Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the exhale of October’s last, unseasonably warm breath, a small truck sat atop a hill at the edge of town, its bed open to the sky, lined on the inside with woolly blankets and a foam camping pad. Upon it two bodies lay side-by-side, breathing deeply with their eyes on the stars above.

"You were right," Wirt said after a minute. "I’d much rather do that than go to the Halloween dance."

Sara smiled sideways at him and rested her hand on his chest, which was still a little sweaty. "I knew you’d come around to my way of thinking."

"And you're… You're happy?" he said, returning the look with wide eyes. "Like… you're good?"

She gave him a little bit of a look, but his concern was sweet. "Are you happy?"

"Yeah," said Wirt, and he smiled finally. "Yeah." She rolled over to kiss him and then sat up, her movement producing another of the characteristic squeaks they'd become very familiar with over the last ten minutes.

Wirt followed her cue, tying off the condom and then placing a hand on the wheelhouse as she went digging through the blankets in search of her shirt. "We might have messed up your truck's alignment," he said with concern, and she laughed as she wiggled back into her pumpkin-printed black turtleneck and tossed him his jeans. They lay back together in their soft bed while he made a small fuss of pulling his pants back on.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered as he finally zipped back up and returned his gaze to the sky. The stars above shone as brightly as pinholes in a light-box. "And what are stars if not lanterns, hung high on the boughs of the world-tree, promising to light the path forward?"

Hearing his own poetry coming out of Sara’s mouth made Wirt tense next to her. "You can't," he said despairingly.

She just ran an affectionate hand down his arm. "Don't tell me I can't," she said sweetly, and sat back up again. She slipped on her leggings and sneakers, crawled atop the wheelhouse, and then jumped down to the ground. Gravel crunched beneath her feet and long dry grass tickled her ankles.

"Where are you going?" Wirt asked. She could hear him copying her movements as she approached the edge of the hill. The truck gave a creak and his shoes, too, hit the ground.

Sara called back, "Just enjoying the view," and leaned up against the bare tree at the drop-off of the cliff. Wirt came up from behind to slip an arm around her chest. Their little hometown spread out several hundred feet below them, glowing brightly in a perfect Halloween-orange hue. You could see the bowling alley from here, and the high school, and the flashing lights on the hospital roof. From somewhere far away echoed the happy screams of children. The hills on the eastern horizon cut hard black shapes against the purplish sky.

Sara agreed with herself again: "So much better than the Halloween dance."

"Do you think we should still drop by?" Wirt asked. "Senior year is our last chance."

"It was boring and pointless the last three years, why would anything have changed now?” Sara asked, rolling her head in toward his shoulder. "But Funderburker’s afterparty is always good. People will actually be there." Instead of responding, Wirt leaned in to rest his chin atop the crown of her head. He was tall enough that he had to stoop a little to do it. Sara hung her hands off of his embracing arms and hummed, "You sure we can't just stay up here all night?" She looked dreamily to the east. "I want to be here to see the sun rise."

But Wirt shook his head on top of hers. "I have to go to Greg's dress rehearsal in the morning and Mom will notice if I'm not in the house."

"Yeah, you said something about that. What's he in, again?"

"Adventures of Huck Finn. It's a loyal adaptation, just without all the challenging stuff. The racism." Sara laughed. "Anyway, he's Tom Sawyer, which is kind of a big part, and he pretty much told me I'm coming, so…"

"Your brother is so cute that it kills me," Sara said, very sincerely.

Wirt said, "Yeah," with the tone of one who has endured protracted suffering, but Sara knew he didn't mean it. He loved his brother. Every time she went over for dinner, seven-year-old Greg had new stories to regale her with about the make-believe games he and Wirt played together when they were alone. Their closeness was downright heartwarming.

They stood together at the crest of the hill for a long time, taking in all the little details of the town below. Cars moved slowly down the streets where children’s nearly-invisible shapes dashed beneath the streetlights. Sara looked up at her boyfriend, clad in denim and cotton and a leather vest, with a plastic star pinned on: "Hey, cowboy," she said, reaching up to brush his hair from his face. "You forgot your hat."

"There’s nobody else around.”

"Well, there will be at Funderburker’s party. It’s –" she checked her watch "— ten oh-three. So saddle up, pardner." Sara pulled away from him and began shuffling back toward the truck to bundle up the blankets, but Wirt stopped her when he asked, "Hey, Sara?"

She turned around. "Yeah?"

He seemed deeply uncomfortable with with what he was about to ask. "...You wouldn't mind if we, um, stopped by the cemetery first, would you?"

Sara took just a second to get as good a look at his face as she could in the dark of night. "Yeah, whatever you like," she said, and Wirt looked visibly relieved – whether because she hadn't said no, or because she hadn't asked why, she wasn't sure. She jerked her head at the car. "Help me put the love nest away first?"

"Ma'am." In a fit of playfulness, Wirt tipped an invisible hat at her on his way toward the truck, and Sara crossed her arms as she watched after him. It was the time of year for spooks, she supposed, and she understood that. But she really didn’t understand his thing with the cemetery.

This would mark the third year in a row to involve some interaction between Wirt, Sara, and the Eternal Garden on Halloween night. The first had infamously ended in an ambulance ride to prevent Wirt and his little brother from dying from hypoxia after falling into the lake on the far side of the cemetery wall—not the evening a bunch of high school sophomores had expected to have when they ran off to make trouble in the graveyard that night. Wirt had seemed different afterward, as could be expected of someone who'd had a near-death experience. He gotten more confident. Easier to talk to. They'd started hanging out a lot more after that.

The following year, Jason Funderberker (the human, not the frog) had hosted a party at his parents' house, the big estate on Blackwood Street, and Wirt and Sara had gone to an event as a 'thing' for the first time. Sort of. She was a killer nurse and he was a pirate who looked uncomfortable in his own beard; there'd been age-inappropriate beverages available at the wet bar, and when the air started to feel a little too heavy and their faces a lot too warm, she and Wirt had decided to go for a stumbling walk together to enjoy some of the last foliage color before the snow rolled in. As they turned the corner, though, they'd come face-to-face with the looming gates of the Eternal Garden before them, and Wirt had stopped clear in his tracks.

"Youu okay?" Sara had slurred.

Wirt didn't answer for a minute. "I'm fine," he finally said, but he'd had a really odd look on his face when he did. Sara thought she got it, because facing the place where you almost died is pretty heavy stuff, but he'd just looked so strange to her – not sad or scared, like you'd think, but wistful, like he was missing something, or like he wanted to say something but couldn't. He removed his pirate hat almost reverently, and took a swaying step toward the gates, but then changed his mind and turned around.

"Wirt…" Sara said as he passed her by.

Wirt had looked up at her, and then a funny look had crossed his flushed face, and all of a sudden he took her by the shoulders and kissed her for the very first time, which she was perfectly happy about. She'd been pretty sure if she didn't initiate it soon it would never happen at all.

And now here they were a year a later, at the entrance to the bone garden once again. She hadn't been back since – she had little enough reason to visit the place even on Halloween – but Greg said that he and Wirt went there on their own sometimes, and when she asked why, he threw up his hands: "All our friends are there!" Which was adorable, but made things only weirder. Sara didn't care what Wirt's actions looked like to anyone else; she worried about what they meant to Wirt. Why was he haunting the graveyard? The last time she'd heard about him visiting had been months ago now, and to tell the truth, she’d sort assumed he was finally over it.

She and Wirt approached the gates side-by-side, an odd duo of awkwardly tall cowboy and half-assed jack o’ lantern. Unlike the last time she'd been here, Wirt didn't hesitate to enter, but walked in quite comfortably and began to look around, as if browsing a bookstore. Somewhere to the south, she could see bobbing flashlight beams, and knew that some kids were probably doing as they'd done just a few years past, telling less-than-spooky stories between the gravestones. Some things never changed. Wirt began meandering toward the far corner of the cemetery, where the oldest graves sat backed up against the wall. She raised the flashlight that she'd pulled from the truck’s glove compartment and clicked it on. "Aren't you forgetting something, Wirt?" she called, gesturing with it at his back. He turned around.

"Thanks," he said as she caught up with him. He turned his gaze to the far cemetery wall again, and looked suddenly quite sad.

"Hey.” She put a hand on his elbow. "You gonna tell me what's up?"

He answered, "Just thinking," which appeared to be true, but it wasn’t the answer she was looking for. Sara frowned. Wirt started trudging forward, examining the gravestones he passed in the dull glow from the streetlights outside the fence. Sara made her own easy way through the slabs, glancing at dates here and there out of curiosity as to who had died most long ago. In front of a particularly large stone, Wirt stopped and then didn't move again, not until Sara had made a full round of the aisle on her own. She came up next to him and took his hand.

"What's this?" she asked. The worn gravestone declared the man and woman who were buried in the plot together – a Rose and Harold Miller – followed by a list of no fewer than ten other names. Vernon, Bethany, Beatrice, Mary, Harold Jr. – all of them had birthdays between twenty and forty years after those of Rose and Harold, but every single name on the slab shared the same year of death. Beneath it all read the epitaph, "Gone from the World, not from the Heart".

"That’s terrible," Sara said after a moment.

"Yeah," Wirt said. He sounded kind of choked up.

"How does that happen? It must have been a disease. Or a house fire." Wirt kind of tightened his jaw, and Sara had the feeling she maybe shouldn't have said anything.

"Greg found it," he said miserably. "He was really, uh… really proud of himself for being able to read the names." Sara didn't really understand. Wirt looked positively heartbroken, but these people had died more than a hundred years ago.

"Are they relatives?" she asked.

Wirt shook his head and scratched his face, an action that looked like it might have been meant to conceal a whisk at his eyes. "No," he said. "No." And he slowly walked away again, leaving Sara by herself to hold the flashlight up to the long-lost names of strangers. She took a deep breath.

"So you're really not going to tell me what's going on with you?" she asked, jogging to catch up with her boyfriend yet again. "I'm fine with being here, but it's making you act weird, Wirt. Are you really okay?"

Wirt finally turned to look at her. "I’m sorry," he said, a little slumped over. "I've just got a lot in my head and it's kind of hard to talk about." His eyes were deeply sorrowful.

Sara thought about it. "That's too bad," she said, and gave him a hug. "I thought we were having a nice night earlier."

"Oh, we were!" Wirt insisted, throwing up his hands as if in surrender. "No, Sara, it was – it was wonderful. You’re wonderful." She grinned. "This has nothing to do with that. I promise." Wirt's face was lit all gold in the autumn night's light.

"It's got to do with when you pretty much drowned," she said. "I know."

He didn’t bother to deny it: "Yeah.” She watched him look back at the big tombstone, engraved with more names than she could count at a glance. "I guess it's, uh… hard not to feel a little sympathy for the dead now. Tonight." Sara supposed she could understand that.

They stood close by each other as a gust of wind pushed a puff of leaves against their feet. "That's the only place I haven't gone back to yet," Wirt said, and Sara followed his gaze to the portion of the cemetery wall over which arched an enormous oak. She'd climbed it a few times as a kid. "I've come back since that night to see the rest, but the other side…" He shook his head.

"Will it make you feel better if you try?" Sara asked.

"I don't know," Wirt said. "Maybe."

"Well, come on, then," Sara urged, and placed her foot in the first low divot of the brick wall.

"No, Sara, maybe we shouldn't…" Wirt tried to protest, but Sara was already on her way up. She hoisted herself up past the first load-bearing branches, and then shimmied out onto the top of the wall and sat down.

"Come on, Wirt!" she called, and she heard a defeated sigh down below. While she waited for him, she looked out on the landscape visible from her vantage point, though there wasn't that much to be seen on a moonless night. Grassy train tracks ran along the outside edge of the wall at the top of a steep hillside, with a small lake and a copse of trees at the bottom. This was the easternmost edge of town, beyond which the only things to see were the low black mountains and the vast starry sky.

"This is a pretty good view, too," she commented as Wirt finally joined her on the top of the wall.

"Yeah," he said as he settled into his seat, but he didn’t sound any happier than before. Sara really wasn’t sure she was doing him any good in asking him to be here. His eyes rested on the still lake at the bottom of the hill with a haunted lake.

"Hey.” She smiled again, trying to make it really clear she wanted to help. "What's going through your weird Wirtful head?"

The ghost of a smile flicked across his face for a second. "Heh," he said. "That's, uh…" He didn't finish the sentence, but faded away into apparently deep thought, his eyes still on the shimmering water below. "Sara," he said after a minute. "What's the biggest thing that ever happened to you?"

"Big like good?"

"Big like… significant. Something important."

