Jordan frowned. Dad mentioned the world wars sometimes and something about Germany, where Oma’s parents had grown up. “Was the war really bad?”

  “All wars are bad, liebling. Sometimes they’re waged for good reasons, like saving the innocent and taking down evil leaders, but there’s an unimaginable cost of life. And sometimes the soldiers come home brokenhearted because of all they’ve had to see and do on the battlefield.”

  “That’s sad. I don’t like war,” Gin said. “I like fields of flowers better than fields of battle. We should plant flowers everywhere, and then everyone would be happy and nice.”

  Oma smiled. “Life would be much better if people were kind and loving to each other the way Jesus said we should be.”

  Holly paused in her peeling. “What about bullies? Do we have to love bullies? Because they’re mean jerks, and I don’t like them at all.”

  Oma shifted toward her in her rocking chair. “Is someone bullying you?”

  Holly shrugged a shoulder in answer.

  Oma made a thoughtful noise. “We love them because God loves them, but we don’t like how they behave or the choices they make. And most people are mean because they’re hurting deep inside and don’t know how to deal with that hurt. The mean things they say to you usually aren’t even about you, even if it feels like they are.”

  “So we have to let them pick on us?”

  “Never. You should tell a grown-up. No one has the right to bully you, and if they’re picking on you, they’re not getting the help they need for their pain either.”

  Holly looked at Jordan, but he shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about the boys from the woods. He wanted to forget about them, and the best way to do that was to focus on the treasure.

  “Do you know how we can find John?” he asked.

  “You can check the local phone book for Johns in town,” she suggested. When they both jumped up, she said, “After dinner and cleanup.”

  Holly and Jordan groaned and resettled in their chairs. They would need to eat and do their chores quickly so they could solve the mystery.

  . . . .

  The storm crashed into the town after dinner, rain pattering against the windows like hundreds of tiny feet running across the glass.

  Gusts of wind rattled the shutters and knocked out the power on the street. Holly watched the neighborhood houses go dark at the same time as theirs. The lights in the windows puffed out like blown birthday candles.

  Holly didn’t mind the darkness, but Gin’s wail of fear had stretched through the whole house. Oma distracted her by letting her help dry dishes. One slippery plate had already hit the floor and shattered. It was a good thing Oma had lots of dishes.

  After passing out candles and matches to the guests upstairs, Holly and Jordan returned to the den and built a tent, draping sheets over couch cushions and dining room chairs. They huddled around the treasure box, Jordan with a flashlight and Holly with a bowl of miniature marshmallows for dessert.

  “John Berkshire’s address isn’t too far from the church. We could walk there after,” Jordan suggested. “Berkshire first, and then . . .”

  The French doors behind them rattled, and they both fell quiet. Was that the storm? The doors rattled again.

  Holly crept out of the tent and peeked around the side at the glass doors. A bolt of lightning brightened the back porch, and a figure with two short legs and tree branches sticking every which way stood outside.

  She gasped and nearly choked on the marshmallow that had been smoothed against the inside of her cheek.

  A tree with arms and legs.

  The legend was true. The watcher tree could send out a part of itself to hunt—a sapling watcher. It walked around almost like a person, except it was made of roots, limbs, and vines.

  “What is it?” Jordan crawled out the other side in time to see the figure disappear down the steps. “What was wrong with his arms?”

  “It’s the watcher.”

  Jordan’s face said he didn’t want to believe, but how could he pretend it wasn’t true? Even the grown-ups knew it was true.

  “The legend says you can’t escape the watcher tree once it sees you. There’s nowhere you can go that its roots can’t find you. We took the box from him, and he saw us,” Holly explained.

  Jordan swallowed hard. “Mmm, maybe it’s John. Dad said he arrested a guy once who attacked someone because they touched his stuff. What if John knows we dug up his box and he wants it back? That makes more sense, doesn’t it?”

  “You saw his arms. They were branches.”

