Say That Again (The Faderville Novels: Book #2)
chapter 1: Hannah
Hannah
McHugh placed one small foot in front of the other without knowing exactly
where it was that she was going. Her purple sneakers left barely visible
imprints in the damp clay of the path as the airy trilling of the bluebird
beckoned her onward. To Hannah, the notes were like a song sung only for her. It
filled her with happiness. Lifted her heart, all the way up to heaven.
Every now and then, she saw a flash of
bright blue feathers, flittering against a glass-blue sky.
Laughing, she followed the bird. Down a
steep slope littered with loose slabs of stone. Up a long incline through a
towering stand of trees. Along a narrowing trail that wound between boulders
bigger than her sister’s school bus.
The bird danced from limb to limb.
Higher, faster. Happy, singing.
Follow
me,
it said. This way. Over here. Hurry!
Her steps quickened. Her breaths came in
puffs, her heart pattering against her sternum as she lifted her knees and
pumped her tiny arms to keep up. Her stuffed giraffe, Faustine, swung in her
grip, its yarn tail tattered and one beaded eye missing. Part of the stuffing
in Faustine’s neck had long since been compressed into her slender body, and so
her head flopped helplessly at the end of her too long neck whenever Hannah carried
her about, or leaned precariously to the right when Hannah set her on all
fours, as if the little giraffe had a question she was always waiting to ask.
Just as Hannah topped a hill, the bird
dove into a tangle of branches in the valley below, its song muted. Hannah
stopped, peered intently at the place where it had disappeared, saw nothing.
Patiently, she stood at attention, eyes
and ears keened. But there was no more sign of the bird. Nothing but silence.
Deep, empty silence all around. Not even a breeze to rustle the last of
autumn’s papery leaves.
Then it occurred to her that she had no
idea where her family was. Or how far she had come. Or from where.
Panic constricted her ribs. She’d get in
trouble for wandering off from their cabin. Her daddy would frown at her and
cross his arms. Her mommy would shake a finger in her face and speak to her
sternly. She wouldn’t be allowed to watch her princess movies or go to Gramma’s.
Maybe for a whole week. It would be boring sitting in her room alone.
A tear squeezed from the corner of
Hannah’s eye, tracing a trail of regret as it slid down her cold-kissed cheek.
She shouldn’t have wandered away from the cabin before everyone else had woken
up. They would be worried to find her gone. Frantic. And mad.
But she had only wanted to see what was
beyond the little clearing. To search for one of them. Her older sister, Maura, had told her there were fairies in
the woods and that they took naps beneath mushroom caps and bathed on leaves
dappled with morning dew and made their homes in the hollowed trunks of giant
oak trees. From a distance, Maura told her, they looked exactly like little
white butterflies.
Yet she hadn’t seen any fairies. Or
butterflies, even. Just the bluebird. And trees. Lots and lots of trees.
Millions, maybe gazillions.
She had to get back. But to where? And
how?
As she turned in a circle, searching for
a familiar sight, fear crept up her spine. She clutched Faustine to her chest
and held her tight. This place looked different, not at all like the forest
clearing where their cabin was. They had come to the state park for Hannah’s
fifth birthday. She hadn’t wanted a party with lots of other noisy children. Or
a pile of presents. Or a fancy restaurant dinner, where waiters wearing
sombreros would sing and clap for her, drawing everyone’s attention. Those
things were all too much, too noisy. She had only wanted this: a weekend with
her family, just the four of them, in the faraway woods of southeastern
Kentucky, where she could watch the birds and look for wild animals.
What she’d really wanted, though, was a
dog of her own. But they had told her she was too young for that and would have
to wait, probably until she was Maura’s age. And so she’d settled for a camping
trip. Now that they were here, she wasn’t sure why she’d wanted to come in the
first place. It had sounded like fun, but there really wasn’t much to do.
Christmas was only a week away and
although it was still cool, the weather promised to be good. So Daddy had
thrown their suitcases in the truck he used for his veterinary business and put
Maura and Mommy in charge of packing the food. Hannah had only been responsible
for her own things. But when she went outside this morning, she’d forgotten to
grab her coat off the peg by the door and now she was shivering so hard that her
teeth clacked. It hadn’t felt that cold when she first stepped outside.
Far off, a sparkle caught her eye. She
looked down below and noticed, amid a drifting sea of fog, a shimmering silver
ribbon. A big creek. What her daddy called a river. Beyond it, the ground rose
up again to more hills, bigger hills, taller and broader than those behind her.
Hills embraced by wispy clouds.
Hannah started downward, toward the
water. She was thirsty. And hungry. She hadn’t had breakfast yet, and although
she doubted she would find food anywhere near here, she could at least get a
drink of water before she tried to find her parents and Maura.
She raced downhill, her short legs
wearying not halfway down. She stumbled, falling to her knees. Undeterred, she
stood, brushed the dirt from her leggings, and continued on. The ground
flattened out. Leaf-littered dirt gave way to winter-dead grass, anchored in
the mud of a recent rain.
At water’s edge, she knelt and made a
scoop with her hands. The water froze her fingers when she dipped them in. She
brought the cool liquid to her mouth and sipped, then spat it out. It tasted icky.
Like sand.
Farther along the bank, an animal with a
black mask and a ringed tail winked at her. It waded into the shallows. Hannah
recognized it as a raccoon, the same kind of animal that tipped their trashcans
over and made her daddy angry. She smiled and waved. It chattered in response,
then plunged its front paws into the water, up to its elbows.
Bit by bit, she scooted closer. The
raccoon eyed her curiously and went back to washing its face. Careful not to
get too close and scare it away, Hannah sat, crossing her legs. She would try
to find her way back to the cabin in a little while. After she was done
watching the raccoon. She couldn’t be that far away. Maybe if she stayed here,
they would find her.
But what if they went the wrong way?
What if they searched and searched and just gave up?
No, they’d look. They’d find her. They
would.
Hannah kissed Faustine on the head and
noticed a dab of mud there. If she dipped Faustine’s head in the river, maybe
it would rinse away the dirt. Holding Faustine’s back legs, she stretched out
on her tummy and leaned out from the bank, reaching toward the water.
She wiggled forward a few inches and
Faustine’s head flopped into the water. She held her there awhile, giving the
dirt time to wash away. As she began to pull Faustine back, a flurry of chirps
sounded above her. She looked up to see the bluebird alight on a branch on the
other side of the river.
You
should listen more closely, it said.
“What?”
Just
listen!
Hannah didn’t understand. She was sure
she’d heard the bird, but what was it talking about? Listen to what? To whom?
Fast
water. Bad.
“But I need to give Faustine a bath,
silly bird.”
Not
silly.
The bird burst skyward. Hannah tilted
her head up to watch, but as she did so, she felt Faustine slip from her
fingers. The stuffed animal fell with a splash, floating on the surface a few
moments before an eddy engulfed it and pulled it under. Then, a surge pushed
Faustine back to the top.
Hannah flailed a hand
outward, stretching far. Her body, small though it was, tipped over the edge of
the bank. She gasped in shock as her hands hit the cold, cold water. Then as
her head plunged beneath the surface, she captured a final gulp of air in her
lungs and shut her eyes tight.
*****
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Happy reading,
Gemi
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