The Secrets of Blueberries, Brothers, Moose & Me Page 11

  On a patchwork of dirt and brown grass, a rusting metal lawn chair lay next to a broken-down barbecue. There was a purple croquet ball, half buried in the dirt, next to the handle of a broken mallet, and an outdoor umbrella that had lost all its fabric and was just a skeleton of bare-bones wires. It was the saddest backyard in the history of backyards, like it belonged to people who once tried to have a good time but could never really get the hang of it.

  Bev sighed as we stepped off the porch and walked past the broken rusted things. “Watch you don’t poke yourself,” she said, and I moved carefully around the spiky umbrella.

  As soon as I passed all the junk, I noticed the hedge. “The hedge is even back here?” I asked, surprised.

  “The hedge is everywhere.” She turned and bent down close. “We had to hide it.”

  “What?”

  Her voice stayed low. “What I’m going to show you. We had to move it from one location to another. This was long ago.” She pointed to a section at the base of the hedge where an opening had been cut out, like a tiny gnome door. “Go ahead, hon.”

  “What?” I asked, surprised. “Go in there?”

  “You’ll have to bend down some. Squish yourself up. Careful of the prickles.”

  Her voice was so matter-of-fact that I didn’t question it. I just turned sideways, crouched down, and eased my way through the opening. Bev was right behind. When I straightened up on the other side, I found myself standing on a small pathway, in the middle of two halves of the hedge. Bev pushed past me saying, “I’ll lead the way.”

  Walking along the dirt path, in between two massive hedges, the buckets in my hand were the only things that seemed normal, so I held on tight. We walked in a straight line, or at least that’s how it seemed. It was like one of those mazes cut out of hedges, the ones on the grounds of fancy English country houses. But I didn’t say that to Bev. I didn’t know what to say.

  As though she’d read my mind, Bev announced, “The first trip out always seems the longest.” A moment later she stopped. “Here it is.” And that’s when I saw another opening cut into the hedge. Another gnome door.

  Bev went first and I squeezed in behind her. But this time when I stood up, I found myself in a small meadow. There were golden grasses, waving in the breeze, and tiny wildflowers of every color. Fat round bumblebees rolled lazily from one sweet spot to another. I took in a deep breath and could tell that somewhere, very close by, dark, juicy blackberries were starting to bake in the late-morning sun. Every blade of grass, every clump of dirt—I could see it all so clearly, the way things get when the world stops making sense.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said softly. “Like a magical place.”

  Bev nodded. “Think of it as our real backyard. Who needs a fancy lawn chair, right?”

  “Right,” I said.

  “Now, listen. What I’m about to show you we keep as secret as we can, but that’s not saying much.” She shook her head. “There’s a restraining order out on Moose’s brother. It means if he steps over here, he is officially breaking the law. Now, hon, I’m not trying to burden you with grown-up troubles, but I’m just trying to let you know how special it is. Before I take you there, I want to make sure you understand.”

  “A restraining order?”

  “It’s an old, long story. And I’m not asking you to keep a secret from your mom or dad. But I’d appreciate it if you’d use some discretion with your brother and the other kids out here.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Bev started walking again, through the tall golden grasses and sweet-smelling wildflowers, and I followed. When we got to the edge of the meadow, she stopped. In front of me was an enormous stretch of powdery-white sand, as long and as wide as at least one football field.

  “How’d this sand—” I started to ask, and then I noticed the plants. Growing in the sand were bushes, rows and rows of low-lying, bright green bushes. They looked familiar, but completely strange, too. I took a step closer and suddenly understood. The plants, they were blueberry bushes, impossibly tiny blueberry bushes. And they were growing in sand.

  I took another step. “So this is it? The big secret?”

  “This is it,” Bev answered quietly. “Like I said we had to move this entire field once, plant by plant and truckloads of this special sandy soil. This new location, no one else has ever been. The hedge helps keep it hidden. The berries are perfect right now, and they need to be picked. You’ll be alone out here, but don’t worry—if anything spooks you, just come back the way we came. Through the hedge and straight to the back of the house. You can do that, can’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said. I set down my big bucket and slipped the wire of the five-pound can into my belt loop.

  “There’s one more thing.” She held up her hand, motioning me to listen. From somewhere, not too far away, I heard a sound. Laughter? A radio? Bev pointed across to the far side of the field. That’s when I noticed something I hadn’t at first. The giant hedge surrounded me on all sides. I was completely boxed in.

  She said, “That’s the field. The big field.”

  “What? You mean with Al? And my brother? And all the pickers?”

  “That’s right. Just over there. On the other side of the hedge. You’ll be able to hear the kids sometimes. When they get too close.”

  I must have walked past this little field every morning, never knowing what was on the other side of the hedge. “So wait—they’re right over there?”

  “Al tries to keep them on the far side of the field, but as you know, sometimes kids have a tendency to wander.”

  “It’s so strange,” I said quietly, afraid of being heard.

  Bev said, “Just remember, this is a special field of berries. We call it the Little Field, and it means the world to Moose. I know I should have asked him first, but the berries need picking and I have a good feeling about you. Like I said, any time you need, come back the way you came. Understand?”