She had to think about about that for a moment. "I dunno," she said. "Maybe when my parents got divorced." The other contenders were when her Gramma died and when her mother made her quit ballet, but they didn't really compare in terms of long-term consequence. "What about you?"

Wirt didn't need time to think about his answer. "Falling into that lake," he said, and he pointed as if she could possibly have missed it. "Nearly getting hit by the train, and falling into that lake." Sara smirked at him a little, and he caught her look. "What?"

"Wrong answer," she teased, and bumped him with her hip. "You meant to say, 'The moment I met you.'" They laughed for a minute, and then Sara thought about what he'd said. "I don't know, Wirt. I can't tell you how to feel, and I know what happened to you was really tough. But how can that compare to the really permanent stuff? Like when Greg was born? Or when your dad…" She trailed off and stopped, and then looked away. Wirt wasn't looking at her either.

She took a minute before continuing, softly, "…Unless, you know, what happened a couple years ago on Halloween is still having a really big effect on you. In which case, you can always talk to me about it." If that wasn't a clear enough invitation, she didn't know what was.

"I mean -- I saw a lot of things, that night," Wirt said, scratching his head. "While I was in the water."

This was new information to Sara, but it wasn't too strange to hear. "I guess that makes sense. Your brain almost shut down from lack of oxygen."

"Yeah, it did." His tone was light, but she could see his face a little in the darkness, and he looked worried. "It’s just that it was… It was really grand, you know? I saw whole towns, and rivers, and a forest that was autumn forever. And people! So many people. I made... friends." Wirt stopped and looked up at her, clearly trying to gauge her reaction.

"That’s amazing," Sara said. "I wish I could have seen it."

"You believe me?" he asked.

"Yeah.” She raised an eyebrow at him. "Why would you lie?"

He didn't answer, but she could see him smile. "It was the strangest thing that ever happened to me," he said, and he picked at the moss atop the wall with the hand closest to her. "And then ever since I woke up, it seems like everything else has been strange too. I mean – look at me. I have friends. My stepdad and I went fishing last weekend and I didn't totally hate it. And, you know, you and me…" She took his hand. "I got my acceptance letter to the conservatory yesterday."

Sara said, "You did? That's great, Wirt!" He squeezed her hand back. She didn't say any of the things they were both thinking, about how far away the conservatory was from the state school where she had been offered a chemistry scholarship. This wasn't the time for that.

"Everything's kind of great,” he said. “And sometimes it makes me wonder if, I don't know, I never really made it out of that lake. Maybe I'm making all of this up in my head while I drown."

"You’re fine, Wirt," she said. "You're right here, with me."

He said, "Yeah. I think I know that." Sara pondered this. She couldn't force him to accept her objective existence, so she did the next best thing, and leaned in to kiss him instead.

"And you know what else?" Wirt continued when they were done, pointing down at the train tracks ten feet below their dangling shoes. "That thing I said about getting hit by the train? That's not even possible. These tracks haven't been connected to any railway for forty years. But it happened anyway." He threw up his hands. "I just don't know anymore."

Sara squinted at the overgrown tracks. "That's…" And now it was her turn to pause uncertainly, because she knew for a fact that she would have heard something as loud as a train that Halloween two years ago, as she climbed the tree to follow Wirt and Greg across the wall and was confronted with the sight of them plunging into the water. "That's really weird, Wirt."

"Don't I know it," he said, hunching over his lap with his arms crossed. Starlight glinted off his sheriff's badge. "There's a point where the weird gets so big you can't tell where it ends anymore."

Sara closed her eyes against the stirring wind, which pushed her hair across her face and serenaded them both with the rattle of grass and the smell of sweet earth. She tried to put herself in the place that Wirt talked about, in an endless autumn forest with sunlight pouring down through the branches. It was beautiful, and she smiled.

"I can kind of imagine it," she said. "Your fall forest."

"Yeah?" Wirt asked, and scooted toward her a little. He put his hand back over hers and she could hear him lean backwards, closing his eyes as well. "And can you imagine the schoolhouse by the pond?"

A 'schoolhouse' was only ever old-fashioned, so what Sara thought of was apples by the chalkboard, and wooden desks neatly in a row, bleached by the sun through dusty windows. "Yeah."

"And the mill by the river?"

Easily. A modest grist mill churned evening waters slowly as bluebirds nestled in the nook of the chimney. "Mm-hmm."

"And the frog steamboat?"

"Pfft. Wirt," she laughed.

He waved her down, though. "No, really! Imagine it. A great big green-and-white steamboat, pedaling through the marshes, and every one of the passengers is a singing frog dressed to the nines."

"Wow. Yeah, I can imagine that." She opened her eyes finally, and looked at him with a warm and flush feeling. "I couldn't ever come up with most of this stuff." She leaned into his arm and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. "I really wish I could have seen these things with you."

"Well, it wasn't all nice," he said.

"I don't care," she said. "I'd like to be there with you." In her mind, they were two dark happy silhouettes almost disappeared against the splendid shadows of fall, walking together on a path made for pilgrims.

And somewhere far away, there came the small, but definite sound of a steam engine's whistle.

They jumped at the same time and stared down the tracks for nearly a full minute, half expecting a black train to arrive beneath their feet. Wirt turned to look at her finally. "Uh… jeez, it's getting late," he said with a nervous laugh. "That… after-party, huh?"

"Oh." Sara checked her watch. "Yeah. I guess we can still go to that."

"Yeah," Wirt agreed. "Senior year's our last chance." And they sat awkwardly for a minute longer before Wirt gave her a lopsided grin and they started to descend the tree, one after the other.

At the bottom, everything was silent. The kids who'd been popping around the graveyard before seemed to have left. Sara turned her head as they walked away, and cast her eyes back again over the Garden's wall.

"I'd like to hear more about it," she said to Wirt, and he looked down at her. "Didn't you say something about people, too?"

"Oh man," he said, and smiled, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder while they walked side-by-side. "Yeah. Some of them are right over there." He was pointing toward the old plots by the wall.

Sara gave him a look. "Come on, Wirt."

"No, really! Let me tell you, Sara, you should have been there. You would have loved Beatrice."

Before the dress rehearsal at the auditorium the following morning, while Wirt was off looking for a cup of coffee, Greg bounced up to Sara in the front row of seats and placed a drawing in her lap.

"Hey Greg," she said. He was dressed in overalls and a straw hat, with Jason Funderburker strapped to his back like a fat green baby. "What's this?"

"I drew you a picture!" Greg said proudly. It was a crude depiction of a sailboat, with what looked like himself and Wirt standing aboard among several green people in top hats. The brothers were only recognizable for their headwear distinctive to two Halloweens ago. "It's a frog boat. I kinda forget, but me and Wirt visited waay back-a-day." He hoisted himself up between the armrests of the seat next to hers and swung his feet back and forth.

"Oh yeah?" she asked.

"Yeah! It was a nice day, and Jason Funderburker shared his beautiful tenor." The frog croaked. Greg dropped to the ground as the director made a call to begin rounding up children backstage. "You should have come, Sara! Jason says to invite you for the next time. Anyway, I gots-to-go!" And he scampered off, leaving Sara holding the paper by herself.

Wirt came back as the lights were beginning to go down, and offered her a Styrofoam coffee cup. "What's that?" he asked as she folded up the paper and tucked it into her bomber jacket.

"Present from Greg," she said. They quieted down as the curtains began to draw open on a late summer pastoral scene, and didn't speak again for a long time. Sara never stopped smiling even once.

Chapter Text

He was back in the forest. Leaves crunched beneath his feet, and high above his head, starlings flittered between thick oak branches soaked in sunlight. The old grist mill was looming up ahead, indolently churning the swollen waters of late afternoon. From the gloom of the front door stepped Beatrice as he'd seen her only once after he clipped her wings, a tall, glum-faced redhead.

"Come on, Greg!" he called over his shoulder. "Come on, we're almost there!" He raised a hand to wave to Beatrice as he ran up the road. She looked about for the commotion, but when her eyes landed on him her expression turned to one of confusion and worry.

"Wirt?" she asked as he slowed to a stop before her. She sounded scared. "What are you doing here?"

He was about to respond to her when he looked around and realized that Greg wasn't with him any longer . He spun in a circle, and saw him nowhere. A thrill passed through him as he realized that if he was in the Unknown, he must be dead again . He had died, and left Greg behind.

Beatrice put out a hand toward him. "Bea –" he started to say, but all of a sudden found himself being pulled from her by the heady waters of the river, flooding the banks to bear him away. He tumbled through the cold water and reached out for air but couldn't find it. Looming rocks swept by, threatening to break his body, and deeper he was pulled into the dark as his lungs burned and burned –

And Wirt woke up with a gasp.

He sat up immediately at his desk, nearly knocking his history of music textbook to the floor as he gripped the lip and panted. His lamp was pushed askew and shone over the back wall of the dorm, lighting upon his roommate's dresser to lend an incandescent glow to the many marching band trophies and pennant flags which decorated it. Wirt took a minute to calm down; his heart was pumping so hard that he could feel the pulse in his hands. He shook his head and finally sat back in his chair, squeezing his eyes shut and slapping himself gently in the forehead.

Everything was alright. It was just a dream. His felt as though there was still water clinging to his skin, but shook off the sensation as well as he could. This sort of thing was just par for the course, this time of the year.

The sun had finished setting at some point while he slept, and through the window now drifted the faint sounds of drunken laughter. The clock on the wall said that it was 10:03; his roommate, Reggie, wasn't back yet, and likely wouldn't be for hours, if at all.

"You sure you don't want to come?" he'd asked Wirt earlier in the evening while he fitted his false teeth in the bathroom, the last touch to a fairly intricate werewolf costume. "It'll be fun, man. I'll introduth you to thome girlth."

"I appreciate the offer, Reg," Wirt had said, still sitting uncostumed at his desk, "but I have a test tomorrow morning and I've really got to study."

"Thuit yourthelf," the big sousaphonist had said, grinning down at him through the brown hair glued to his face. "'But ith only one night, man. Live a little."

The truth was, Wirt just hadn't been feeling the spirit this year. He'd never been all that much for holidays, and ever since a certain Halloween four years back, this one's glimmer in particular had faded for him even more. When he was still at home he'd participated because that just was what you did as a kid, and then because Sara loved it so much. Last year, his first at school, he'd even put in the effort to buy a pair of fangs and smear red corn syrup on his face to make himself a vampire for the night and try to have some fun, but it didn't really work. He'd ended up sitting on the stained couch in Boltzmann Hall's damp UV-lit basement, talking to no one, drinking weakly-spiked punch while partygoers laughed and sung along to the Monster Mash slammed out on an out-of-tune marimba. He knew very well that his isolation was his own fault – it always had been – people tried so hard to make him feel welcome – but it just wasn't something he could fake anymore. Not on Halloween.

This year, Wirt hadn't even considered going out. He felt distracted. Tired. So he'd lied about a test to the people who asked him, and made plans instead to – to what? To fall asleep on his desk, apparently. Typical.

He pushed his chair out and stood up, bending the cricks out of his neck. He put his hands on the windowsill and leaned out into the cool night air, hoping it would burn some of the tiredness out of his eyes. Halloween-time always came with dreams like this one, along with a pervading sense of sad, clinging nostalgia. This was actually the third dream of the sort he'd had this week, but the first he'd had about Beatrice in a couple of years. He wasn't sure why he'd placed her at the mill, because to his knowledge she'd never even known about it, let alone been there, but that was just one weirdness of many. He wouldn't let it bother him too much.

What did bother him was the speed with which the pictures were already fading from his mind. He tried to think, but the vision of Beatrice's shocked face from the end of the dream was blurry; for a minute, he'd been able to remember what she looked like as a human, but like a lot of things from then, the real details had long since faded. There was a sorrow in that fact which was hard to express. And it was something he couldn't talk to anyone else about.

Well, there was one person.

What he wanted, he realized, was for Sara to be here. They had an understanding of sorts: she listened and responded to the things he had to say about the night he and Greg fell into the water as if he were bouncing short fiction ideas off of her, and he never tried to tell her otherwise. The conversations always made her smile, but she never fully said what she thought of it all, and he appreciated that. She was a hundred and thirty miles away from him right now, though, probably operating the lights or fog machine for her much larger school's campus Halloween party, dressed in a real costume, hanging out with real friends and having a good time. He shouldn't bring her night down by calling just to tell her about a dream.

And it was just a dream.

Wirt wandered from the window to the kitchenette, but he didn't really feel hungry. His feet were heavy, but his hands felt restless, so on an impulse, he peeked his head out the front door and looked both ways to check for foot traffic. No one was around, so after a moment's hesitation he started slinking down the half-lit hall in his socks. Paper pumpkins smiled widely at him from the walls, but for years now, he’d had difficulty seeing them as anything other than masks. The floor phone was next to the east window, and Wirt picked up the receiver and dialed in the number for Sara's school with practiced roteness.

