in her bed and clenched her fist that held the key, but silvery

sand ran out between her fingers.

“Are you really Ted,” she asked, “or are you the Sandman?”

He smiled. “You’re getting better at this. I am the Sandman.”

“Then why do you look like Ted?”

“Because you want to see him a lot more than you want to see me.” He took a stool and sat next to her bed. “So what shall we do?” 80

Immediately, Poppy found herself and the Sandman still as Ted standing at the

frozen bank of the pond.

“No, no, no! I didn’t want to start the dream this way!” Poppy cried.

The Sandman squinted at the pond.

“I know we come here because Ted died here, but you keep seeing Ted die here.

Maybe... maybe there is a different reason you come here.” He held out his hand. “Let’s

go on the ice together.”

“No, we can’t! We’ll fall through!”

That’s when she saw just a glint of the real Sandman within Ted’s eyes. Not

anger, not impatience, but most terrifying of all: knowledge.

“If you want to walk away from this pond, you need to fall through it,” he said gently. “I can’t promise that it won’t hurt. Dreams do hurt. You had been hurting yourself through your dreams for a long time.”

“I’m tired of this. Stop this, just stop it! I don’t want to dream anymore. I’ll try again later.”

The Sandman kneeled next to her. “Poppy, this was the first place went went after you started dreaming. I can give you another key to stop dreaming, but as soon as you open the door again, you will be brought here. You won’t let yourself go anywhere else until you face this fear. You’re the only one who can stop this.”

“But you... you’re creating this. You said you were all of this. Why can’t you change this?” 81

He scratched his blond scruff for a moment. “Water is water, unless it is made

into tea, or boiled for steam, or frozen for ice. Its form changes depending on the users

needs, but water doesn’t change itself.”

She crossed her arms, still looking away from the pond.

“You stopped me from dreaming,” she said.

“No, you stopped it yourself. I simply became nothing.”

“But the key—” Her breath caught in her throat. “Was that me?”

“Yes.”

“It was a trick.”

“Yes.”

“Why would you trick me like that?”

His eyes wandered, and she grabbed him by the shoulders that felt warm and firm.

“Is this real?”

“That’s a big question, Poppy.”

“Tell me! Are you real or are you just in my head?”

He shook his head. “I can’t answer that.”

“Why not?”

“Because the answer, if there is one, is something you have to experience for yourself.”

“If? What do you mean ‘if? There has to be an answer.”

He stood up, one knee at a time. “You’re going to wake up soon.” 82

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He only smiled, and held out his hand. She wanted to smack it, because he was

being rude and not answering her, but she held back. What if there were questions with

no answers? But if there were questions, there had to be answers, and no one person

could know all the answers. Only God knew every answer. But Poppy looked out at the

frozen pond, at the lack of an answer of what happened to Ted.

“My brother is dead,” Poppy said, taking the Sandman’s hand, “but we don’t have

his... his body. I know he’s dead but it doesn’t feel like he is. It’s like he’s still alive but just hiding or waiting for me there.”

He curled his fingers around hers, waiting for her to take the first step. She knew

he was waiting for her.

“I keep saying he’d dead, but I don’t believe it,” she stammered, her feet feeling

quite cold, but she stepped forward. “I don’t have to believe he’s dead. He could have

tricked me, he might have climbed out and ran away when I ran to the house. It could

have been a demon that took him. He could still be alive.”

The Sandman remained silent throughout all of this. They walked to the center of the pond, where Ted’s blood stained the ice.

“It must have felt horrible to die like this,” she said, her face frosted with tears. “It must have been so cold, and it must have hurt so much. And then... and then what?”

She looked up at the Sandman, but he didn’t feel like the strange entity anymore.

He felt like Ted. 83

“Oh God, I don’t want to die.”

The ice split beneath their feet and they both plunged into the frigid darkness,

invisible knives cutting into lungs and then—

She woke up in her bed, gasping for air. Poppy sat up and clutched her aching

chest. She was okay. She was alive. She took long, slow, grateful breaths of warm, sticky

air. Her blankets were covered in a fine layer of dust.

The key was gone. Even though she knew she could make another one, she didn’t

want to. She wanted to go to sleep again and see if she could finally get away from the

frozen pond, now that she let herself find her own answers within it, but Mother called

for her to get dressed.

*

“Pop, what was the war like?” Poppy asked on her way to school.

“Poppy, that’s something I don’t want to talk about,” he said sternly, but put an arm around her shoulder.

“Because you saw people die?”

“Poppy.”

“I saw Ted die, and when I sleep I see him die all the time in my dreams. But last night I dreamt that I fell through the pond with Ted.”

He stopped to brush her tears away. “Poppy... ”

“What can I do, Pop, what can I do?”

“There’s nothing you can do.” 84

“But I don’t want to die! I’m scared of dying. I know it sounds selfish, but I’m so

scared of dying.”

His face paled into the color of oatmeal, and he looked as if he wanted to comfort

her, but his whole body seemed to break in front of her.

“I want to say that you’ll live a long time, that you won’t have to worry about

dying for a long time. But, you’re halfway grown up now. Sooner or later you’ll learn

that you don’t know when your time comes, so you need to take advantage of the time

you got.”

“I wish I knew when I died. I hate not knowing.”

“You might, but well, maybe it’s better if death came as a surprise.” *

Poppy knew she was dreaming again when she was facing the pond, only it

wasn’t frozen. It was littered with autumn leaves, browned by the afternoon sun. The

Sandman, still in the form of Ted, beamed at her.

“You did it, Poppy,” he said. “You were able to face what controlled your dreams,

and you defeated it.”

“I’m still afraid, though,” she said, her voice weak and weary to her ears. “I still don’t want to think about Ted’s death. I don’t want to be here.”