  I nodded.

  She pointed to small wooden building in the far corner of the field. “The outhouse here is nice and clean. Not like the one in the main field. You’ll have it all to yourself. So what do you think? You okay here? You want to give it a whirl?”

  I nodded again. “I’ll give it a whirl.”

  “Just do your best. Moose will be out to check on you later.” And then she said something more, something Bev-like and cheerful, but all I remember was that when she turned and crossed the meadow, I was alone.

  I’d felt alone before. But I’d never felt alone and been alone at the same time. It made me think that maybe I wasn’t real. Like if I didn’t take a step, I might disappear. Or if I did take a step, I might fall off the edge of the world.

  I imagined those brave people who set sail, back when they believed the world was as flat as a table, setting sail into nothingness and thinking that if a wind blew in the wrong direction, they might simply slip over the edge. And into what? Floating darkness? What else could they have imagined? What else could there have been?

  If I don’t move soon, I might not be able to move. And then what would happen? Would Bev come looking and find me standing where she’d left me, bucket in hand, baked solid from the sun? If she reached out and touched me, would I crumble down upon myself into a dry heap of sand? Was that why these bushes were here, growing in sand? Was this one of those fairy tales where the kids get turned into something else—a rock, a candy doorknob, a small pile of dust? A blueberry bush?

  Move, I said to myself. Move, Missy. Move, Melissa.

  I took a step. My foot sank into the smooth, sandy soil. I picked up my other foot and set it down. Then, towering over the first bush, I reached out my hand and cupped a handful of berries. And the moment I did, everything, suddenly, made absolute perfect sense.

  I knew right then I’d done it. I had just won the prize.

  CHAPTER 25
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  AT FIRST I COULDN’T SHAKE THE IDEA THAT THIS really was a fairy tale—the one where, no matter how much porridge you ate, the magic pot was still always full. The strange bushes were small, but they were loaded with the most amazing berries I’d ever seen, blueberries from another time, like maybe when dinosaurs roamed the earth. And the moment I thought I’d picked every berry on a bush, hunched over like an awkward giant, another clump—round and smooth and big as quarters—suddenly appear from underneath a soft, green leaf.

  I picked slowly, trying not to disturb the enormous berries that were just waiting for a few more days of sun. But even though I was picking slowly, my little bucket was full almost immediately. The berries were that big!

  Carefully, I unhooked the wire from my sagging belt loop and carried it to the big buckets I’d left by the hedge. I scooped out handfuls of berries and placed them in the bottom of the big bucket. Then I tucked the bucket close to the hedge, out of the sun, and went back to work.

  I had no idea how long I’d been picking when I looked up to see a kid standing at the edge of the meadow, right next to the small opening. I let out a yelp. Then I realized it wasn’t a kid at all. It was Moose.

  When he saw that he’d been spotted, he crossed the meadow and came right up to me. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I guess I should have whistled or something.”

  Even though I’d seen him that one time before, I wasn’t prepared for the shock of Moose up close. For one thing, his body was the size of a kid, but his face was old and weathered. Weathered is the way I’ve heard faces described but I’d never understood it until that first time of seeing Moose. It meant a face that had stayed out in the sun and wind and rain too long, until it ended up like an apple or potato or pumpkin skipped over during harvest.

  I tried not to stare as Moose tipped back the brim of his hat. It was a farmer’s hat, bright green with a picture of a yellow deer, or something with antlers. I waited for him to say something, anything, and when he didn’t, I turned back to the bushes. My fingers were stiff with trying so hard to pick just right.

  I thought about what Bev had said, about the fact that Moose only used about seven words a day. Something about Moose made me feel embarrassed, like I didn’t know quite where to look. So I just continued to pick until my belt loop sagged again from the weight of the picking bucket. That’s when Moose stepped up and handed me an empty pail.

  “They fill up fast out here. I’ll take your big ones in. I brought your lunch. And Bev sent a soda.”

  I hadn’t been thinking about lunch or a soda, but when I saw my brown paper sack and the frosty can, I realized how empty my stomach was, and that my throat was scratchy-dry. Moose glanced back at the two big buckets near the hedge, the ones I’d already filled. “You put them in the shade,” he said. “That’s the right thing to do. Probably the best place for eating, too. Get your head out of the sun.”

  I took my sack and soda, walked over to the shade, silently counting how many words Moose had just used. I popped the tab on the soda. “Tell Bev thanks for me.”

  Moose didn’t answer, just stood a few feet away, shuffling back and forth. Maybe he didn’t think I was picking fast enough. Maybe he’d send me back to the sorting shed. Quickly, I pulled out my sandwich and took a huge bite. I’d eat my lunch fast and get straight back to the field. He’d see what a good worker I was.

  “Well, I’ll tell you something else.” The way he said it was like we’d been chatting nonstop for the past three hours. I stopped chewing and looked up.

  “What?”