It picked up after three rings. "West State University Switchboard," intoned the operator, "how may I direct your call?"

"Hi," he said. "Could you put me through to Berkshire Court, fourth floor?" He rubbed his head as they transferred him, feeling pointlessly nervous. He'd yet to hear back from Sara that she'd received his most recent cassette in the mail, and they hadn't seen each other since late July, but he always talked to her about this stuff when it came up. The phone started to ring. It was true that it was just a dream, and he didn't want to ruin Sara's good night if she had other things going on… But on the off-chance that she didn't, he might as well call.

It was picked up very quickly. "Hello?" a girl's voice asked.

"Hi," he said. "I'm, uh, trying to get through to Sara. She's not around?..."

"Um," said the voice distractedly as it moved away from the phone. "Guys, is Sara around? Georgia? Listen to me, Georgia, is Sara here? Well, then where is she? …Okay, fine." The voice drew back up to the receiver, sounding grumpier than before. "I don't know where she is. Somebody drank half a bottle of peppermint schnapps on Halloween, Halloween – get away from the button, Georgia! – and isn't being very helpful."

"Oh, well, that's alright," Wirt said, twirling the cord distractedly. "If you see her tonight, could you tell her Wirt called? I mean, unless it's really late, then don't bother her, because it's not like it's really that big a deal and I don't want her to go out of her way –"

"Yeah, I'll tell her," said the other voice, which was starting to become garbled by distance again. "Oh, wait, Wirt, you said? I know that name." There was the sound of whispering. "Are you the guy who makes those clarinet recordings she listens to in her room all the time?"

Wirt was starting to turn red. "I –"

"You're pretty good, man!"

"Oh. Thanks."

"Okay, okay, crap, I'm getting off the phone now, she's puking – I'll tell her if I see her. Bye." And the line clicked and went dead. Wirt sat bemused and disappointed for a minute. He couldn't say he was surprised she wasn't slinking around her room like he was tonight, but the affirmation of it made him feel like even more of a failure than before.

He sat down in the armchair by the window, phone still in hand, not quite sure what to do next. The moon this year was halfway to full, a familiar crucible shape in the sky that always made him anxious. As if he needed another thing to keep his mind even further from the real world right now. For a few minutes, he was quiet, thinking to himself; then he leaned in toward the dialpad again. This time he rang home.

An automated operator took the line. "You are about to place a long-distance collect call. Please record your name for the recipient at the tone."

He braced himself for a second waiting for the beep, and when it came, said, "Momit'sWirtcallmeback," as quickly as he could. The recording concluded and he was instructed to stay on the line. He waited for the call to be rejected, and then placed the handset back in its cradle, where it immediately began to ring again. He picked it back up.

The voice on the other end couldn't have sounded more thrilled. "Honey!"

"Hey, Mom," he said, kicking back in the chair with his eyes still on the sky. "How are you? Yeah, I'm doing fine. Happy Halloween to you too." He uncurled the cord slowly from his fingers, and then started to do it up again. "No, I'm not partying. I never party. I'm studying for a test. …I don't know how she is. I haven't talked to her in a while." He took a minute to be quiet as she spoke. "Of course I still care, but we're not –" He pulled the handset away from his ear and rubbed his temples gently as his mother took the opportunity to share with him, not for the first time, her opinion on what a mistake his and Sara's breakup had been. He shouldn't have given her that opening.

"Yeah, Mom, I know you think that, but I told you. It's over. We're still friends. You talk to Sara's mom all the time, you should know how she's…" He stopped again and waited for his mother to finish. "…Yeah, okay, alright. Anyway, I was hoping I could talk to Greg? I know it's a little late, but if he's still up…"

His mother, however, assured him that Greg would never go to bed so early on Halloween. "He's got the sugar-shakes," she said cheerfully as something audibly broke in the background. "I'll get him for you." There was a lot of shuffling on the other end of the phone for a moment, and a muffled voice, and then she came back on to say, "Here he is! And your father says hi."

"Okay, yeah. Say hi to Phil for me too." And there was a further second before the phone shifted again.

"Wirt!" Greg cried so loudly that the older boy had to pull the set a few inches from his ear. "Happy Halloween!"

"Hey, Greg," Wirt said. "Happy Halloween to you too."

"Oh man, I'm so glad you called!" He heard rustling. "We went out late and I got seventeen Peanut Smackers from Mrs. Lettersby because she wanted to empty the bowl. I was gonna save them for you when you come home for Thanksgiving –"

"You don't need to do that, Greg."

"Yeah, but I want to. They're your favorite." There was a croak from somewhere on the other end. "Jason Funderburker says hi!"

"Hi, Jason Funderburker," Wirt said dutifully. The croak sounded again, and Greg laughed.

"Oh, that frog. What's Halloween like at college, Wirt?"

"Hmm," he said, peering down onto the grounds through the window. Someone looked to be throwing up at the base of a tree. He'd heard a joke, once, about music school being stuffy, but certainly not dry. "Not very exciting."

"I don't believe you. I think you're just not doing fun things."

"Ouch. I think you're starting to catch on to me."

"You're not that hard to figure out." Another croak sounded. "Jason Funderburker says he had you figured out from the first moment he saw you!"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Wirt said, swiveling in the chair to put his legs over the arm. A thought occurred to him, and he said, "That was four years ago."

"Huh?"

"Uh… We found Jason Funderburker four years ago tonight, Greg."

"Oh, wow!"

"Yeah." It actually was pretty weird to think about. "Guess that makes it kind of like his birthday, huh?"

"Wooooah!" Greg's voice diminished for a moment. "Get over here, you great green guy! Hnnnm…" There was a muffled ribbit, and he picked the phone back up. "I gave him a hug."

"Well, it's the least you could do on his birthday." Wirt watched a cloud drift lazily across the face of the half-moon with a little bit of a smile on his face, but a sinking feeling in his belly. He and Greg never really talked about that night, not anymore; once upon a time he'd engaged with his brother in lots of little plays about the things they'd seen under the water together, but he hadn't been able to stomach that sort of thing for years now. As time deepened the gulf between now and then, his self-assurance seemed more prone to betray him.

"Greg?" he asked after a minute.

Greg stopped crinkling what sounded like candy wrappers. "Yeah?"

"How much do you remember about the night we found your frog?"

"Our frog," Greg corrected him. "I remember stuff."

"How much?"

"Lots! You know…" He could almost hear Greg shrug over the phone. "The trees. The bluebird."

"Beatrice."

"Yeah! Beatrice. And… the witch? And the dog?" He paused. "I mean, I remember about them, it's just the pictures are kinda fuzzy."

"Mm." He wasn't sure what he'd expected to hear. Greg had been just five then; the only memories Wirt still had from being that young were things to do with his dad, and even those were only impressions. No one could be expected to remember everything at that age, no matter how big.

But he didn't like the idea of being the last person in the world left to forget it all, either.

Back when he was fifteen, Wirt never could have imagined that a secret could weigh so heavy on a person, as if the omittive act of keeping it quiet was a little lead ball in your pocket all the time. Four years on, that ball had grown heavier to bear, not lighter, and it had been even more difficult to ignore lately. Some nights, dreaming of it was like going back all over again, and he didn't know why he always felt so disappointed when he woke to find it wasn't true; even the nightmares, the ones where he was bound to the ground with leaves slowly growing up around his throat, made him feel strangely vindicated, and sadder for losing them in the morning. In dreams' brief moment, fantasy had the same clarity as reality, and he felt like he wasn't crazy.

Always at the change in season, it felt like with one wrong turn, he might find himself suddenly stepping over roots and moss and crumbled leaves instead of cigarette butts and plastic bags, as the buildings around him turned to thatch and stone and the lamps to warped oak trees. Sometimes he anticipated it. Sometimes that scared him. When his fellow woodwinds got hazy-late-night-philosophical in the disused sixth-floor utility closet, he always let them go at it, but never spoke himself, because in matters of life and death he simply didn't know what to believe anymore. And he couldn't tell anyone about that. No one but Sara, who couldn't ever know the whole story, and Greg, who'd started to forget it. Whenever he thought about it too much, he was overwhelmed with the twin sensations of isolation and doubt, so for a long time now, he'd stopped thinking about it at all.

That was probably what made it so hard when the memories were foisted on him from time to time.

"Wirt?" Greg said after a while.

"Yeah?" he asked. His eyes were idle on the sky outside the window, thinking of things that he would never see again.

"Are you okay?"

Wirt didn't answer for a minute. "Yeah. Why do you ask?"

Greg shifted. "Because it's pretty weird to call someone and then not say anything."

"Yeah. Right." Now it was his turn to shift in the chair, putting his chin against the headrest so that he faced the window. "Sorry, Greg. I didn't mean to take up your Halloween. I should probably go."

"Hey!" He heard scrambling on the other end, and then a closing door. "Don't go, Wirt. You can talk. I'm alone."

"Did you just go into your room?"

"Yeah. Dad bought a cordless phone."

"Wow. That's pretty fancy."

"Yeah! He gets mad at me for leaving it in the backyard. Now –" there was a squeak of bedsprings "— tell me what's on your mind, brother!"

Wirt couldn't help smiling at that, but he had the feeling that his thoughts were not something he should be burdening a nine-year-old with. "It's nothing, Greg," he lied. "Just thinking about how weird our lives are."

"They are pretty weird." Jason Funderburker croaked. "I don't know anyone else who has a frog. And the bassoon is a weird instrument to go to school for. Also, we scared away a demon once, and lived in the woods for a couple months, and went to an animal school. That's weird."

"You remember all that?"

"Yeah. Most of it. I mean, you know." There was fidgeting on the other end of the line. "Like I said, I remember that it happened more than I remember seeing it."

"Does that…" Wirt stopped himself for a second. "Does that make it feel any less real?"

"Huh? No." Greg sounded amused that he would even say something so silly. "Not remembering a lot is still remembering. I only got one brain, and I gotta trust it. Tok-tok." He made a sound to mimic knocking himself on the head. "Plus, you remember it too! And I trust you." Wirt smiled a smile that he was glad no one could see, because it probably looked pained. "But you know something? Sometimes when I dream, I can remember all of it, and I think I went back for the night."

That line seared in Wirt's chest, but he didn't say anything. "That's neat."

"Yeah. But I don't think you can just go back, Wirt." Wirt was in agreement with that; he wasn't sure Greg fully remembered what bad shape they'd been in when they came out of the water, but there's no easy way to tell a small child that he almost died. "I visited the lake and walked around in it, but I didn't find anything."

"Did you expect to?"

"Not really," he said sadly. "I thought I'd try." There was a soft fwoomp sound; Greg seemed to have flopped over into his pillows.

Wirt asked, "Do you wish we could go back?"

Greg didn't answer for a minute. "…Sometimes. Just 'cause I want to remember." The admission was painfully familiar. He heard him pull the blankets up; Greg always tucked them in around his ears, and they ruffled loudly in the receiver. "There were so many neat people, and things," Greg yawned into the phone. "Sometimes it was scary, but you were the hero. I'm still gladder it happened and I can't go back, than I would be if it never happened at all."

Wirt looked up at the starry purple sky through the window, the same view he'd seen from between the Edelwood trees all those years ago. Someday the memory itself might fade, but the feeling of it would always remain.

"You're right," he said after a minute. "And I think I am too."

They talked for a little longer, some about the Unknown, but then about school and neighbors and Greg's junior acting troupe, with the younger brother growing steadily sleepier on his end of the phone. When the campus belltower tolled eleven, Wirt finally told him he should go to bed. Phil was going to be angry about the calling charge as it was.

"Yeah," Greg said sleepily with the receiver mashed up against his face, but then he perked up. "Oh, by the way, Wirt, Sara told me to tell you she finally got your cassette with the, um… flight of the conchords."

"What?" Wirt sat up. "The solo de concours? When did she tell you that?"

"Last week."

"You talked to Sara last week?"

"Yeah, at the park. She said she was visiting town 'cause it was her sister's birthday. That's the 22nd." He yawned widely. "I remembered for you, 'cause you're gonna have to know this stuff for when you get married."

Wirt smiled at that, then sobered up, then let himself smile again. "Sure, Greg," he said. "Sure I will."

"Yeah," Greg said, beginning to mumble again.

There was a sound on the other end of the line, and he heard a door creak open. "Gregory?" was said at a distance. "Oh my goodness, are you still on the phone? Did you brush your teeth? They're going to rot right out of your face…"

"Goodnight, Greg," Wirt said as their mother's voice drew closer.

"G'night, Wirt," Greg mumbled in return, and finally, he hung up the call.