He held out his hand. “Where do you want to go?”

They ended up walking into a meadow of flowers, where Clara and Ghost happily sunbathed. Here the weather was perfectly warm without being overbearing. They 85

collapsed in the long, soft bed of grass, watching the ships made of clouds being sailed on

by angels.

“We can go up there, if you want,” he offered.

“No, this is good enough. I can’t believe I was able to walk away.”

“The most difficult thing about fear, I find, is identifying it. Fear doesn’t want to

show its face, because once you shine a light on it, you can identify it, and acknowledge

it, and that gives you power over it.”

“Like the Boogeyman?”

He laughed. “The Boogeyman is not fear, although it wants to be.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do dead people dream?”

He scowled. “No, they can’t.”

“Not even if they’re ghosts?”

“Not even then.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know everything, Poppy.”

“Have you been able to see my brother’s dreams recently?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I’m not surprised, I just hoped... but wait, does that mean you don’t know where he is?” 86

“I’m afraid not.”

“Do you know who I can ask?”

“Death.”

“How do I talk to Death?”

“By dying, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I can’t exactly ask the dead, can I?”

“Well, I mean, there are other beings like you, aren’t there? There’s the Easter

Bunny, and the Man in the Moon, or rabbit in the moon, my friends say it’s a rabbit on the moon. Do you think someone like them would know?”

“Only Death would know.”

“What about God? God would know for sure?”

He blinked. “Yes.”

“I’ve prayed but... but I haven’t heard anything. Why can I talk to you but not

Him?”

“I can’t answer for Him.”

“So there is God! I mean, I always knew there was God, but I never doubted. God is real, isn’t He?”

“He is and He isn’t.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

He gave his biggest smile. “That isn’t how the universe works, Poppy.” 87

She groaned. “Why do you still look like Ted?”

“Because you want me to.”

“I guess. It’s just it’s hard seeing him here, and then knowing that when I wake

up, he won’t be there. What’s even worse is that I know that you look like Ted, but not

completely.”

“That’s the nature of dreams and memory, unfortunately.”

“He’s only been gone for a few months and I’m not sure exactly what his voice

sounds like anymore. I’m going to forget him, aren’t I? I don’t want to forget him!”

Poppy realized now that she was near waking, for she could only hear her voice

and his, but their images had fallen away into nothingness.

“You will forget his voice, his face, but how he made you feel, you will never

forget.”

Poppy woke up, her hands clutching her chest that felt like it was overflowing and aching with love for Ted. 88

Chapter 10

The summer months cooled off into October. Poppy still had many dreams of

Ted, much more pleasant dreams. But now she looked at her mother, her father, her

friends, Gladys, and everyone in town, and wondered what would become of them all in

the next five, ten, fifty years. It was overwhelming to think that one day, everyone would

die. Pop must have sensed this, because he brought the Bible to her to read and comfort

her at night, but it made her feel worse. To never be hungry or thirsty or to feel the

overwhelming heat in summer felt like it would be living in a dream. Nothing would ever

feel real again.

A shriek pierced Poppy’s ears and she jerked up awake in her bed. Clutching her

quilt to her nose, Poppy waited in the dark and heard the shriek again, a horse whinny

mixed with a shivering bray. She hurried to her window and looked out towards the small

bam. Ghost stood outside of the bam, his bone-white coat glowing under the full moon.

He stared at her with his pale eyes before trotting away into the field.

“Ghost, no!” she cried out before running out of her bedroom. She felt her away

among the hallway that echoed with her parents’ snores and decided to bring Ghost back

herself.

Once outside she darted in the stable, grabbed Ghost’s halter and lead rope, and went after Ghost. Luckily he was still within sight, but he was walking towards the pond.

“Stop!” she shouted.

He stopped. 89

“Come here!”

He turned to look back at her, but otherwise he did not move. She yelled at him again to come, but he remained where he stood. Grumbling Poppy went to him and held up his halter. He lowered his head so she could put it on him and tie his lead, but when she tugged on his lead, he stood as stone still as ever. She yanked and pulled on his lead, wishing she had woken up Pop to bring him in. Finally she pulled so hard that her feet slipped forward and she fell hard on the damp grass. Ghost lay down next to her and nosed her hair.

“That’s it, we’re going home,” Poppy said as she got up and sat on his back without bothering to wipe the mud off her butt. “C’mon, up!”

She held on tightly as he jerked upwards and walked towards the bam. Suddenly his long ears flew back as he wheeled around and galloped towards the pond.

“No, no, no, stop!” Poppy screamed.

He threw his head back and wailed again. Poppy felt the blood rush back to her face where Ghost’s muscular neck had smashed it. Spots popping in her eyes, she tried to roll off Ghost but found herself glued to the mule’s glistening back, her fingers tangled in his white mane. The pond waited for them, the only dark splotch on the moonlit field. She screamed and cried at him to stop, but he charged ahead. Poppy closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Silence pressed against her ears when Ghost leapt into the air and hung for a moment before crashing through the dark water. However, Poppy didn’t feel bone- 90

chilling water smothering her. She opened her eyes and was nearly blinded by the brilliant sunlight. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the light and saw that almost everything was just like it was on the other side of the pond, only it was day time and everything was upside down.

She slid off and when her feet touched the ground, everything spun right-side up again. Poppy fell to her knees and grappled the grass until she stopped shaking.

“This is a dream,” she said, her voice still trembling. “Where are you, Sandman?”

Nothing answered. Ghost kneeled down to her, his tall ears flicked forward.

Poppy took a deep breath and mounted him again, only now he slowly walked away from the pond and towards the house. Poppy gasped in horror as they approached their home, because it was completely overgrown with branches and leaves growing out of the planks of wood. Poppy ordered him to stop, but he continued walking. He crossed the road, now full of wild poppies and flickering grass.