  “I . . . I don’t know. That could be what I saw. It’s dark, and he was already walking away.”

  Holly scowled at him but didn’t argue. There was an ancient and dangerous monster outside, and this wasn’t the time to argue. “What if he’s mad and trying to get inside?”

  Jordan’s eyes widened. “Oma never locks the front door.”

  He scooped up the treasure box and his flashlight and darted for the front door, Holly’s bare feet pattering down the hall behind him. They raced past the kitchen into the foyer and nearly crashed into the screen door.

  The watcher sapling clomped up the steps onto the porch. He was coming straight for them.

  “The door, Jordan!” Holly shouted.

  Jordan slammed the interior door and bolted it. He leaned back against it, breathing hard, the treasure box clutched to his chest. “He can’t get in now.”

  Heavy pounding made Holly suck in a breath, and she threw her weight against the door too. The creature’s clobbering fists vibrated the wood against their backs, and they looked at each other, unsure what to do.

  Could the watcher pound his way through the door? Would the hinges and locks be strong enough to stop him?

  “If we toss the box out a window, do you think he’ll take it and leave?” Holly asked.

  “We can’t open a window. He’ll climb through it and come after us.”

  The pounding stopped, and the porch boards creaked as the watcher sapling stomped around outside. Was he looking for another way in? Were all the windows locked?

  A floorboard inside the Inn groaned, sending their hearts tripping in their chests, and Jordan snapped his flashlight toward the hallway.

  Oma raised a hand to shield her eyes from the beam of light. “What in the world is going on out here? I heard pounding. And why are you two standing in front of the door?”

  “There’s a monster outside,” Holly said.

  “A monster?” Oma asked as she approached.

  “The watcher. The evil tree with the face that gobbles up people. We saw his sapling with its tree branch arms and everything, and it’s trying to get in.”

  Oma blinked a few times, like she was struggling to process Holly’s explanation, then said, “Trees aren’t good or evil, liebling. They’re only trees. Now, come away from the door, both of you.”

  “But—” Jordan began.

  “If there is someone out there who needs shelter from this storm, we’re going to let them in, even if they do have tree stumps for arms.”

  Branches, Holly thought. Not stumps. Wasn’t she even listening?

  “Away from the door,” Oma instructed. “Don’t make me ask a third time, or I’ll put both of you in time-out in separate rooms until your parents come pick you up.”

  Jordan hung his head and then shuffled away from the door. Holly hesitated—she needed to protect Jordan and Gin—but then obeyed. What choice did she have?

  Oma unlocked the door.

  Holly stood beside Jordan and straightened her back, leaned onto her toes, and lifted her chin, making herself as big as possible. She would make the watcher think twice about hurting her friend and sister.

  Oma opened the door and then propped open the screen. “Hello?” she called into the storm, and her voice brought the stomping footsteps back.

  The creature stepped inside, rain dripping from his raincoat onto the doormat. Wait . . . trees didn’t need to wear raincoats. And where had his tree branches gone? He wasn’t made of twisted roots and twigs like Holly expected.

  A man’s voice came from the dripping hood of the raincoat. “Sorry about the mud on my boots, Rose.”

  Hold on a minute. Holly knew that voice.

  He flipped back his hood, revealing his face.

  Holly lowered her fists and let her heels drop back to the floor. “Daddy?”

  Her dad stood on the welcome mat in a gray raincoat, smiling at them. “Hey, Jelly Bean.”

  Holly squinted past him into the night. “Did you see a tree out there?”

  “I saw a lot of trees out there.”

  “No, one that was moving.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “It’s storming, honey. There isn’t a still tree in town.”

  Holly huffed in frustration. He wasn’t understanding what she was saying. “A live, moving tree monster, Daddy.”

  “Ohhh,” he said, drawing out the word as he crouched in front of her. “Has someone been telling you stories about the watcher tree again?”

  “They’re not just stories. He’s real, and he sent his sapling after us. It has tree branches for arms and everything.”