Wirt laid the receiver in its cradle and leaned back in the arm chair, casting his eyes up to watch the very last sliver of the moon slip past the top of the window, where he could no longer see it. He felt strange. He closed his eyes and thought about his dream again, about the mill in the sunshine. He couldn't get a good picture of it any longer, but he felt better. It wasn't bothering him as much as it had before.

He was just starting to stand up to stretch his legs when the phone rang again.

"Hello?" he answered, worried that he might have been preventing an incoming call for the last hour, but the voice that answered on the other end was welcomingly familiar.

"Wirt?" he heard. "Is that you?"

"Sara!" he said, scratching his head. "Hi!"

"Hey! I'm really sorry I missed you when you called earlier. I was out."

"It's okay," he assured her, as casually as he could. "Probably a really big Halloween party at West U, huh?"

"That's what they said. I wouldn't know. I was watching a movie with Jacinda downstairs."

"Oh," Wirt said. That made him feel a lot better, actually.

Sara continued, "So is everything alright? Kaylee gave me your message and said you sounded kind of worried. I mean…" She paused. "I know it's Halloween and all. And what that means."

But Wirt had his eyes on the sky outside, dark and clear. With the moon gone now, the stars seemed much brighter. "Thanks," he said finally. "But I think I'm actually okay." He looked down at his stocking feet, already running ideas through his head. He had a black vest from his rehearsal getup in the closet, and a capgun and holster from his one-time cowboy costume stowed somewhere under the bed. It was not yet too late. With some emergency modifications, he wouldn't make a half-bad Han Solo.

"In fact," he said finally, "I just wanted to say happy Halloween. I think I'm going to go to a party."

Chapter Text

In the evening of the last day in the tenth month, Beatrice looked up from the stove to see a bluebird perched on the kitchen windowsill. It chirped at her, “Fwee," and gave her a look like it knew something she did not. She said nothing, but laid down her cooking ladle and crossed her arms. While dinner boiled on the stove, she stared that bluebird down, until it finally hopped, turned, and flew away. Tension left her shoulders as the little blur of it disappeared into the twilight trees.

"Beatrice?" her mother asked from the other side of the room, halfway to her elbows in corn flour. "Everything alright over there?"

"Yes, Mom," she said, and took up the ladle again, but she couldn't help looking back at the windowsill while she spooned stew out for the family. Bluebirds were apt to avoid her these days. Maybe they had all learned their lessons about being within a rock's throw of her person, or maybe they shunned her on purpose to show that they shared no sorority even after her ordeal years back. Either way, to see one so close, so late in the day, so far into fall, seemed like a bad omen.

It seemed like there were bad omens everywhere, lately.

In the evening's early darkness, rain fell hard and fast. As the family tucked into supper, Beatrice struggled with her lack of appetite. She'd been fighting a peculiar melancholy of late, more abstract than her usual discontentment with the state of her life. She looked about the table; her brothers tucked greedily into their stew, and her sisters broke cornbread with their backs to the fire. It was the same scene as every night, with every person in their place.

Her stomach lurched, and she put a hand against her throat.

"How's my Mason Bea?" her mother asked from across the table, sweet-voiced, but giving her the fish eye.

"I'm –" She paused and looked away. "I'm not really feeling well," she said finally. "I think I might go lie down."

"You sure, Bluebird?" her father asked, mopping up his stew with a handful of soft bread. "You haven't touched your food."

Beatrice would have liked very much to instate a policy of refusing to respond to anyone who addressed her that way, but her family had unfortunately earned the right to give her that grief. "I'm fine," she said, and made to stand up from the table. "I just want to rest." Her brother Walter didn't hesitate to grab her stew and begin shoveling it into his mouth. "Greedy," she muttered under her breath as she pushed her chair in, but nobody paid her any mind.

"Alright, dear. Would you like me to bring up some broth later?" her mother asked.

"No thank you, Mom." She wasn't as careful as she should have been to keep her tone even and appropriately grateful, but she hadn't the energy to try any harder, and left the table for upstairs without further explanation. In the dark bedroom that she shared with her sisters, Beatrice stopped by the window as a low peal of thunder rattled the floor. Her stomach growled, but she really did feel too unwell to eat.

She knelt down in front of the bedroom window to watch the rain. Thunder clapped again, and Bruno, who had been startled awake by the noise from his spot at the foot of the bed, padded over to beg for attention. She put her chin in one hand, dedicated the other to rubbing the dog behind the ears, and stared out into the storm as though hoping it could give her answers.

The world seemed flat and useless lately – and repetitive. She thought of her family again, all together at the dining table downstairs. Laughter, talk, a fire to their backs: at its bones, the scene never really changed, and in fact, she'd been starting to realize recently that nothing in her life had changed at all in a very long time. The sun shone, of course, and the snow fell, and the mill churned, each and every year much the same in very normal ways – but she also couldn't, for instance, recall a night in living memory that the moon hadn't sat half-turned and still in the sky, ready to bloom but never doing so. In a few weeks she would be turning eighteen, just like she did every year, but this time, she approached the date with dread. Despite this being the way of things for as long as she could remember, she grappled with the phantom feeling that it was nonetheless wrong.

No one else seemed very concerned about the same things she did. "Mom," she'd asked once, as she and her mother sat stitching by the fire, "have we always just been here?"

"Hmm?" her mother asked, hardly looking up from her needlepoint. "Of course we have, dear. That's a very strange question." But Beatrice wasn't so sure. Her life in the Unknown was not something she could recall any clear beginning to, though she knew beyond a doubt that all things are supposed to have beginnings.

Bruno nuzzled his nose into the palm of her hand.

And none of this had ever been a problem for her, she thought sourly, until she ran into those little twin disasters named Greg and Wirt. They'd seemed incapable of not disturbing everything they touched. She smirked at the rain, but felt pained on the inside. Frequently in autumntime, she found herself lingering by the window, ostensibly to watch the colors change with the season but secretly wondering if it was finally going to be the day that she'd see a boy in a cloak and a red cone hat walking up the path to her door, with a teapot-topped child following close behind. Her mother would invite them in for tea, and Greg would talk the pants off of all of them, and she Wirt would bicker like they used to and walk off eventually into the fall to see what waited out there for them, just as they once had – only this time, there wouldn't be any secrets between them, and he wouldn't have to leave in the end.

She never would have thought she'd be put in a position to miss her time under the bluebird’s curse, but at least it had helped her see her share of adventure, and madness, and change. It had changed her. She didn't like other people to notice it, but she just couldn't hate life as much as she used to, even when it confused her, and hurt her, and took away from her the only friends she'd ever really had.

Beatrice closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the weeping glass. She was hungry, and ill, and generally poorly-equipped to be having deep thoughts, so she stood up finally and changed into her nightgown in the dark. Bruno laid loyally by the side of the bed as she crawled in, and she lowered a hand to dangle by his ear as she snuggled down into her pillow.

She thought it would take a long time to fall asleep with the sound of the rain pounding against the window, but she slipped away almost immediately into the soft darkness, and confusing and comforting dreams.

Only a few hours later, something startled her awake. Beatrice sat up stark-straight in bed. Her sisters had all come to join her since she'd gone to sleep, and Beth, who had been curled up in the small of her back, murmured and rolled over toward Mary instead. The mantle clock on the other side of the room sat in a beam of light, reading just three minutes past ten o' clock. Not so late, after all.

For a second, she wasn't sure what had woken her, but then it came again, drifting over from the window. She could see Bruno's thin shape in silhouette, growling lightly as he stared outside. Beatrice crawled out of bed, shivering on contact with the cold floor. Sometime in the last few hours, the storm had passed, and the waxing moon hung pregnant in the sky on a bed of clouds.

"Rrrr," the dog growled, eyes intent on something outside that she could not see.

"What's up with you, dog?" She opened the window as quietly as she could and pushed her head out into the dripping night. Nothing moved, and there was no noise other than that of water. She pulled back in. "Come on," she whispered, but Bruno's attention did not falter, and as she looked on, he tensed.

"Wrrf!" he said lowly. Beatrice followed his eyes down to the woods across the river. From somewhere just beyond the treeline shone the light of a bobbing lantern.

Beatrice's heart skipped half a beat at the sight, though she knew straight away that it wasn't what it seemed. It was only an illusion from the trees, from light glinting off the creek. Bruno would not be mollified, though, and he gave another breathy woof before leaving the window to run down the stairs. Beatrice was torn for a second on what to do. Some person was, perhaps, lurking in the woods outside her family's home at night, which was not something she wanted to deal with. But on the other hand, she didn't want anyone else in her family to be stuck dealing with it, either. She went to the wardrobe with trembling hands and pulled out a wool cloak and her boots, which she didn't even take enough time to tie fully before sneaking downstairs. Bruno waited tensely inside the front door, and shot out like a bullet when she pulled it open. The world was wet, the moon was bright, and it had gotten unexpectedly cold. Beatrice wrapped the cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Bruno stood on the bridge, barking, not so loud that it would wake anybody else in the house. He was a good dog. She saw as she drew close to the forest that the light was still out there, but now fading steadily into the trees. The thought occurred to her that she should have grabbed her father's musket; too late now. "Hey," she called out, placing a hand on the dog's head for reassurance. "Hey, who goes there?"

She hadn't expected to hear a response, but the words drifted back to her from far away:

"Greg," someone was calling. "Greg!"

Beatrice froze. It couldn't be. It couldn't possibly.

"Hello?" she said again, but the voice still did not speak to her.

"Greg!" it cried, and the light faded slowly away.

"Wait!" she yelled, and as she did, Bruno gave another bark and bolted toward the woods. Beatrice hitched up her nightgown and started right on his tail with a racing heart. They broke the tree line one after the other. Water dripped down on her head from the bare branches, and moonlight stippled the leafstrewn ground. "Wait!" she called again, leaping over a large raised root after her dog. She wanted to call out the name on the tip of her tongue, but didn't dare risk being wrong. She couldn't stand to get her hopes up.

The voice called faintly, "Greg!"

She couldn't see ten feet ahead of her, but Bruno seemed to know where he was going. Further they ran into the woods, her shoes loose on her feet and her cloak splashed with mud. Thick branches filtered out the moonlight the deeper they went in, and cast the ground in shadow. The cold air burned her throat, but she wouldn't stop running until Bruno did.

Finally, she and the dog drew up next to each other by a big, smooth birch. "Where are you?" she called, cupping her hands. She hardly had enough breath in her to get the words out. "Hello? W… Wirt?" It was his voice. It had to have been. "Wirt!" But nobody called back, and the light was too thin to see by. Even Bruno seemed to have lost the trail, and he stood panting, nose turning this way and that in the air to catch the scent of his quarry. As Beatrice caught her breath and began to stand up again fully, she realized that she had no idea how far they'd gone from the house. She was not overly familiar with these woods at the best of times, let alone in the middle of the night. Bruno had led her deep into a thicket of trees, with no stars clearly visible overhead and no trail to follow.

"You stupid dog," she said weakly. He seemed to have completely forgotten his pursuit of just seconds ago, and wagged his tail at her before trotting by with his head to the ground.

She turned to follow him, and found herself confronted by an enormous dark shape looming just a few yards away. For a second she was so startled that she almost jumped backward, but with a moment's greater consideration she realized that the flat form was just that of a fat, mossy stone wall, here spread between two giant, gnarled oak trees.

"What the…?"

She had never heard that such a thing was out here, which was unusual considering how much time her brothers spent in the forest. It was perhaps twelve feet high, and extended in both directions for as far as she could see, which in the depths of these trees was not very far. She stopped a few feet short of it while Bruno went scouting along its base. Slowly, she reached out a cold hand to touch it. The green stones were slimy and speckled with moonlight, and somewhere on the other side, a frog was croaking.

Bruno made a small noise behind her, and she turned. Between the roots of one of the oak trees by the wall, there lay the prone form of a boy. The dog nuzzled under his arm and gave Beatrice a quizzical look.

Her eyes widened. "Oh my God," she said, rushing forward to kneel in the wet leaves. She pressed a hand against the boy's forehead. He was warm, shockingly so, considering he was barefoot and wearing a very thin black robe. A pointy witch’s hat slumped halfway across his face. "Are you alright?" she asked him as he stirred. His eyes opened slowly and he squinted up at her. He wore glasses, and looked to be about the age of her brother Vernon.

For a second they were both quiet; and then he said, as if he couldn't believe she was true, "…Beatrice?"

She blinked. "Huh?"

"Beatrice!" he repeated, rubbing his eyes. She was badly confused, but as his head fell into a rare patch of light, any words she might have had died on her lips. For a second she couldn't think what to say.