“Where are you taking me, Ghost?”

He only whickered in response. They continued on their path throughout the full meadow and into a scraggly forest, with no sign of life until they reached the shade of the whip-thin trees. A whispering riding party of white horses with riders swathed in white robes and white veils that obscured their faces. They shadowed a unicorn with a curved golden horn and white curls dripping down its neck and rear legs. Its rider was a tall woman, dressed in white lace and gauze that floated all the way down to the unicorn’s golden hooves. Her opaque white veil was held in place by a tall, thin gold crown. She 91

stopped at the sight of Poppy and Ghost, and waved her hand so that the other riders dispersed within the wood.

“You have travelled far from home, child,” she said, her voice smooth and soft.

Poppy couldn’t take her eyes off of her. “I... I didn’t mean too. Ghost brought me here."

“Ghost. So that is what they call you.”

Poppy could almost hear the smile in her voice.

“Who are you?” Poppy asked.

“You already know.”

“Death?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t...I don’t understand. I didn’t think it would be so easy to meet you.”

“Not many people do.”

The pond. Oh God, Poppy thought. “Am I dead?”

“No. You are very sick. You are in bed, sleeping now.”

“How am I sick?”

The connection from the real world to wherever this one was connected and sparked. Of course, she had a cold a couple of days ago, stayed home from school, but how could she have gotten up to catch Ghost?

“How am I here? Is this a dream?” 92

Death bowed her head, her veil brushing against Poppy’s knees. “No. Your soul is here. Ghost brought you here, because he knew you had a question for me.”

“Yes. What happened to Ted?”

She held out her hand. “Take my hand, and I will tell you.”

Take Death’s hand? This was a trick. Or maybe it wasn’t, since Ghost brought her here, after all. But what if she had tricked Ghost in some way? Maybe this was a sign of trust.

Suddenly the woods echoed with the shrieks of horses. One of the riders had broken away and galloped into between Death and Poppy. Death curled her hand away.

“If I take your hand, does that mean I’ll die?” Poppy asked.

“Yes,” Death answered neutrally.

“So I can only find out what happened to Ted when I die?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Why can’t you just tell me? I promise I won’t tell anyone else.”

“Only the dead can know my secrets,”

Poppy was sobbing now. “It’s not fair. Just tell me!”

Death’s unicorn strode away. “When you are ready to accept me, then you will learn my secrets.”

Poppy wanted to follow her to know the truth, but not enough to die for it, and she hated herself for it. But she watched the other riders swarm around her, and continue their wanderings along the great plains. Poppy felt bone-tired, and let Ghost know it. 93

“Thank you for bringing me here, but let’s go home,” she wept.

Ghost, his head sagging, walked back towards and into the pond. When they had come out the other side, it was dawn. Poppy slid off of Ghost and woke in her own bed with Mother sleeping at her side. Her head felt like hot lead and her body fragile enough to crumble under the weight of the blankets she was covered with. She would learn in a couple of hours that her sky-high fever had broke sometime in the night, but it would be a few days until she was allowed out of bed, let alone out of the house to take care of the animals.

*

Gladys came over with a pumpkin pie, some sewing supplies, and Poppy’s fairy quilt patch that was nearly finished. Poppy had finished sewing the fairy with red yam for her hair and white cotton wings with applique edges. Now she sewed patches of colorful calico around the main square.

“I wish it could be a big quilt, like yours,” Poppy said.

“Oh, it’s always best to start small and then build yourself up,” Gladys said as she worked on a cross-stitch pattern. “But you’ve done quite well.”

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

“We all do, dear. That’s how we learn to do better.”

Poppy looked up at the nightstand table with the cracked Easter egg. Gladys turned her head to look at the table as well.

“I know this is a silly question,” Poppy said, “but do you see an egg on the table?” 94

“An egg? No, all I see is a lamp.”

Poppy blinked, hoping she wasn’t showing her disappointment. “Sorry, I thought the bottom of the lamp looked like an egg.”

“It’s all right,” Gladys chuckled to herself. “Did you finish the fairy book?”

“Almost. There are some strange tales in there, but I liked Cinderella’s story. Her fairy godmother was very nice. Wouldn’t it be great if we all had one?”

“Oh, I believe everyone does have a fairy godmother at some point in their lives, and that we all have a chance to be someone else’s fairy godmother.”

“But neither of us have magic. And we’re not fairies.”

“Magic doesn’t solve everything, Poppy.”

“It does in fairytales.”

Gladys laughed heartedly at this. “Those fairy tales would be full novels if magic didn’t solve their problems.” 95

Chapter 11

Christmas was coming.

It was strange to actually dread a holiday. It felt like this huge, terrible monster waiting in the dark for her, and she felt terrible thinking about Christmas that way. Even when her father was away at war, she still felt hopeful for Christmas. Sad, but hopeful that he would surprise them all by coming home early. He didn’t come home early, but it was still a nice wish. Pop was home now, but Ted would never be home again.

“My parents were going to ask yours if you wanted to spend New Year’s day with us,” Ai said as they walked to Poppy’s house. “Mama said she’d make her biggest osechi, and can add in American food too.”

Poppy blinked, snapping out of her reverie as the two were walking down the road towards Poppy’s house. “That’s nice of you to invite us, but... I don’t... really want to celebrate.”

Ai’s face fell.

“I’m sorry.”

Ai shook her head. “No, it’s okay.”

“Your mother can still ask my mother. We might end up going. I don’t know. I don’t think we’re going to have Christmas this year. Maybe we won’t have Christmas ever again.”

“Oh Poppy, you can’t not have it ever!”