  “I know I told you kids about the watcher tree during one of our backyard camping nights, but remember I said it was only a legend. One that’s been around for more than a century. It can’t come after you or anyone else.”

  “But then what was outside?”

  “What you saw out back was me picking up fallen branches from the steps so no one would trip and fall.”

  Holly frowned. “Why were you back there?”

  “Rose asked me to pick up some new batteries and Gatorade for emergencies. I put them in the storm cellar and thought I would come in the back to escape the rain. It was locked, so I came around front, but someone closed the door in my face.” He looked up at Jordan, who ducked his head apologetically. “I guess now I understand why.”

  “So . . . there’s no monster outside?”

  “Nope. It was only me.” He tapped the tip of her nose with an affectionate finger and then stood. “Mom’s running a little behind, so I’m here to take everyone home. Jordan, I can drop you off at your house so your parents don’t need to come out in this.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Cris.”

  “I’ll grab Holly’s dress from the laundry room,” Oma said.

  Gin trotted in, spotted Daddy, and rushed forward with a squeal. “Daddy!”

  He scooped her up in a hug. “You ready to go home, Gingersnap?”

  “Yeah.” She held out a hand and opened her fingers. “Look what I got! Four quarters for helping with dishes. I can buy candies at the store!”

  “Yes you can.” He nuzzled her nose with his, and she giggled. He looked down at Holly. “Time to go, Jelly Bean. It’s almost your bedtime.”

  “We have to go put away our tent.” Holly grabbed Jordan’s arm and dragged him back down the hall to the den. Together, they took apart their tent and put everything away. “Do you wanna keep the box tonight and bring it to church tomorrow? I think it’ll be safe with your dad in the house. No watcher or bogeyman John will come after it.”

  Jordan rubbed his lips between his teeth, trying to decide. “Yeah, I guess that’ll be okay. And I kind of wanna show my dad anyway. It’s pretty cool. Maybe he’ll think so too.”

  Holly picked up the last pillow and tossed it on the couch. With the den all clean and tidy, they headed back to the entryway.

  “Goodnight, Oma.” Holly wrapped her arms around the old woman’s waist and hugged her.

  “Goodnight, liebling,” Oma said, then kissed each of the kids on the head and nudged them out the door.

  Holly and Jordan paused at the edge of the porch to watch the storm, and Holly’s lips spread into a grin. “Race you to the car.”

  “Bet you get wetter than I do.”

  They bounded down the steps into the stormy night, trying to outrun the raindrops to the car.

  Chapter Six

  Mr. Cris dropped Jordan off in the driveway of his family’s home, and Jordan found the front door unlocked. He went inside, the treasure box tucked beneath one arm.

  Candles sat around the living room. The power must’ve gone out here too. Hopefully it wouldn’t be down for too long.

  Dad’s calm voice came from the kitchen. “I guarantee you he was with those twins all day again, doing something pointless like planting flowers or playing make-believe.”

  Jordan looked down at the dirt-crusted box he’d been holding while playing pirates with Holly, and for the first time since they dug it up, he felt ashamed.

  “There is nothing wrong with a ten-year-old boy playing make-believe, and those girls are his friends,” Mom said. “They love him, and he loves them.”

  “I’ve got nothing against the Cross family, but he should be making friends with boys his age, not playing pretend with little girls. He needs to learn how to be a man.”

  Jordan’s shoulders slumped under the familiar criticism, and his eyes burned with tears.

  “He’s ten, Jed, not sixteen, and he won’t learn how to be a man from other little boys. That’s something he should learn from his father. If you spent more time with him—”

  “I don’t know what to do with him, Tammy. He doesn’t like fishing or hunting, he’s got no backbone, and he can’t tell a wrench from a screwdriver,” Dad said, every shortcoming he listed making Jordan shrink even more.

  “Teach him. You can’t expect him to automatically know what you know and be interested in things he doesn’t know how to do. And you could try meeting him on his level,” Mom replied.