In the end, she just said, "Greg?"

"Beatrice!" he said once more, eyes big like pies. "Oh my gosh! How are you here?"

"I…" she said, lost for words. "That's – I-I live here. How are you here?"

"I dunno!" he said, spreading his arms and looking down at himself where he lay in the mud at the tree's base. "And would you look at what I’m wearing! ‘Tis the season, I suppose." Greg smiled at her. "You look just the same as I remember.”

"Oh," she said. "And you…" But she couldn't return the compliment, because Greg did not look like she remembered at all. He looked so different as to be hardly recognizable. Almost the only thing he still had in common with her memory of him was the extraordinarily trusting smile on his face.

"You look… good," she finished lamely.

"Hey, thanks!" Bruno pushed his nose into Greg's cheek, and Greg gasped as he noticed the dog. "My best friend!" he said, putting out his hands for him.

Beatrice said, "That’s Bruno," as Bruno jumped forward happily to ply him with kisses.

"Really?" Greg asked between wet assaults on his face. "That’s a good name. And speaking of friends," he added as he finally wrestled Bruno off of him, tail wagging madly, "I thought I heard Jason Funderburker out here. You haven't seen him around lately, have you?"

"What? Your frog?" she asked, crossing her arms at the boy. "No. Why would I have?"

"Well, a couple months ago, he... you know…" Greg stopped. He took a little breath and leaned his head back against the tree trunk. "It's like Dad said," he said carefully. "Bullfrogs don't live that long."

"What are you –?" But Beatrice saw the heartbroken look on Greg's face, and felt stricken as she realized what he was saying. "Oh," she said. "Greg. I'm… really sorry."

"It's alright," he said gamely. He was keeping it together remarkably well. "We had a good run. And I thought, you know, even if he couldn't be with me anymore, at least I figured I could find him here. I thought I heard his voice." Again, a frog croaked from somewhere close by, and Greg perked up to listen.

"If Jason Funderburker… passed… why do you think he'd be here?" Beatrice kept her question as pointed as she could, but just got a very odd look from the boy.

"Where else would he be?" he asked. Beatrice frowned, and stood up as she decided finally that her nightgown had been ruined badly enough for one night.

Greg copied her actions, leaning heavily on the tree to make it to his feet in the slick mud. She wrapped her cloak around her arms and said quietly, "Is Wirt with you?"

"No, I don't think so," he said, wiping his hands on his black cotton robe. "But I wish he was. I know he'd like to see you."

"Oh, I mean… nah," she said dispassionately, leaning into the mossy green wall behind her. "Nah. I'm sure he's been fine."

"Well, yeah, he's fine," Greg agreed without hesitation. "But I think he misses you." Beatrice blushed, and hoped it was dark enough that Greg couldn't see.

"How's he doing?" she asked. "Does… does he still play the clarinet?"

"Yeah, and a bassoon too. He went to school for it."

She couldn't help smiling at that. "I thought he didn't have the embouchure for the bassoon."

Greg said, "I don't know what that is, but I guess he found it," and they both kind of laughed. Beatrice relaxed more fully into the wall at her back. The thick moss made it an almost comfortable resting place. The niggling thought ate at her mind that Wirt must have changed just as much as his brother had. The idea didn't exactly make her happy.

"Just so long as he's doing well," she said, more to herself than anything.

"I think so." She looked over at Greg, who was polishing his glasses. He put them back on, and grinned up at her. "I don't get to see him too often sometimes. He works in a drug store in the city and his apartment smells like pants. But I think he's happy. And he's in love," he added.

"Oh?" Beatrice asked, scrunching up handfuls of her nightgown.

"Yeah. Don't tell anybody, but –" he glanced around conspiratorially "—he bought a ring. At Christmas, he's gonna ask."

"That's sweet," she said automatically. "She's a really – a lucky girl."

"Pssh," Greg said, rolling his eyes. "He's the lucky one. I love the guy and all, but Sara's way out of his league."

She said, "Sara?" rolling the name over her tongue to try and remember where she'd heard it before. "Isn't that the one who…?" Greg nodded. "Huh," she said, prepared to express surprise, but she wasn't really surprised at all. Wirt was exactly the sort of kid to make a lifetime love out of a childhood crush. It was enough to make one wonder what might have happened if they'd never had to go their separate ways. "Romantic fool," she sighed.

"Isn't he just?" Greg said knowingly, but Beatrice wasn’t talking about Wirt.

She said, "I thought I heard him calling for you out here."

"Really?" Greg looked surprised. "Maybe he's trying to wake me up." She tilted her head, the question implicit, and Greg grinned sheepishly. "I mighta eaten a lot of Halloween candy and decided to run around the kitchen," he said. "And I mighta slipped and hit my head while Wirt was supposed to be watching me. Right after he told me not to run in the kitchen."

"Well, it doesn't look like you got hurt," she said, pushing back Greg’s wide-brimmed hat and brushing twigs and leaves from his hair with a cold hand. He was so much taller now than she remembered.

"No, I think I'm okay. I feel okay. Maybe my brain is just kinda flipping out from the bump. Ohh man." His cheerfully bemused expression flickered briefly into worry. "I really hope I didn't die. Wirt'll kill me."

An upset feeling turned over in Beatrice's stomach. "This isn’t a place for the dead," she muttered, rubbing her hands together.

Greg looked genuinely surprised to hear her say that, and then said one of the most awful things he’d ever heard.

"Really?" he asked. "You're here."

Beatrice said nothing, but squared her jaw and looked away. Bruno pushed his head into her knees, and whined when she wouldn't acknowledge him. "Beatrice?" Greg said, but she didn't respond. She turned her gaze up at the moon, half-full in the sky, just like it always was. The same moon as every night, in the same year as every year. And how many years had that been?

"Greg," she said after a minute, "you must be… eleven now, right?"

"Twelve," he said. So even longer, then. "Beatrice, what's wrong?" She felt a brush against her hand; Greg had taken it in his. "I'm sorry," he said, eyes big. "Whatever I did."

She couldn't manage a reassuring smile, so she shook her head instead. "Don't be," she muttered. "You didn't do anything wrong." She squeezed his hand back, so much bigger now than it had used to be. Somehow, she'd always imagined that if and when she met Wirt and Greg again, they would all be much the same, as if they'd never separated at all. Greg was older than most of her brothers now, though, and Wirt was going to be married soon. And her? She'd be turning eighteen in a few weeks. Just like she always did. Wherever those two called home, it had let them change in ways she couldn't imagine doing anymore. They'd moved on, while she could not, as time flowed in circles around her. She closed her eyes and balled her free hand very tightly.

Greg wrapped his arms around her middle. "Umf," she said as he squeezed the air out of her. He was much stronger than he looked.

"I'm really sorry for whatever’s wrong," he said, "and I wish I could make you feel better." His hug was solid and warm. Water dripped, and the frog croaked louder than ever. Beatrice wrapped her arms around Greg's back and they let themselves stay that way for a while.

"I think this is helping," she said gently.

"Good," Greg said, and gave another hard squeeze before finally letting go. "You know, we didn't forget." She looked down at him, standing in his little patch of moonlight against the forest wall. "Wirt and I bring your family flowers every once in a while. I don’t know if they make it to you or not, though." He fidgeted. She knew what he was trying to say, and somehow, knowing was a small relief. Beatrice smiled at him.

They both looked up as a bullfrog's heavy croak sounded once again, this time from just a few feet away. Greg's eyes grew wide.

"Jason Funderburker?" he asked.

There was a brief moment of silence, and then another ribbit, and the big bullfrog leaped abruptly out of the shadows toward the boy, who received him so gaily that sheer joy spun them around in circles twice. "Jason Funderburker!" he cried, lifting the frog high above his head. "Oh, Jason Funderburker, you found us!" He nuzzled the big amphibian like a puppy, and the frog returned the gesture with the most contented smile Beatrice had ever seen.

"Do you remember Beatrice?" Greg asked, turning both of them around to face her. "It's been a while." Jason Funderburker croaked. "I knew you wouldn't forget," Greg said. "Oh man –" Once again, he squeezed him tight around his middle. Greg's voice was kind of thin, and he whispered into the frog's back, "I missed you a lot, buddy."

Beatrice was struck by the feeling that she was intruding on something very personal, and turned away as something caught her ear.

"Greg?" From the other side of the wall, someone was calling again.

Greg looked up. "Already?" he asked the night at large. "But I just found Jason Funderburker."

"Come on, Greg!" The voice, which sounded very worried, and a lot like Wirt's, did not seem to care. The boy sighed.

"I think I have to wake up now," he said. Beatrice gave him a wan smile. He looked down at the frog in his arms, who returned his gaze curiously. "I was wondering," he said with a concerned look. "Jason Funderburker doesn't have a home in the Unknown. He's all alone out in the woods where I can't make sure he's safe." The frog croaked sadly. Greg looked up. "Could you take care of him, Beatrice?" he asked.

"What?" she said.

"I know I can trust you, and you'll make sure he eats well, because you know which maggots are tastiest." She grimaced. "He doesn't have to be with you all the time. He's got his own stuff going on. But he should have a roof over his head and a family who loves him." Greg's big eyes were unforgiving. "Please?"

"I –" He was holding the frog out to her. She blinked at it. It smiled. She sighed. "…Okay," she said, and she took the frog. He was sticky and heavy, but not as sticky or as heavy as he looked.

Greg's smile couldn't have been wider. "Thank you, Beatrice!" he said, reaching in to give her another enormous hug around the ribcage and, again, almost knocking the wind out of her. His eyes sparkled. "I know it's a lot to ask. I promise I’ll come see you both again as often as I can."

She gave him a crooked smile, and said, "You better."

Greg pulled away with a starry grin as a soft light touched their faces. They looked up. Somewhere on the other side of the wall, it looked as though the light of a lantern was bobbing through the night. "Greg!" Wirt's voice called again.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Greg grumbled, and shot Beatrice a knowing look. "He's probably really freaked out," he confided. "I wonder if he called the ambulance yet. But no, he says that’s too expensive. He's probably gonna drive me to the hospital himself." She laughed at that. "I should definitely wake up now."

"Yeah," she said, "You probably should." Greg began to walk away, but looked back again just before passing into the shadow between the wall and the old oak tree.

"Goodbye, Beatrice," he said. "Goodbye, Jason Funderburker! I'm really glad I got to see you again."

Jason Funderburker croaked, and Beatrice tucked him under one arm and lifted the other to wave. "Goodbye, Greg," she said. "Say hi to Wirt for me."

"If I remember this!" he said happily, and he too waved before stepping back into the darkness. Slowly, the shape of him blended into the black of the forest, and Beatrice lowered her hand. She looked upward. The light from the other side of the wall had disappeared.

The woods hushed in her ear, tempting her with promises of what she could see if she were to climb over to the other side. Wirt might be waiting there for her, and Greg too, in whatever place they called their home, where people grew up, and where the moon looked different every single night.

But Jason Funderburker said, "Rrrbt," and she knew that he was probably right.

"If we can't follow them out," she said, looking down at the frog, "what do you think we'd find over there instead?"

"Brrrk," said Jason Funderburker.

Beatrice said, "I don't know either." A breeze whisked through the trees and sprinkled her with water, but she didn't shiver. She thought for a moment of the moonless roads that might await, and what she could become as she walked them. Older, wiser, maybe a new person altogether. But the truth was, it had been a very long night, and her heart was already back in bed with her sisters.

"You know," she said finally, giving the frog a pat on the head, "maybe tonight isn't the night to find out."

Jason Funderburker said, "Rrk," and closed his eyes with a smile.

Bruno led the three of them home on a trackless forest path, and Beatrice did her best to wash herself before going back to bed. Her nightgown was ruined, so she stole one of her father's undershirts from the line in the cellar, and slipped back under the blankets next to Beth with the moon falling in the same place on the wooden floor as it had when she left. On the ground by her side of the bed, the dog and the frog curled up happily; she was glad to see them getting along. She was pretty sure her brothers were going to really like Jason when they met him in the morning.

For the entire rest of the night, Beatrice wasn't sure that she ever managed to fall completely back asleep, because her thoughts were punctuated with a constant awareness of the room around her, and the light of the moon, and her sister's knee in her ribs. Still, she rose in the sunny morning surprisingly refreshed, and with the very distinct memory of a dream in which Wirt, tall enough now to put her under his chin, offered an embrace to thank her for making sure Greg got home again.

"Hey there, Bee," her father said from his place in front of the fire as she entered the dining room for breakfast. He pulled his pipe from his mouth and gave her a wink. "You feeling any better today?"

A small tweet sounded close to her elbow, and she looked to the wall to see a bluebird on the open windowsill. She blinked at it, and it blinked back, like a dare. This time, she smiled.