“What would you know, Ai? You don’t even celebrate it.” 96

Ai bristled. “When Obaasan died, we still celebrated New Year’s, even though we were sad we—”

“Your grandmother is not my brother and New Year’s isn’t Christmas. New

Year’s isn’t even a real holiday.”

“It is a holiday, and it’s one of the most important holidays of the year!”

“It’s not a holiday in America. It’s not, it’s just not.”

“Well, I'm an American too, Poppy, and I say that it’s one of the most important holidays.”

“I didn’t mean to say that you weren’t American!”

‘Then why are you talking to me like this?” Ai cried, wiping her wet face with her palms. “Like I’m not an American? I was bom here and I know English and I thought you were my friend.”

Poppy started crying too. “I am your friend. I’m sorry, Ai, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m really, really sorry.”

Poppy tried to hug her but Ai shrugged her off.

“I’m gonna go home,” Ai croaked.

“But I said I was sorry!”

“I don’t care,” Ai said as she turned and walked away.

Poppy cried as she walked home, but wiped her face clean and pretended nothing happened at home. She started to feel angry, because she had apologized to Ai, but that anger burned into shame for having hurt her so badly. As she lay awake at night 97

replaying their argument, she was starting to see that she was just wanting to be right.

And in wanting to be right, she dug up something surprisingly ugly about herself.

The next day, Poppy left earlier than usual for school. Ai was there, one of the first to wait for the school house to open. At first Poppy thought Ai would walk away, but instead Ai separated herself from the other girls and went to Poppy.

“I’m sorry,” Poppy said. “I didn’t mean to say that you weren’t American.”

“I know you didn’t mean it,” Ai said through gritted teeth.

“I shouldn’t have said it at all. I shouldn’t have even thought of it.”

“Then why did you?”

“I don’t know,” Poppy whined, and cringed at her own whining. “I was just really upset and I wanted to be right and it flew out of my mouth. I don’t want to think like that,

Ai. I’m sorry. Are we...are we still friends?”

Ai crossed her arms, opened her mouth, and was interrupted by the teacher calling for everyone to come inside.

“I’m still mad, but,” Ai grumbled, “we’re still friends.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you not mad at me?”

The teacher called for them, and they ran into class before they would be locked out. When lunch time came and the four girls sat inside, chatting and eating as if nothing had happened. Poppy felt like something had changed. She glanced at Ai, and Ai looked at her back with a slight scowl on her face. Did she feel the change too? 98

Ai didn’t seem to want to talk about it, so Poppy didn’t either. But when in town she started paying more attention to how everyone spoke to each other, whether they were white talking to the Japanese or white talking to white or Japanese talking to

Japanese, and that’s when she heard the more patronizing tones many of the white citizens, even her own father, took when speaking to Japanese-Americans. It made her sick, it made her angry, it made her realize that she was part of it as well, and she didn’t know what to do about it to change it.

*

The temperatures dropped and snow flew in harder, faster and earlier than it did the previous year. Both Mother and Pop were surprised by the weather, and Pop said it looked they were going to have a white Christmas.

“I expected some snow,” Pop said as he peered out the window on the morning before Christmas, “but this is looking to be a snow blind. I haven’t seen it this bad since I lived in Ohio.”

Mother, who sat stitching her own small fairy quilt patch to attach to Poppy’s, sighed and shook her head.

“You should check on the animals, then, before it gets too bad,” she said.

“That’s a good idea,” Pop said as he threw on his gloves and an extra scarf before running outside.

Insulated silence fell on both Poppy and Mother. It was strange to not see a scrap of decoration so near Christmas, but none of them had the heart to celebrate. Poppy’s 99

thoughts went to the egg that she had to put in her sock drawer, since it had grown heavy again and fell through one of Poppy’s pockets. It cracked, but thankfully did not break open. Just a few more months and she’d be rid of that annoying egg.

When Pop returned, the snow storm had grown worse. Poppy had never seen a storm rage so hard that it looked like a sheet of white outside. She was glad to be inside with her parents, warm by the fire place and wrapped in a thick blanket with her quilt patch on her knees.

When evening fell, someone knocked hard and fast at the door. Mother paused in mashing the potatoes she was making for supper, Poppy put down her needle, and Pop strode from the couch to the door. He opened it, revealing two people they had never seen before.

They were both men. One was young and tall, the other was curled with age, his long white beard pearled with snow. They were both clothes in leather jackets and caps, and bore stained suitcases in their brown hands.

“We’re sorry to have troubled you on this Christmas Eve,” the old man said, his teeth chattering for a moment, before continuing on, “but we were on our way from

Ambar to Gladstone, and we miscalculated both the weather and how fast we’d get from one place to the other on our poor mule. Could we trouble you further by staying the night, sir?”

For a moment, the insulated silence returned as Pop stared at the two.

The younger broke the silence, “We’d be able to pay for our stay, sir.” 100

“No, no just take your mule to the bam in the back. There’s an extra stall he can use, I’ll show you. You two can sleep in the living room.”

The old man beamed. “Thank you for your kindness, sir. Jack, you go take

Ribbons with Mr... ?”

“Ruskins.”

“Mr. Ruskins! Good, good to meet you. I’m Mr. Nicholas Wamby.”

“Mr. Wamby, please come inside. We’re about to have dinner, if you’d join us.”

“Well, now that is inviting! Thank you very much, we’ll only take a little. I’m sorry for being a bother this Christmas Eve.”

“No bother at all,” Mother said loudly, cutting off Pop. “We don’t have anything fancy for Christmas dinner, anyway.”

There was roast chicken that had been left in the oven too long, mashed potatoes with too much milk, runny chicken gravy, over-boiled green beans, soggy canned com, and bitter beets. Since company was over, Mother brought out the jar of pickles Ai’s family had given Poppy. After prayer, they all took their first silent bites.

