Found Things by Marilyn Hilton Page B

specifically, and then wrote: We wish Mr. Tricks to come back.
    â€œAlive,” she say, peering at the paper.
    Alive , I wrote.
    â€œAnd not hurt.”
    And not hurt , I wrote, and then, just to be sure, added: Perfectly fine .
    She nodded, her face still puffy from crying. “That’s good. Now we’ll send them off. You do it this time,” she say, but I pushed the wishes at her.
    â€œYou have to—you know that.”
    â€œAnd you have to get over that,” she say, shaking her head so her hair shivered around her shoulders. “It’s just water.”
    â€œI’ve tried. I want to, but I can’t.”
    â€œI just don’t understand . . . how can you be afraid of the water but want to come here?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I say. “It’s just like a magic place here.” As I say that, I realized it had gotten even more magical since I met Meadow Lark.
    â€œMaybe,” she say, and slid off the rock and grabbed my hand. “We’ll go out there together.”
    But I yanked my hand out of hers. “No! I just can’t,” I say, and watched the river race by.
    â€œOh, all right,” she say, and stepped into the water. “But one day you will.”
    She walked out up to her calves, to where the current ran strong. Then she held up the pieces of paper to show them to me and called, “Here they go,” and dropped them into the water. Right away the river grabbed those wishes and whisked them off. I watched them slip downriver until they disappeared into the ripples.
    As I sat on the rock and watched Meadow Lark, all around me the river roared and gurgled and murmured like a thousand voices, all blending into one, saying, Don’t worry, like a whisper up behind me.
    â€œThey’re gone,” Meadow Lark called. “We can stop worrying now.”
    Whether it was a coincidence or not that both spoke the same words at the same time, that same chill ran up to my scalp, and I shivered.
    â€œWe’ve done everything we can,” she say. Then she pointed downriver. “Hey, what’s that bridge down there? I’ve never seen that.”
    â€œWe’re not supposed to go there, remember?”
    â€œWhy not? It looks interesting.”
    â€œIt’s old . . . and scary, and everyone stays off it.”
    She stepped out of the water and put her sandals back on. I thought her curiosity about the bridge was over, but then she say, “So let’s go walk on it.”
    â€œNo, it’s dangerous. It’s off-limits.”
    â€œWho said?”
    â€œEveryone—Mama and Daddy, everyone.”
    She acted like she hadn’t heard me, and started walking toward the end of the beach where it met the woods. “Come on, River. We might find Mr. Tricks there.”
    I couldn’t stop her, and I didn’t want her to get lost, so I followed her into the woods. Even with her slow leg, she’d gotten far ahead of me fast.
    â€œWait!” I called, trying to keep up with her through the thick underbrush of the forest.
    A few yards later she stopped suddenly and whirled around and tugged at her shirt.
    â€œHelp me, River!” she called. “I’m stuck.”
    A branch had snared her shirt, and the harder she tried to untangle it, the higher it slid up her body. It was only for an instant, but long enough for me to see a map of scars on her belly. Then she tore her shirt free and stuffed the hem into her shorts. As she did, I pretended to study a perfect fern.
    â€œYou okay?” I asked.
    She slid her hair behind her ears and nodded, her hair bouncing. “That’s what it feels like to be trapped,” she say. “That’s how Mr. Tricks felt when we found him.”
    â€œWe should go back,” I say, looking behind me. I could hardly see the beach now beyond the canopy of green and shade and brush, which softened the roar of the river into a steady