"Yeah, Dad," she said, turning back to her father. "I think I am."

"Breakfast!" her mother yelled from the kitchen. "Come one, come all!" The stairs thumped loudly as her brothers and sisters responded to the call, and above it all she heard Harold Jr. cry out in surprise, "Holy moly, would you look at this frog!"

So the family convened on a sunny November morning and broke bread together with laughter, and talk, and a fire at their backs, just like always, and Beatrice felt for the first time in memory that it was alright that things could be this way forever if she so chose, because she knew now that she had a choice.

Someday, she would see what lay in wait for her over the wall, but until then, these were years worth reliving.

Chapter Text

It was hard, being six months away from being able to get his driver's license, and the want of a car of his own was impacting Greg particularly strongly tonight. After arriving home at five o' clock that afternoon to discover the answering-machine message from Wirt telling him to 'get to the hospital now,' he'd had desperate trouble arranging a ride which could make the requisite stops beforehand, since his parents' flight from Florida wouldn’t be coming in until after 10. Bo Cummings had pulled through nicely by offering to drop him off at the drug store, but after making his purchases there and at the florist's and then walking close to a mile to get to St. Jermaine's, Greg had arrived at his destination tired and sweaty, with melting chocolate and slightly smooshed flowers on hand. Normally he would have been prone to dwell on the unjust inconvenience brought on him by his inability to drive himself around, but not today. All of his available tension was directed at exactly one thing, and that was the clock.

By now, the sun had gone down, the flowers had drooped further, and the candy he'd bought at the drug store to help Sara and Wirt celebrate had slowly been whittled down to a few handfuls left in his pockets that he told himself he wasn't going to touch. His parents had finally responded to his page after touching down at the airport, and promised to be at the hospital before eleven. After five hours in the waiting room, he still had yet to hear anything from the doctors, but it had to be any minute now. He was as acutely nervous as he had been since before the sun went down, and his electric energy was translating directly into his Tetris game.

He was just about finished making mincemeat of level seventeen when the old lady in the seat next to his started peering over his shoulder. "Sorry, young man," she said sweetly as he paused the game to look up at her. "My grandson is about your age. It's almost his birthday and I never know what boys are into nowadays."

"Oh. Well, yeah, we're definitely into this," Greg said, turning the little portable game system over in his hands. "My brother gave it to me last Christmas and it's the best present I've ever gotten."

"Oh? It looks expensive. Your brother must love you a lot."

"Yeah," Greg said, sitting with his arm flung over the back of the chair. "Probably still feels pretty guilty for almost letting me die alone in the woods that one time, too."

The old woman asked, "Pardon?" but Greg's attention was taken by the sound of the ward door opening behind the desk.

A nurse stepped out with her eyes on the clipboard in her hands. She flipped the page up, and asked the room at large, "Is there a… Gregory out here?"

"Yes!" Greg cried, nearly jumping out of his seat before catching himself. "I mean, uh, yes, ma'am?" he said, straightening his glasses. "That's me."

"Aren't we excited," said the nurse with a smile. "You must be the new uncle."

"The…? Oh my God." Greg's eyes went wide. The time had finally come.

"They're ready to see you now. Would you like to come in?"

"Aaaaaooogh," Greg inhaled vocally. "Okay. It's time." He gathered up the flowers from the seat next to him, vibrating with anticipation. The only thing that kept him from running down the hall like a cheetah was knowledge that it would get him kicked out of the ward. "What time was it?" he asked the nurse as she led him through the doorway behind the desk. "What time exactly?"

"Time of birth?" She checked her chart and said, "She was born tonight, October 31st, at 10:03 PM. Happy Halloween."

"Ten-oh-three." Greg was going to commit that number to memory forever. This was about to be the best day of his life. "Wait, did you say she?"

"That's right," said the nurse as she stopped next to a door with Wirt's last name on it. "It's a healthy, happy baby girl." And she pushed the door open to let him inside.

Greg stepped in as quietly as he could, though the wrappers on the flowers in his arms crinkled loudly. Sara was laying in the hospital bed with her hair all ruffled, and Wirt sat in a plastic chair by her elbow. Neither of them moved when he entered; Sara was fast asleep, and Wirt's head was low over the bundle he held in his arms.

"Hey!" Greg whispered as the nurse closed the door behind him. He set the flowers on the table by the entry and unloaded half-melted candy from his pockets. Wirt finally raised his eyes. His hair was a bird's nest and he looked overall as though someone had put him through a clothes dryer.

"Hey, Candy Pants," he said. Greg gave him a look, and continued to pull candy out of his pants. "What's all this?"

"I brought you flowers to celebrate," said Greg. "And chocolate."

"You didn't need to do that," Wirt said as his younger brother approached, pulling a second chair from the wall and plopping down in it with a thump. "Shh, shh, not so loud. Don't wake her."

"Could I? She looks pretty out of it," Greg said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at Sara.

"Oh, well, yeah, no, she's super drugged," Wirt said, smiling for a brief moment before immediately sobering up. "But not her. Her." Tenderly, he pulled the blankets away from the bundle in his arms so Greg could get his first look. He leaned in, wide-eyed. The baby girl sleeping in the folds was big-eared, delicate-featured, and exactly the color of a caramel apple, red-blushed cheeks and all.

"Wow," Greg breathed, hardly able to believe it. "She's perfect."

"Yeah," Wirt said, sitting back, not taking his eyes off of her. "Yeah, she is." He sounded in awe.

"She's a girl, though. What's with that?"

"I have no idea!" said Wirt. "It's a boy, they said. Like three times they said that. We told everyone it was a boy. The room's blue and everything." He shifted the baby expertly in his arms so that he could reach to run his hands through his hair; she didn't even stir. "We were going to name him after Sara's grandpa. You know, the one who did Normandy. We don't have any girls' names." He looked excessively distraught by that.

"You didn't talk about it at all?"

"We were moving! I had work! There was a lot of other stuff going on. What do you name a girl? Jane? Anne? Uh… Gretchen? No, that's terrible…"

"It's alright, brother," Greg said, patting Wirt's shoulder to calm him. "We'll brainstorm together." On the bed next to them, Sara murmured and shifted, and then quieted down. They watched her until she stopped moving. Wirt had a look on his face of overwhelming adoration.

"Mom and Dad said they'll be here soon," Greg told his brother.

"Then I'll enjoy the peace and quiet until they show up," Wirt said. He glanced down at the infant in his arms and blinked. "This feels crazy," he said quietly.

"No kidding," Greg agreed. "I can't believe you made that." The smile on Wirt's face was wiped away swiftly when he added, "Because she doesn't look anything like you at all."

His brother gave him a sour look. "Thanks a lot."

"Seriously, no resemblance whatsoever. You sure you're related?" Greg asked, but when the other's face started to turn red, he recanted. "I'm just teasing you, Wirt. Look, she's got your ears. See?"

"Oh." Wirt examined the ears in question, and seemed satisfied. "Yeah, I think she does. Wow, they're really big. That’s definitely my fault." He pursed his lips and hesitated for just a second. "Do you, uh… want to hold her?"

"Oh, man," Greg said, eyes wide. "Can I?"

"Sure. Here. You just support the head with your elbow and… there." The baby's weight settled into Greg's arms. She was heavier than she looked, and very warm. "Wow," he said again. Worry bit at him suddenly. "What if I drop her?"

"You're sitting down, Greg."

"Yeah, but what if?"

"I'll kill you. So don't."

"Mm." He rocked the baby lightly, but that even that much movement felt like inviting disaster, so he stopped. "Doesn’t this scare you?"

"I'm pretty used to it. I never dropped you." Greg looked up, and Wirt gave him half of a smile. "And you were way heavier than this when you were born."

"You just called me a fat baby! I can't believe it." But Greg couldn't stop grinning, so he turned the smile down to his niece (he had a niece!) instead. His glasses slipped down his nose, and he very carefully extracted a hand to push them back up.

"Holding her's the easy part, though," Wirt said. "I mean – they said it would be a boy. I was kind of ready for that. Do you think having a girl is a lot different than a boy?"

"I don't know," Greg said. "How would I know that?"

"Great. I mean, I don't know either." He wrung his hands; a nervous tick made him look like he was fingering an invisible clarinet. "Greg, I gotta be honest, I – I have no idea what to do after we leave this room."

"You get to be in charge of the best little person ever born," Greg said. "What else is there to it?"

"Yeah, well," Wirt said in a low voice. "You remember what happened the last time I was responsible for taking care of a little kid." He looked very, very tired.

Greg sat forward in his chair. "Hey. That was a long time ago."

"It doesn't matter," Wirt said. "It was still me who did it. I was a horrible brother. What if… what if I'm a horrible dad, too?" He was violently distressing the edge of his sweater. "What if things get hard and I decide to give up? What if I'm like my dad?"

"You won't be," Greg said firmly, and placed the baby back into her father's arms. Wirt looked a little startled for just a second, but still took her without hesitation. "'Cause you're not perfect, but you know how to learn from your mistakes. I would know. I lived them." He gave his brother two thumbs-up.

"I could make some really bad mistakes, though. Mistakes that ruin her life." He stared at his daughter like he wanted her to reassure him. "When I think about that, I... I don't know how I'm supposed to make any decisions at all."

Wirt clearly just needed some perspective. "Well, dropping her's almost the worst thing you could do, and you've already got that under wraps," Greg said. "You'll figure out the rest as you go. You know how I know that?"

"How?" Wirt looked like he genuinely wanted the answer. Greg leaned forward and stuck his elbow gently in his brother's ribs.

"Because her dad is the King of the Gnomes," he said, "and he wouldn't ever let his subjects down!"

Wirt groaned into his hand, "It wasn't a gnome costume," but between that and Greg's winning grin and wiggling eyebrows, he finally cracked a smile, and the brothers sat quiet, marveling at the new little light that was bundled in pink cotton between them. Outside the room's window, the shape of the full moon was bisected by the silhouette of an oak tree's branch, growing near the building. If he hadn't had to come to the hospital, Greg would have been out having the time of his life with his friends right now, because it was the most perfect Halloween night you could think of out there, the kind that made you shiver for the pleasure of being out at the highest point of fall. The baby kicked a little and shoved a tiny confectionery-colored fist out into the air.

Greg had a thought. "Hey. What about 'Autumn'?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Autumn, like it is right now. I think that would be a really good name."

"That's –" Wirt stopped to think about it. After a minute, he said, "…Yeah. Autumn."

"Autumn."

"I mean, I have to talk to Sara first, but… Autumn." He stared down at the little baby girl, still sleeping peacefully. "I like that, Greg." Greg smiled and tucked his legs up on the chair. Wirt brushed his thumb against her chin, and her hand wrapped around the finger reflexively, which was just about the cutest thing Greg had ever seen. Wirt blinked, and then smiled a little. "Hi there, Autumn," he said finally. "I'm your dad."

"And I'm your uncle," Greg whispered, leaning in so she could hear.

"This is your uncle, Candy Pants."

"I'm your uncle Greg."

"And that's your mom," Wirt said, tilting the baby toward Sara. "She's the best."

"I'm the best uncle."

"And you're gonna meet our mom, and Greg's dad, and Sara's parents too," Wirt said. The baby wriggled, and snuggled down into the blankets, pulling her father's finger with her. "We're your family." He hesitated. "I hope you like it here."

She yawned.

Greg said, "I think that's a yes," and Wirt smiled at him.

"Knock-knock," came an announcement as the door cracked open again. The nurse who had led Greg into the room peeked in, and as she did, Sara stirred again and finally opened her eyes.

"Mmwhaa…?" she asked, squinting around the room blearily.

"You're awake," the nurse said. "How do you feel, dear?"

"Oh my God," Sara said, putting her hands over her face. "I feel like I just pushed an entire turkey dinner out of my..." She noticed that Greg was in the room. "…gut."

"That’s pretty much what happened," Wirt said. "I’m so sorry about that." But he was still smiling, and he moved close to Sara with the baby. "I think it was worth it."

"Easy for you to say," Sara said wryly, and she took the little girl from him with tired, sparkling eyes.

"You've got visitors in the lobby," said the nurse. "Looks to me like two sets of very happy new grandparents. All the balloons say 'boy' on them, but I decided to let you all be the ones to break the news." Greg laughed; he liked this woman. "Would you like me to send them in?"

"Could you give us a little while?" Sara asked, pulling up the shoulder of her hospital gown. "I need some time."

"Absolutely, dear," the nurse said.

"Here, I'll go too," Greg offered, and he stood up from his chair; he wanted to ask his parents about their time in Florida anyway. He made it to the door, saw the flowers on the table, and then backtracked to set them at the foot of Sara's bed. He mouthed to her, Good job!, gave her and Wirt two thumbs-up, made one more quick trip to sprinkle some melted candy on top of the bouquet, and finally backed out of the room to let them have their moment.