“Mmm mmm, delicious Mrs. Ruskins,” Mr. Wamby said and lightly ribbed Jack.

Jack swallowed, his face an absolute blank slate. “Delightful.”

This made Mother throw her fork down in disgust. “There’s no need to lie. A starving dog wouldn’t be able to choke this down.” 101

“Now that’s not true, Sadie. This is a wonderful spread you’ve given us,” Pop said as he spooned some mashed potatoes in his mouth. He nodded to Poppy, who was still sawing through her chicken.

“It’s not bad at all, Mother,” Poppy said.

Mother shook her head and sighed like a steam engine ready to burst. “Can we please stop pretending that this Christmas dinner is any good? It’s not good and there’s no reason to say that it is.”

Pop slammed his fork down too. “For heaven’s sake, Sadie, we’re trying to find a little good in today. Why can’t you just let us pretend this is a real Christmas dinner?”

“Because it’s not, and it’s an insult to him to pretend that it is!”

Mr. Wamby and Jack had stopped eating, staring in confusion. Poppy looked down at her plate, feeling sick to her stomach and hoping the situation would blow over soon.

“Stop, STOP!” Pop finally said, smacking the table and making it shake. He turned to their guests, red-faced, and said in calmer tones, “I apologize for our outburst.

Our son died early this year and this has been a particularly hard Christmas.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, his eyes falling to his plate. “I’m truly sorry.”

“I am too,” Mr. Wamby said, and folded his hands behind his plate.

“He was a real good kid, y’know?” Pop said, the color draining from his face.

“Loved Christmas, I mean, what kid doesn’t? And I’d been away at war last Christmas. It 102

was hard, then, but I kept hope that I would be with my family again the following year.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Poppy shivered and hugged herself. The room seemed so much darker, even with the fire burning in the fireplace, but even the fire looked like it was losing strength. Jack turned to her with concern, but didn’t say anything until Mr. Wamby clasped his

shoulder.

Mr. Wamby gently said, “In our family, when we’ve lost somebody and it’s our first Christmas without them, we take one of the smaller logs, recall a good memory we had of the person, pass it around, and throw it on the fireplace to fill the house with good memories.”

“I’ve never heard of that before,” Poppy said.

“It’s one of those strange family traditions that came out of nowhere and just stuck around. Here, Jack, how about you grab the cleanest piece.”

And so Jack did, and he handed it to Poppy. She looked at the thick branch of wood with its bark starting to flake, feeling her parents’ stares.

“I have a lot of good memories of him, though,” Poppy mumbled at first, but then spoke up, “but I guess one good one was when I was crying because Pop left for the war, and he tried to cheer me up. I know he told jokes and made funny voices with my doll. I don’t remember what he said, but I remember it made me feel better.”

She passed the branch to Mother, who rolled it in her hands for a long moment. 103

“When I was pregnant with you, Poppy, Ted wasn’t happy about it. He’d been an only child for too long, and liked it. He’d stomp his feet and grumble when he had to do extra chores to get ready for the baby. When you were bom, however, it was like night and day. Couldn’t get enough out of holding you and playing with you and making you laugh, and on your first birthday he was so proud of himself for making a little toy train out of my used spools and some twine for your present.”

She passed the branch to Pop, and he gently placed it on the table before his plate.

“I remember one day he came to visit me in the butcher shop, and he saw me carry half a steer on my back. He was shocked I could do it at all, and I remembered him asking ‘Is someone helping you hold it?’ and I said ‘No, I’m carrying it all by myself.’”

He looked up at the others, and put on a wry smile. “I know it’s not a big moment, but there it is.”

He handed the branch to Mr. Wamby, who got up from the table and tossed the branch into the fire place. The fire popped a couple of times before it burned brighter, chasing away the shadows that Poppy had just noticed was hanging to the table.

“Good memories can cut deep during this time of year,” Mr. Wamby said, “but this is the time of year to remember, and reflect, on those good memories.”

Mother nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Wamby.”

They continued on with dinner which, even though it had cooled, tasted better than before. After dinner, they played checkers with the game board and pieces Mr.

Wamby had in his suitcase, with Poppy beating everyone. She suspected that they were 104

letting her win, but they seemed happy to lose, so she didn’t say anything. Mr. Wamby would talk about his career as a retired carpenter and about quiet Jack, who was not related but a family friend, was a budding artist. Jack showed the family a couple of sketches from his sketchbook of birds and flowers drawn in dark, jagged lines.

At last, it was time to go to bed. Mother and Pop brought out their extra blankets that stunk of moth balls, but the men didn’t complain. They said they would watch the fire to make sure that it didn’t bum the house down, and everyone went to their respective rooms to sleep.

Even though she felt warm and comfortable, she couldn’t sleep. Jack and Mr.

Wamby felt familiar, in the way that Gladys felt familiar. She crawled out of her bed and cracked open her door just far enough to stick her head out. The fireplace still flickered its light and warmth on Mr. Wamby, who sat hunched on the couch. Jack was upright and peering through the curtains.

“Still piling up out there?” Mr. Wamby asked.

Jack didn’t answer, so Mr. Wamby asked him again, but a bit louder this time.

“The snow’s stopped,” Jack said, his tone hard and restrained. “I should go out there, double-check to make sure he’s left—”

“No, you will not. Is there any moonlight out there?”

“No.”

“Then he’s still nearby. I need you here in case he comes.” 105

Jack turned and locked eyes with Poppy. She froze, not knowing whether to slink

back into her room or scream for her parents, and unable to do either. Mr. Wamby,

however, turned and laughed a jolly laugh, which seemed to break the spell on her. She

chose a third option, which was to approach Mr. Wamby. Jack turned to the window

again, ignoring them both.