  “Is that some New Agey parenting technique you read in a magazine?”

  “Try some of the things that interest him.”

  “I don’t do little girl tea parties.”

  “Jed—”

  “I’m tired from working on the shed by myself all day. I don’t want to talk about this anymore tonight.” His footsteps thumped across the kitchen floor toward the living room.

  Jordan slipped soundlessly back outside into the darkness, closing the door behind him. As he walked through the backyard, pain and anger swirled into a violent storm in his chest—more violent than the storm whipping the trees around him.

  He threw the treasure box to the ground, grabbed the miniature shovel from his backpack, and plunged it into the edge of the flower bed. Hot tears mixed with the rain on his face and dripped from his chin as he stabbed and tore at the dirt.

  Stupid buried treasure. Useless pretend games. He didn’t want anything to do with either of them anymore. He was a man, not a little boy.

  He wiped a dirty hand across his face to erase the tears and then shoved the box into the hole. He piled dirt over it with both hands and packed it down.

  The evidence of his childishness was gone.

  He sat back on his knees, lower lip quivering with emotion, and then threw the shovel across the yard. It thumped against the side of the new shed—the shed he wanted to help Dad build this morning, but he didn’t know enough to be anything more than in the way.

  Surging to his feet, he grabbed a fallen tree branch and stormed the shed like it was a castle he needed to smash apart stone by stone. He slammed the branch against it over and over, attacking from all sides as he yelled out his frustration.

  He would never be good enough for his dad. Whack! Never know enough. Slam! Never be man enough. Crack! Why was he never enough?

  “Jordan!” Mom’s voice was like a bucket of ice water over his anger, and he staggered on the last swing. She stood in the back doorway, barely visible in the dim glow of candles burning on the kitchen counters behind her. “What are you doing?”

  Jordan’s chest heaved as he gulped in air and fought back tears. He looked down at the branch he held as the reality of what he’d done crashed into him. The shed was covered in dents and scratches, and the window was cracked.

  He turned back toward the house to find Dad stalking toward him. Jordan stiffened. He was in trouble now. He flinched when Dad ripped the branch from his hands and pinned him with a look of disappointment rather than anger.

  “This is something overly emotional little boys do. Learn how to control yourself, or you’ll never get anywhere in life.”

  Fresh tears pooled in Jordan’s eyes.

  “Go clean up and go to your room. I don’t want to see you for the rest of the night,” Dad said, and stepped aside to let him by.

  “You don’t wanna see me ever! ”

  Jordan slipped past Mom in the doorway and ran to his room. He slammed the door behind him and collapsed on his bed. He had too many feelings right now, and he didn’t know what to do with them, so he buried his face in his pillows and screamed.

  . . . .

  Holly stared out her bedroom window at the trees twisting and snapping in the storm. Deep in the middle of those dark woods was a winding road, and on the other side, about a fifteen-minute walk, was Jordan’s house. Their home was outside town, so the Radcliffe family was their closest neighbor.

  She hugged her stuffed bunny to her stomach and ran her fingers over its ears, worried.

  Daddy said the watcher tree was only a legend, but she was certain he was real. As certain as she was that the sun would come up in the morning. All her life, she’d heard stories about the watcher tree—from grown-ups and kids. Not everyone could be wrong.

  She shouldn’t have told Jordan to take the treasure box home with him. What if he was in danger now?

  She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth in thought. She could slip on her rain boots and coat without waking anyone and run to his house to check on him. She knew the way even in the dark.

  Yes, she would run over and check on him, then run back and hop in bed before anyone even noticed she was gone. She slid her feet off the bed and grabbed one of her polka dot rain boots.

  Lightning zigzagged through the clouds, brightening everything for a second, and then thunder crashed so loudly Holly could feel it rumble through the walls of the house and into her chest.

  “Holly.” Gin’s whimper came from her bed on the other side of the nightstand. “I’m scared.”

 

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