Just before the door closed behind him, he thought he heard Wirt ask, "So, we were thinking… How do you feel about the name 'Autumn'?"

"You've got to stop wiggling," Greg said as he struggled to get shoes on his niece's feet. It was the last detail of the costume and she was being less than cooperative. "Come on, Oddball. No, don't kick… There we go." He stepped back to admire his handiwork as Autumn perched on the edge of the guest bed. She burbled happily and reached for him with sticky fingers. "Perfect."

"Greg!" Wirt called up the stairs. "Come on! The party starts at one and we should be there to help Mom set up."

"Comingg," Greg called back, even though it was only just three minutes past ten, and they had more than plenty of time. "You ready, Oddball?" he asked, and scooped up the one-year-old with a little bounce. She grabbed at his glasses. "Agh, no, don't do that. Alright. You want to go impress your dad?"

"Geg," she said.

"Excellent," he said, and they headed downstairs.

Wirt was waiting by the front door, dressed to go, with his eyes on the clock. "Finally," he said as they approached. "Mom said she doesn't want us to worry about helping, but I know she's secretly expecting it and we can't just –" He stopped as he looked up. "Greg," he said, flatly. "What is she wearing?"

Greg grinned at Autumn. "I knew he'd like it." She clapped.

"Is that seriously –?" His eyes jumped from the little red cone hat on her head to the tiny blue cloak around her shoulders, hand-stitched all. "Greg…"

"She's the gnome princess!" Greg said, lifting the baby up above his head so she screamed happily. "We wanted her first birthday to remind her of her heritage."

"'We?'" Wirt looked aghast. "You said you were just going to make her a pumpkin costume!"

"I was," Greg said, "but then Sara thought of this instead, and we decided to keep it a secret from you until the last minute so you couldn't veto it." He plopped Autumn into her father's arms. "Happy Halloween, Wirt!"

"Oh my God," Wirt said as the baby grabbed at his hair. "I am never going to live that costume down. You won't ever let me. Someday I'll be in hospice, dying slowly, and you'll gather my great-grandchildren around to tell them about the costume, while I'm too weak to stop you."

"And as you finally expire," Greg said, "the last thing you'll hear is their question: 'But what was he thinking?'" Wirt's ears were turning red. Greg gave him a hearty wink. "Now come on, brother, one o' clock steadily approaches, right?" He grabbed his jacket and bounced out the door, and Wirt reluctantly followed behind, wrapping a scarf around his neck and tilting his head back to avoid being poked in the eye by the hat's pointy tip.

It was a beautiful and crisp Halloween midmorning, the sky bright and caught somewhere in between shades of blue and gray. Wirt swung his daughter up onto his shoulders, and she happily wrapped her arms around his forehead to stay upright.

"You have a baby crown," Greg said.

"I'm the king of the babies," Wirt smiled, bouncing Autumn up and down. She screeched with laughter and clung tight, and they walked content for a while, gazing up at the bare trees above. The walk to their parents’ house wasn't long, or no more so than any walk through town, because it was not a big place, and not one that Sara and Wirt had ever really considered leaving for anywhere else. It was their home, plain and simple, where they'd grown up and met and eventually married, and bought a little old house together on a street lined in roses and ivy. It was where they worked, her in the hospital pharmacy, him teaching music at the high school just two rooms down from where Greg had his drama class, and it was where, come what may, they thought they'd spend the rest of their lives. Greg often wondered how anyone could be content to stay in one place forever when the world was so big and fantastic and full of new things to see, but theirs was a town built of families who had come here long ago and chosen never to leave. Perhaps that made him the odd one out. Personally, he planned to join the traveling circus on the day he graduated from high school.

A temperate breeze caught the brothers as they crossed the street, pushing the smell of dry grass and rotting leaves through the air. "So, uh… are you still dating that one girl from the set construction crew?" Wirt asked after a few minutes, with the tone of one who is looking more to fill silence than learn something new. "Melanie, I think? The one with the purple hair."

"Eh," Greg said, rubbing the back of his head. "No. I guess not." Talking about girls was one of those things he was more open to doing with his brother than anyone else, especially their mother, no matter how much she pried.

"Oh," said Wirt. "Sorry to hear that."

"No, it's really okay. She was kinda pushy, I guess. Touchy. I didn’t love it." He pulled off his glasses to wipe them with his sleeve. "We broke up last week when I said no again."

Wirt's brows were raised, and his focus rested in the surprised middle distance. He finally said, "I wouldn't have guessed you had that effect on women," and looked down on his brother's person. He could still do that, look down at Greg, but not by much, and Greg had plenty of time yet to catch up. "I mean, good for you for standing up for yourself. I’m proud of you. But, cripes, I would have killed for someone to say no to in high school."

Greg kept his tone light. "I seem to recall you doing pretty well for yourself.” Wirt looked at him sharply. “What’s that traumatic memory I have seared into my brain? The one where I hear someone screaming in the middle of the night and I come out in the living room to see you and Sara--?”

“Oh, God.” Wirt blanched. “You remember that? You can’t remember that, you were practically a baby!”

“I was seven! You told me you were practicing wrestling! You’re my only brother, and I trusted you!” He cackled and ducked away as Wirt put out a hand to push his face away. In a fit of exuberance as they passed by the Daniels’ garden, Greg jumped up and ran ahead to kick a rock down the sidewalk. "This is gonna be a great day," he crowed. He was always up for a birthday party, and it had been his idea to host Autumn's first at their mother's, where there was more room for relatives who hadn't yet had a chance to meet the family's youngest. Sara had left with the car an hour and a half ago to help set things up, while the brothers stayed behind to bathe and dress the birthday girl with plans to catch up as soon as possible.

"I suppose so," Wirt muttered, still clearly embarrassed, seeming only to agree only out of obligation. Social gatherings tired him, so he had been happy to displace this one to somewhere other than his own home, even if it meant having to take a mile-long walk with a mostly pre-ambulatory child.

"You'll love it," Greg said, slinging an arm around his brother's shoulder and ruffling Autumn on the back of the head. "There'll be balloons, and chips – everyone likes chips! – and weird conversations with cousins we haven't seen since middle school –"

"Joy," Wirt grumbled.

"—and ice cream cake, because I'm your brother, and I love you." Wirt narrowed his eyes. "And by that, I mean I love watching you wipe ice cream off of every surface Oddball touches for the next week."

"Why, you little –" Wirt gently swiped at him again, but Greg leaped away on nimble feet.

"Ha-ha!" he cried. "Can't catch me!" He bounced up a retaining wall to their right, jumped down again from eight feet up and rolled with the impact, then sprung back to his feet and ran up ahead to perform a cartwheel on the sidewalk.

"Ta-daa!" he cried as he righted himself. Autumn laughed and kicked her feet, narrowly missing Wirt's chin.

"Show-off," Wirt said as the little girl continued to wiggle and bounce on top of his shoulders. "Look, now she's worked up. We should have brought the stroller."

"Naah. You got this, daddy-o!" Greg popped up at Wirt's side with wide jazz hands for Autumn, which did not help her excitement.

"Oh, no you don't," Wirt said, pulling her down. "You started this, and now it's your problem." He held her out, and Greg found himself with the one-year-old in his arms now.

Greg said, "Aah, that's okay, Oddball. I'm more fun than your boring ol' dad anyway."

"Ba," she said, and grabbed at something in the air over his shoulder.

"Maybe it's better she wear herself out now," Wirt said as she continued to fuss in Greg's arms. "She can just sleep through the party."

"Not everyone wants to sleep through parties like you do," Greg said. "She takes after me. The more people around, the more energy she'll have. Isn't that right, Oddball?"

But Autumn didn't seem to be paying attention to him. "Ba, ba!" she said again, and she raised a little fist to point so that Greg and Wirt finally saw just what had caught her attention. Directly to their right hung open the gates of the Eternal Garden, which they hadn't noticed they were passing by. Greg looked up at his brother, who seemed as surprised as he felt. "Ba!" Autumn said again, more insistently this time. She grabbed in the direction of the gates with tiny toffee hands. "Ba!"

"You wanna?" Greg asked.

Wirt looked torn. "I don't know," he said, glancing up the road. "We really shouldn't let Mom and Sara set everything up themselves –" He looked back to see Greg and Autumn staring at him with equally big eyes. He met both of their gazes, and sighed. "— but I guess one o' clock is still a long time away," he finished, crossing his arms. "I suppose… we can stop for a few minutes."

"Hey, teamwork!" Greg said, and raised a hand to his niece. She did not high-five him back, but did try to grab his fingers and put them in her mouth.

The three of them entered the Garden carefully, even the baby seeming to adopt an air of respect in the graveyard. Normally the brothers visited near dark, as sort of an unspoken tradition, and Greg couldn't fully remember the last time he'd seen the area in daylight. It felt smaller when you could actually see everything. Autumn babbled happily at having gotten what she wanted, and Wirt walked up ahead while Greg toted his niece slowly between the graves, meandering toward the old corner.

"Oh, look," he said, pausing near a cracked, embossed stone. He crouched down and wiped lichen from the name Quincy Endicott. "Hey, Unky," he said, putting Autumn on his knee. "How have you and Auntie been?" Autumn leaned forward and slapped her hands against the stone. "This is your great-uncle Endicott," Greg told her. She burbled. "He's a really generous guy."

Autumn was wiggling again, so Greg let her down on the ground and watched her carefully. She toddled uncertainly forward, dropping down to all fours every few steps before getting back up, intent on her father a few yards away. She latched onto Wirt’s ankle and finally plopped down hard, looking exhausted.

"She made it real far that time," Greg started to say as he came from behind and scooped her back up, but quieted when he realized where his brother was standing. Wirt had stopped in front of the largest tombstone in the Garden, the one etched with an entire family's worth of names. Greg bowed his head a little, not sure of what mood to read from the situation. He expected Wirt to speak, but he never did. When Greg looked up, he found his brother's form to be stiff and his expression curiously blank. That was weird, but Greg chose to move forward, and hesitantly cleared his own throat.

"Hi, Beatrice," he said, laying a hand on the weathered granite. It was surprisingly warm for the weather. "It's been a while, huh? Sorry. We should have been here last year. There was some… other stuff going on." He thought Wirt would smile at that. He didn't. "Anyway, there's someone here we wanted you to meet." Greg bounced Autumn gently in his arms. "Can you say, 'Hi, Beatrice'?" he asked her.

"Abeese?" she asked, and when he raised his hand in a waving motion, she copied it. "Abeese!" she said again, gesticulating madly. Greg grinned.

"We don't visit often enough anymore," he said to Wirt.

Wirt was quiet for a minute, but finally said, "Yeah," his eyes still on the tombstone for a second before breaking away, seeming guilty. It was strange, that life could get so busy it was easy to neglect simple things like this. Greg's weekends were nearly all consumed with theater, and Wirt had as little free time as any young working parent. Sometimes even the brothers didn't see each other for days at a time, despite being so near at school, but separation was what made days like this special, Greg thought. Wirt looked like he was going to say something more, but just shook his head and took Autumn from Greg instead. The teenager rolled his shoulders appreciatively to excise their lingering strain and glanced casually toward the far cemetery wall, before doing a double-take.

"Wirt," he said, patting his brother's arm, and the other turned around.

"Oh," he said in surprise as he saw what Greg had. "Oh my God."

Greg had heard about it when it happened, but hadn't paid much attention at the time. In August, the last summer storm of the season had rolled through, causing no real damage, but managing to knock over some old trees, of which the graveyard's oak was one. It had fallen hard and brought part of the old cemetery wall with it, collapsing a ten-foot expanse of rough-cut stone down the hillside. The tree had been removed by now, mostly, but yellow caution tape still lay across the upturned roots and crumbled rocks left in its wake, memorializing in violent yellow the barrier that had once stood like an institution to mark the edge of town.

The brothers approached slowly. "A-daa!" Autumn exclaimed, and pointed at the crumbling gap.

"No, I don't think so," Wirt said, hoisting her up against his shoulder. "That looks danger— Greg!" Greg was already halfway up the pile of stones, and gesturing to his brother. "Where are you going?"

"Into the unknooown," Greg said, wiggling his fingers spookily. "Come on, Wirt, you know exactly where I'm going."

"We don't have the time."

"We have hours," Greg said. "Don't kid yourself. Now follow me!"

Wirt frowned. "Maybe I don't feel like climbing over a bunch of rocks with this baby," he groused, but he looked around to make sure nobody else was present and started to follow his brother across the rubble anyway. It was not particularly treacherous.