“I’m sorry I eavesdropped, but who’s coming?” she whispered.

“No one’s coming, you needn’t worry,” Mr. Wamby said in his grandfatherly way.

Jack’s stern voice shook her. “You needn’t lie to her. She’s met the others.”

“She’s still a child, Jack,” Mr. Wamby warned.

Jack turned to Poppy. “Light creates shadow, and right now we’re the light and out there is nothing but shadow.”

His last word was drowned out by the high-pitched wail of the wind whipping around the house. They stood as still as stone as the wind moaned and beat against the roof. At least, Poppy hoped it was the wind.

“There’s nothing to worry about, honey, “Mr. Wamby said and patted her on the shoulder. “Why do you get back into bed now, so you can go to sleep and Santa Claus can come visit. You wouldn’t want to miss him, now would you?”

“But... but the shadow,” Poppy said, and stepped back when Mr. Wamby stood up and put his fists to his hips. “And who’s the others?” 106

“Don’t go listening to Jack, he does nothing but spout nonsense. Now go to bed, and don’t let the wind bother you. It’ll be Christmas morning before you know it!”

Poppy shuffled back into her bedroom, closed the door, and laid down at the floor to look through the sliver of space under the door. She watched Mr. Wamby’s shoes walk away, and her ears strained to hear what he said to Jack. If she just sat quietly enough, maybe—

She woke up in her bed, and groaned. She hadn’t been sleepy at all when she was listening at the door! What made her fall asleep so fast?

“Good morning, Poppy,” she heard Ted say, “Or rather, good evening.”

Poppy sat up in her bed and saw the Sandman in Ted’s form again. Morning turned back into night, and Ted’s eyes glowed with moonlight.

“I’m sorry, Poppy, I know you wanted to stay awake but they asked me to put you to sleep,” he said.

“Put me to sleep?” Poppy shrieked and pinched her arm. “Am I dead? Did you kill me?”

“No, no! I just mean, make yourself fall asleep. I can do that, so they asked me to do it, and so I did.”

“That’s not fair, Sandman! I didn’t want to go to sleep. I wanted to know more about the shadow.”

“You can’t see it unless it takes form like Mr. Wamby and Jack.” He put a finger to his lips. “Oops.” 107

“Okay, now I need to know who they really are,” Poppy said as she jumped out of

bed, grabbed the door knob, and twisted it uselessly. “I want to open the door.” She jiggled the door knob again to no avail, and turned on the Sandman. “Why won’t the door

open?”

“Try the window instead.”

She huffed and went to the window, throwing it open. Stars pinned up the night,

and the snow glowed under the moon. There was no shadow, nor Mr. Wamby nor Jack.

Poppy crawled out the window and fell into the knee-deep snow that didn’t even feel

cold. The Sandman followed after her and broke a path through the snow so she could

follow him. As they rounded the house, snow floated down but did not cover their

footprints.

“You know who they are, don’t you?” she asked him, but he said nothing until

they reached the front of the house.

“I do,” the Sandman panted, “I just don’t know if I should tell you or not.”

He stopped in front of the first window and pointed at it. Without needing a

stepstool, Poppy could easily look inside and see that it was her parents looking much younger than they did now. Mother’s hair rolled down her shoulders, and Pop held an

infant in his hands that she knew instantly was her. They were both speaking softly with mushed up words.

“Is this a memory, or is this a dream?” she asked the Sandman.

“A little bit of both.” 108

“Where’s Ted?”

“Sleeping in his room, waiting for Christmas morning, dreaming what Santa would put in his stocking that year.”

Poppy tore herself away from the quiet scene. “The next window. Is that where

Mr. Wamby and Jack are, in their true forms?”

He wouldn’t answer.

“Why won’t you tell me?” she demanded.

“I could tell you, or you could look at the window and find out yourself, but that would ruin tomorrow morning’s surprise.”

“Jack said there’s nothing but shadow here. It sounded so frightening. I need to know who they are and what they’re going to do about the shadow!”

She tried to pass him, but the Sandman held up both hands to her.

“Wait a minute. Think. Remember what Mr. Wamby said about good memories?

It’s nice to have good memories, but they can also hurt.”

“Yes? I don’t see how that matters?”

“What happens Christmas Eve?”

Poppy stamped her foot. “Santa comes to deliver toys.”

“Could he do that during the day?”

“He could but then he’d be,” The Easter Rabbit flashed through her mind,

“caughtl So what you’re saying is that Mr. Wamby or Jack is Santa Claus? Oh, it’s 109

probably Mr. Wamby, since he’s older, and Jack is... Jack Frost! I’m so dumb, why didn’t figure it out earlier? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

She jumped in shock to see that in a blink of an eye the Sandman had morphed from Ted’s shape into the little old man in golden robes again.

“Sandman, what’s on the other side of the other window?”

The Sandman heaved a great sigh. “You can look for yourself if you want and you can catch Santa Claus, but to do so would be to ruin the surprise.”

“I’m probably only getting socks or something practical,” she said and walked right past him towards the window, only to stop just short of it.

The Easter Rabbit came to her mind again. She still couldn’t shrug off how underwhelmed and almost disappointed she was with him, and the more she learned about him, the more disappointed she became. He was rude, and blustery, and didn’t care to know much about her or her brother, and he only took pity on her with the egg. The

Sandman too was only a fat little old man with gold robes only because she wanted him to be, not because he actually was everything she wished for.

Did she want to ruin Santa Claus for herself too?

She turned to him, and said, “Merry Christmas, Sandman.”

He bowed to her. “Merry Christmas, Poppy.”

Poppy woke up to Christmas morning. The air was still, as if it was gathering its breath for the expected hoopla for the day.

“Merry Christmas, Ted,” Poppy whispered, then got out of bed. 110

She tiptoed down the hallway, only to find a pile of presents on the couch where

Mr. Wamby and Jack were supposed to be sleeping. Sunlight glistened on the fems of frost painted on the front windows. Poppy ran for her parents, who were as flabbergasted as she was by the display.

On the present pile lay an ear-marked postcard with a family of red-cheeked cherubian carolers on one side and a note on the other:

To the Ruskins

Apologies for leaving before saying goodbye, but the storm had cleared and we still had a long way to travel. We hope these gifts will pay you back for your hospitality.

Merry Christmas;

Mr. Wamby and Jack

“They didn’t have to do all this,” Mother murmured, but she smiled at the gifts.

Pop put an arm around Mother. “It’s nice to know that there’s still good people in the world. Did you see your stocking up, Poppy?”

“No!” she squealed

Sure enough, a wool stocking hung above the cold mantle place, but Poppy had been too distracted by Mr. Wamby and Jack’s presents to notice. There were more gifts from Mother and Pop, and there were special treats for Ghost and Clara. The day past swiftly and calmly, with all three of them visiting Ted’s grave early in the morning.

Poppy forgot to bring fruit with her, but she built a little family of snowmen while I ll

Mother and Pop talked quietly amongst themselves. They returned home soon after that, and Mother made a meal with the jarred peaches that Mr. Wamby had given as her gift.

Poppy went to bed early that night and fell into a dreamless sleep. When she awoke, she felt relieved. Christmas was over. 112

Chapter 12

The snow mostly melted the day after Christmas and refroze the night after, creating dirty patches of ice in the road. Even the pond ice thinned until it looked like a cap of glass over the gray water. Pop and Mother were still a little shaken by the strange weather, but they talked to each other a bit friendlier now.

On the anniversary of Ted’s death, Poppy stayed home from school to be with

Mother. Quiet inhabited the house. Even the animals stood solemnly in their stables as

Poppy went to milk Clara and clean Ghost’s hooves. In the afternoon Poppy and Mother walked to Haverhill to meet Pop at Ted’s gravesite. They left a few flowers by the headstone. Poppy had found some pretty white pebbles to arrange around the base of the cross.

They didn’t say anything as they left the grave site and walked to the pond. They waited by its frozen banks, talking softly with one another as the sun hurried down the clear sky. The cold air gripped them by their necks and noses, and so they returned to a warm house with pea soup on the stove.

Poppy went to bed and fell into a dreamless sleep. She awoke to a new day, having survived the year without her brother. 113

Chapter 13

Poppy held the severely cracked blue egg, and wanted to throw it on her bedroom floor. She only had one week, one lousy week, until Easter. She could wait. She had to wait. She only hoped that the Easter Rabbit would find her. If not, she would probably throw it to see how high it could go before smash against the dirt.

The egg was fairly light now, so she was sure she could throw it up pretty high if she wanted to. Now, however, she kept it in her pocket as she walked to Gladys’s house for one last sewing session. Gladys had relatives farther up north who wanted her to live there, since she was getting older. Poppy didn’t think Gladys was so old that she couldn’t live by herself anymore, but maybe she would think differently when she got older.

Poppy shuddered at the thought of getting older. At least that wouldn’t happen for a long, long time.

The door to the cottage was wide open to let the clean air in, and Poppy would have knocked, but she heard the gentle murmur of Gladys and... the Easter Rabbit? As quietly as she could, Poppy padfooted inside to see that the living room was empty. The clinks of dishes being washed littered the conversation between Gladys and the Easter

Rabbit in the kitchen. Poppy approached the thin quilt that separated the her from the others, listening carefully.

“■—and so I told Jack, you’d best keep that snow off the ground this year, or I’ll kick you right to the moon to keep ’em company. Honestly, though, did you see that blizzard he brought in this year?” 114

“Now that’s not his fault and you know it. I don’t know why you have to pick on such nice, quiet fellow.”

“He’s got a sharp enough tongue though.” The Easter Rabbit’s eyes met Poppy’s.

“Oh, stones in my shoes and grit in my teeth!”

Gladys turned around with a soapy plate in her hand. Poppy flushed with embarrassment and was about to apologize, but all that came out was, “You know the

Easter Rabbit too?”

The old woman smiled and said, “Well, I suppose the jig is up, Poppy. You’ve caught us both.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean,” Poppy started, but the Easter Rabbit raised a brown paw to stop her.

“This is hardly such a place to have this conversation,” the Easter Rabbit said.

Gladys nodded in agreement, and a plate of cookies and three cups of lemonade later, they all sat on Gladys’s couch, with Poppy sitting between Gladys and the Easter

Rabbit. Gladys straightened her glasses on her nose and asked Poppy what she knew about the Easter Rabbit, which Poppy explained in full detail, including the egg.

The Easter Rabbit interrupted, “Do you have the egg, by chance?”

Poppy flushed again, and carefully took the handkerchief-wrapped egg out of her pocket.

“I do, but it cracked several times,” Poppy said as she unwrapped the damaged egg. “I can understand if you don’t want to give me the surprise.” 115

The Easter Rabbit chirped with delight, which definitely surprised Poppy.

“You had been close to solving it yourself, but in a way this is a better so I can

explain. Here, give me the egg!”

Poppy handed him the egg, and the Easter Rabbit smashed it over his furry knee.

There was absolutely nothing inside.

“What sort of trick is this?” Poppy demanded once the shock wore off. “There had to have been something in the egg! It got heavier and then lighter and... and this makes no sense! What was in there?”

“The only thing the egg contained, my dear, was your grief for your brother,” he

said as brushed pieces of egg shell off his fur, “You said that the egg felt heavier and then

lighter? Truth be told you only just got used to carrying it until, I suspect, you had your weaker moments, and then you got used to its weight again.”