They emerged on the other side together, blinking in the sunlight as it seeped searing-bright through the clouds. The hillside spread out before them in a wide expanse of long browning grass that bottomed out in a lake surrounded by gnarled trees. The wind seemed warmer here, and took them by the shoulders like an old acquaintance; Greg stepped down from the rocks onto something equally hard, and found it to be the rail for the old train tracks. He turned to look at the length of the wall collapsed across the permanent way, in some spots covering it completely. There was no path left for an impossible train to round the corner anymore.

Wirt had already started moving down the hill, stepping careful on the gradient to keep traction with the little girl trying to escape his arms. Greg followed along, running faster, and caught up to his brother in a few seconds. Halfway to the bottom, Autumn's wiggling had grown too disruptive, so they sat down. Wirt let her go toddling away into the thick grass that was taller than she was, so that her little red cap was the only part of her visible above it.

Greg leaned back to take a deep breath of the chill sweet air. Briefly the clouds split above them, and he squinted in the bright white light. He'd rarely known such a beautiful October day as this. The mountains in the distance were colored like lavender fields, the friendly breeze rustled the grass, and the spaces between the trees looked invitingly warm, but Wirt seemed not to care for the view. His focus was exclusively on Autumn while she popped about in the meadowgrass. Curiously, Greg watched his brother's profile on the slope of the hill, a long lanky figure gazing out after the silhouette which stood as a tiny mockup of his own from so many years ago. Greg wondered if he really thought he'd designed the costume in order to make fun of him. He hoped not.

"You alright?" he asked.

Wirt said, "Yeah," but he didn't look it. His brow was furrowed and he seemed anxious. "Can't remember the last time I came back here." Greg himself hadn't since the summer before eighth grade. It really was funny that you could forget so much about the places that were important to you when you were young.

A few yards away, Autumn squatted down low to pick something up, and came pattering back to her father as quickly as she could. "Ock," she informed them, and deposited what looked like a stone in his lap. When she let go, it quaked and started to move. Greg sat up startled as a wrinkly little head came into view, and the brothers saw that it was not a rock but a tiny dark turtle. Wirt hastily lifted the reptile with two reluctant fingers and a wary eye.

"Isn't it the wrong time of year for turtles?" he asked as Greg took the animal from him and placed it in the palm of his hand. It stared up at him with shiny, tired eyes.

Greg thought about it for a minute. "It was the wrong time of year for frogs too, once," he said. "I guess everything must have its season."

Wirt didn't look reassured. "Well, get it out of here," he said, pulling Autumn close as she tried to grab at it. "I don't like the way it's looking at her."

"Hmm." Greg sat back, eyeing the little critter. It pulled its head halfway inside its shell and seemed content to lie. "Doesn't seem so bad to me," he said, stroking its cold back. "Maybe you could let her keep it."

Wirt's eyebrows almost touched his hairline. "Are you crazy?" he asked. "One-year-olds can't have pets. Definitely not ones like that."

"Well, I could keep it on retainer until she's old enough." As he stroked the turtle, its eyes closed and it seemed almost to smile. "I’ve still got Jason Funderburker’s old tank."

"Don't keep it, Greg," Wirt said.

"But it's so cute and harmless," Greg said. When he tilted his hand, light glinted as if in oil slicks off of its shiny black back. "And it's gonna die out here when the weather turns, Wirt. Have a heart."

"I don't like turtles," Wirt said very firmly, and Autumn started tugging on the end of his scarf, tightening it around his neck. "You know why." His eyes skipped briefly to the naked trees around the lake.

Greg did know why, but he said, "It's nothing to be scared of."

"I'm not scared," Wirt said. He wouldn't look at his brother. "I just don't need things reminding me of that anymore."

"Aw, why not?" Greg asked. He held the turtle out in his hand and watched Wirt shrink away from it. "What's wrong with reminding? Don't tell me you grew up and don't believe in fairy tales now." He said it like a joke, but it wasn't, not entirely.

"I'm not in the mood, Greg," Wirt said with a warning tone. "It's just… not the time. No monsters, and no witches, and no turtles. Not now."

"And no gravestones?" Greg asked pointedly, placing the turtle on his knee and wiggling a finger under its chin. He was prodding more than he ought to, but it was the only fair reaction when his brother started acting this weird. "No bluebirds?"

Wirt's frown deepened. "That's different," he snipped.

"It's not," Greg snipped back. "It's all part of the same –"

"It's not," said Wirt, and he started to raise his voice but stopped when Autumn turned her face up with a worried little look. He raised a hand to dismiss him. "Look, I said I'm not in the mood. Drop it, alright?"

Greg was incredulous. "Drop it?" he asked, placing a palm over the turtle's cold shell. "Seriously? What's up with you? Since when is this something we can’t talk about?"

"I said forget about it!"

"No!" Greg cried. Wirt had never refused to acknowledge their night in the woods like this before, and it hurt like a punch. He was Greg's last tether to memories of people and places that had weathered through time to little more than impressions in sand, and he knew that. "Why won't you talk about it? Why wouldn't you say hi to Beatrice?"

"Greg--"

"Where did this even come from? You don’t care? I mean, did - did you get a mortgage and suddenly decide that the stuff that happened when we were kids isn't good enough for you anymo—?"

But Wirt shouted, "You don't know what you're talking about!" with a flush rising in his cheeks, and Greg was stopped short. Autumn looked shocked. "You know, you always act like it was all just a big game, back then, and I know you had the time of your life playing with frogs and chasing butterflies and all that, but I had to take it seriously. We almost died, Greg. You haven't managed to forget that part yet, have you?" Greg felt stung, and for a second Wirt's scowl faltered as he realized what he'd said, but it reinstated itself stubbornly. "We almost died – you almost died! – and it would have been my fault. I don't… do you have any idea how close I was to deciding it was better we should just curl up and go to sleep forever?"

His hands clenched briefly and then relaxed again. He took a deep breath. Greg watched with raised brows.

"I – I wasn't really a good person back then, and it was easier to come to terms with that when I was younger but now I just – I don't need anything in my life that reminds me of how selfish I can be. Or how easy it was for me to give up on everything." Unconsciously, Wirt's arm wrapped around his daughter's body while she stuffed his scarf in her mouth. His eyes were on the woods, but they looked a thousand miles away. "There was good stuff in there that I don't want to forget. Friends and – you know, adventure, I guess. But I don't think I can deal with the good things it if they come hand-in-hand with remembering how weak I am, too.

"So please," he said wearily, and never once did his gaze leave the brown dead trees: "Just get rid of the turtle."

The breeze ran a hand over the grass around them, and for a few minutes neither brother spoke. Greg let his eyes rest on the shimmering green water below, which looked soft and calm, though he knew from experience just how shockingly cold it got.

"Da?" Autumn asked from her father's lap. She had disengaged his scarf from his neck completely and pulled it down on top of herself. "Da-da?" He put a hand on her arm, but still didn't look down.

"I'm sorry," Greg said haltingly. "I didn't realize it..."

Wirt bowed his head and finally closed his eyes. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Just forget about it."

"No," Greg insisted, making a gesture toward his brother which Autumn intercepted in order to take his fingers for examination. "I can't sit here and let you think that kind of thing about yourself. It's not true." Wirt's expression knotted up. "I mean, you're right when you say there's a lot of stuff I don't remember, but there're things I'll never forget, too. Like the taste of plain mashed potatoes. Or the colors in his eyes." They were blue, pink, and yellow. "And definitely not making a really stupid decision, as a really little kid, and almost getting myself killed, but in the end things were okay because there was someone there to pick me up and carry me back home again." He stared Wirt down for as long as he wouldn't meet his gaze.

"I shouldn't have let that even happen," he said, voice weak.

"And?" Greg said, raising his arms plaintively. "It happened. Nothing's gonna change that. Things coulda been bad, but we pulled through and everything turned out okay. You want me to get mad at you for not being perfect all the time?"

"I do."

"Well, that's stupid, then." He looked down at the little black turtle, still perched on his knee. "It was an experience that you can't forget, so forgive yourself and move on. And while you're at it, I think you oughta keep the turtle. They move nice and slow. As long as you've gotta be reminded of things, this one'll give you plenty of time to remember where you came from, and lots to think about where you wanna go."

Finally, finally, Wirt turned his head to meet Greg's gaze, his mouth a slant pulled up at the corner. "You're the younger one of us," he said, hunching his shoulders. "Isn't it supposed to be my job to teach you hard life truths?"

Greg said, "You could do that if you weren't so dang insecure," but really he was just glad that he was looking at him again.

Wirt seemed to know he couldn't argue that, and his gaze slid toward the reptile in Greg's lap. He sighed, and leaned in to pick it up, bringing it up to eye level in his palm.

"Hey, you little bundle of evil incarnate," he said after a minute. The turtle yawned. "I've got my eye on you."

"See?" Greg said, stroking its little back. "Another reason to keep the turtle. Keeping your enemies close, and all that." He took it again with no protest from Wirt and placed it back on his knee. "Oddball gets to learn how to be responsible for a pet, and how to stare down the embodiment of despair at the same time, all before kindergarten. Win-win." Autumn struggled to her feet and approached cautiously, eyeing the reptile on its own level. It raised its head at her presence, and she stuck out a little finger at it. Wirt tensed, but the turtle let her impact the end of its nose with hardly more than a blink. "See?" Greg said, poking his niece gently in the belly button. "She's got the hang of it already."

Wirt cracked a small smile and scooped up his daughter in both arms. "Un-na!" Autumn said, and put her hands on her father's face. He held her close, and she cuddled down against his chest, her pointy hat just short enough to fit in the space under his chin.

"You know," Greg said, "since giving you reality checks is like my full-time job these days, I guess I should also tell you that you're a really good dad." He had never doubted for a moment that Wirt would be, either. His older brother had never failed to find a way to take care someone who needed him, and that was something Greg knew firsthand. "And you're a good brother, too. Seems like as good a day as any to remind you of that."

Wirt's ears turned red, but he was smiling. "Thanks, Greg," he said. He wrapped his arms back around his knees and looked down again at the little girl curled in the crook of his body. "That means a lot." The two young men sat quiet, basking in the warmth that cracked through the blue-gray sky above and washed down over them like a bath. "I'm sorry for what I said," Wirt added after a while. "About what you don't remember."

Greg cast his eyes down the hill. "It's okay," he said. "You weren't wrong. I don't remember much of the hard stuff." After so many years, the only clear memory of the Unknown that he had left at all was that of one rainy night in the woods, huddled beneath the black trees, kept dry under an old blue cloak while Wirt held him close and got wet. "I guess that means you did your job, though," he said. "Taking care of me and stuff."

His big brother smiled at that.

They sat for a while, listening to the grass sing songs for the sun, gazing out over the treetops and mountains, taking in the view from the edge. Greg had the feeling that there was something very present in the air around them, like this autumn could have lasted forever if they'd wanted it to. All they would have to do would be to take a walk between the trees. He looked down at the turtle on his knee, stationary as a stone, and then at his niece, eyes half-closed, her little nose lit by the sun and her fists curled around handfuls of her father's sweater.

Maybe it had been difficult for Wirt, once upon a time, to choose to lead them out of the woods and keep on living, but Greg knew without an ounce of doubt he'd made the right decision.

"Hey," he asked his brother. "What time is it?"

Wirt looked at his wrist, and saw he wasn't wearing a watch. "I have no idea," he said, sounding sun-drowsed.

"We should probably go."

"You're absolutely right."

"We can't let Mom and Sara set up the whole party themselves, can we?"

"That would be terrible of us." And Wirt took one more moment to look out over the lake before standing with a little groan, still holding Autumn close to his chest.

As they climbed the hill back toward the wall, Greg asked, "What do you think we should name her?"

"Her?" Wirt asked. He looked down to see Greg still carrying the black turtle in the palm of his hand. "Greg, I don't know. It's a turtle."

"I'll see if I can come up with some names off the top of my head," Greg said. "Let me think. Harriet, Nora, Rita, Skittles, Eleanor, Odette, Deborah, Madeline, Veronica, Winifred, Ling, Fredericka, Penelope, Zsa-Zsa, Celeste…"

"Come on, Greg."

"Lorna - hey, how about that? - Tabitha, Katrina, Roberta, Opal, Nadine, Ursula, Rosalind…" He held the tiny turtle up to Autumn's face. "Do you like that name?" he asked her. "Rosalind?"

She said, "Geg."

"We'll keep working on it, then." And one after another, the brothers crossed over the Garden's wall back into the world, while the trees on the hill behind them whispered on the wind, in woody murmurs that carried the tones of bells, and birds, and best wishes for long lost, but well-remembered friends.