Poppy blinked her tears away and struggled to control the anger rising in her voice. “What was the point of that? Am I not going to grieve my brother anymore?”

“No, no, no,” he said, his ears twitching with impatience. “It is to teach you that you will always carry your grief, but that, for the most part, you will grow accustom to its weight.”

Poppy suddenly felt very overwhelmed. “I’ll feel this way for the rest of my life?”

Gladys hugged her. “You’re not being very comforting, Easter.”

The Easter Rabbit sat up proudly. “I am trying to be comforting, I assure you.

Look, Poppy, I did not mean to frighten you. I am sorry that I did. But it may be 116

comforting to accept now that you will always be carrying this grief, and that it won’t

always weigh you down. You may not even feel it after a good while has passed, yes?”

Poppy could only nod her head. “I suppose.”

Gladys cut in, “Didn’t you promise her a prize, Easter?”

“Ah, yes, I did!”

He dug his paw into a pocket of skin within his thigh, and pulled out...

...a pink egg.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Easter!” Gladys said.

“You keep things in your books and quilts, I keep things in my eggs. Now Poppy,

this is yours. Don’t crack it open now. Wait until tonight, when your parents have gone to bed. You’ll have your surprise then. Be careful!”

Poppy took the egg, which was light as a feather.

“Thank you, Easter Rabbit,” Poppy said, and looked up at Gladys. “What does he mean that you keep things in books and quilts? How do you know him, really?”

“Well, you aren’t going to believe it, because I don’t have any wings, I don’t have

much magic, and I’m not tiny, but I am old.”

“You’re a fairy?” Poppy cried out, and looked up at the tapestry above. “Is that you and your husband then?”

“Oh no, that was my mother.”

“Then...then do you really have children? Are they fairy children?” 117

“No, they are not my real children, but they are children who need a nudge in the right direction, like you did last year. So I hope that you take what goodwill I and others have shown you, and you help those who need it.”

“I will! Especially since I had a lot more help than I realized.”

The Easter Rabbit scurried off first, then Poppy afterwards after she said her

goodbyes to Gladys. She waited until very late at night, when she was sure that her

parents were in bed. She lit her lamp and cracked the egg over the nightstand table. It

shattered in her hand, revealing nothing.

“He lied to me!” she said a little too loudly. She thought she had heard something so she switched the light off, flew under the covers, and waited. Nobody opened the bedroom door. She sighed and pulled her blankets over her head, feeling guilty about thinking the worst of the Easter Rabbit. He probably just gave her the wrong egg. Well, there was always next year. 118

January, 1921

Chapter 14

Poppy sat on Ted’s bunk with her legs hanging over the edge, waiting for Pop to come in and tell her when she could finally meet her newborn sibling. She flipped through the assortment of fairy tales Gladys had given her before she moved away. Not even reading the words, barely absorbing the pictures. Whatever Ai and Yukiko told her to expect during this terrible waiting time flew out the window.

She smoothed the unslept in covers, knowing that one day either she or her new sibling would be sleeping here, and it wouldn’t be Ted’s bed anymore. Ted’s old toys that had been passed down to her would now be the baby’s toys, and they’d be called Poppy’s old toys now. When Pop and Mother first told her she would be a big sister, she was so excited. But now she saw that her being a big sister meant cleaning house. A part of

Ted’s memory had to leave so there was room for the baby.

In her daydreams she tried to call for the Sandman to see Ted one more time before she saw the baby. He came not in the form of her older brother, but as the pond during springtime. She could barely catch her reflection in the continuous ripples in the water.

‘‘Sandman, show me my brother.”

“I would like to,” answered her scattered reflection, “but I’m unable to right now.”

“When will I be able to see him again?” 119

“I don’t know.”

“I didn’t mean like that. I know that his voice in my head isn’t his, and his face looks more and more like in the pictures. But I still want to see him.”

There was no answer. At least, there wasn’t an answer that she wanted, and she was slowly starting to accept that. Maybe. She continued flipping through books until her father opened the door, red-faced and exhausted, but smiling.

“Come see your baby brother, Poppy!”

Nothing could describe the tingling surprise at seeing the swaddled baby in the cradle, suddenly existing when he hadn’t before. He stared at her with his dark gray eyes that widened as if he couldn’t believe that she existed too. Poppy smiled at her mother* knowing that he came from her, but looking down at him she could barely believe he was here, almost as if he was pulled into this world from out of another.

Poppy sat down on the bed next to Mother when Pop handed her the baby. He was still so new, and her parents hadn’t decided on a name yet.

“He’s truly a little miracle baby. We never thought we’d have another one again.

And here he is,” Mother said under the strain of exhaustion.

“You’re thinking about Ted too?” Poppy asked.

Pop kneeled by Poppy. “I think we all are.”

Poppy felt the sting of tears in her eyes. “I wish you got to know him, little brother.” 120

“We’ll let him know about Ted, Poppy. And you will too. You’re the older sibling now, I’m sure you learned a thing or two from Ted.”

The baby yawned, squeezing his curious eyes shut. His face was still bright pink, almost red, like a boiled peanut or the pink Easter egg the Easter Rabbit had given her. A new wave of shock rolled through her body. This had to be the surprise the Easter Rabbit promised her, but did he really have this power? Or did he just know about it, and the pink egg was an announcement that the baby was coming. If she could catch him again this Easter, maybe she could get an answer out of him.

With the baby here, however, there wouldn’t be time to go looking for the Easter

Rabbit Besides, she felt like she was getting too old to go hunting for eggs. Maybe in & couple of years, when her brother was old enough to pick poppies, they could go searching for Easter eggs together.