  He pushed back his cap again and rubbed his forehead, smearing a patch of sweat and dirt. “These berries,” he said, “are shipped to two places. One is a restaurant in France that I can’t tell you the name of—mostly because I can’t pronounce it. And the other is to a millionaire’s mansion in Kentucky.”

  “Oh.” I realized my mouth was still full of sandwich. I reminded myself to chew and swallow.

  “They fetch a pretty penny.”

  “Oh,” I said again. As I watched his face looking out over his field, I could tell there was something more he was trying to say—something worth using up his quota of words on.

  “Have you tried one yet?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Go ahead. Try one.”

  I reached over and chose a berry from the top of my bucket. I put it in my mouth and let it sit there a moment before biting down. When I did, the skin burst open with an amazing pop. I thought I had already tasted the best berries in the world, but this was something else. It was pure, sweet flavor, straight from a living bush, straight from the living earth, straight from someone’s care and tending and love. I could taste all that, just like I could with the berries in the other field, but something about this berry was different.

  I looked up at Moose. Looked him straight in the eye. I didn’t feel the least bit shy anymore. “I’ve never tasted anything so good,” I said. “So pure and good.”

  Moose’s face turned like the sun. He smiled and looked out over his little field of berries. “It’s the soil and the air and the sun and the honeybees,” he said. “It’s how everything lines up in the perfect combination. They are one in a million, these tiny bushes.”

  Then he took a small paper bag from the back pocket of his overalls and stepped into the field. He quickly filled the bag and handed it to me. “Here,” he said. “A present for you. When you eat them, think about this. You are eating these before that millionaire in Kentucky and all those fancy-pants in France.”

  I laughed out loud. He looked startled for a moment, and then he laughed, too. We laughed together, like we were old friends, and that’s when I knew this was my job for good.

  “Would you like to come back? Or is it too lonely for you?”

  I didn’t want to tell him that I was already lonely, and being lonely around people was just about the worst feeling a person could have. “It’s not too lonely at all,” I said.

  “Bev assured me you wouldn’t go telling the other kids all about it.”

  “I won’t.” But even as I said it I was wondering: How could I hold it over my brother and keep it a secret at the same time?

  I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to figure out a way.

  The ride home was quiet until Claude got tired of being in the car, and he started to whine and squirm. I opened my paper bag of blueberries and popped one into his mouth. “Big,” he said, his eyes round with surprise. “Big boo-berries.”

  “Yes, big ones.” I watched the back of Patrick’s head, daring him to turn around. I handed Claude another berry from the brown paper bag. He held it to his eye before eating it.

  “More,” he said. I handed him the entire bag, which kept him happy and quiet the rest of the trip.

  If only Patrick would turn around, I thought. Turn around, Patrick, and I’ll show you the most precious berries in the world. Turn around, Patrick, and you can taste them, too. Turn around, Patrick. Turn around.

  But he didn’t. And I knew I couldn’t say the words out loud.

  CHAPTER 26

  BECAUSE DAD WAS AT A FROZEN TREAT CONVENTION and wouldn’t be back until late on Friday, he and Tessa picked us up on Saturday afternoon. I thought maybe Claude would come, too, but Mom had already made other plans for him. Dad wasn’t too happy about that.

  When I got into the backseat, right away I smelled something good. “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Fried chicken and buttermilk biscuits,” Dad said. “Picnic anyone?”

  “Great,” said Patrick. I didn’t say another word.

  Dad drove to a park that had a playground, apple trees just right for climbing, and plenty of wide-open patches of soft green grass. I wondered if they’d chosen it thinking we’d have Claude with us.

  Tessa looked around for the perfect place and finally decided on a shady spot underne
ath one of the trees. As she rolled out a thick blanket and set it with cloth napkins and silverware, I stood and looked up at the small green apples, wondering how long until they would be ripe.

  Dad pulled food from a giant bag. “How’s this?” he asked, placing a bucket of fried chicken and a box of buttermilk biscuits in the middle of the blanket. There was also a container of mashed potatoes, a bottle of sparkling pink lemonade, a bowl of deep red cherries, and a plate piled high with chocolate-frosted brownies.

  “It looks great,” Patrick said. He sat down and took the plate Tessa held out for him. I settled on the grass and snatched a drumstick from the bucket, ignoring Tessa and her plate.

  “Claude would have liked this,” I said.

  Usually the things that came out of my mouth were planned and calculated and meant to pierce Dad’s heart, or to remind Tessa that there was another one of us—three all together! But this time I really meant it. This time, I simply missed my baby brother.

  “Next time,” Tessa said quickly. “It would be more fun with him here.”

  Something in the way she said it made me soften toward her, just for a moment. It was Mom, after all, who had started the thing in the Parenting Plan, about Claude needing to sleep in one place. And maybe he did, back then when they first split up. But he was older now. He would probably be fine. So maybe Dad was right when he got mad about it. Who was right? Was there a right? I dropped my drumstick on the blanket and rested my head in my hands.

  “Are you feeling okay, Sport?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah.” I didn’t look up. “Just tired.” The truth was, right then my head felt as heavy as a bowling ball.

  Dad set down his plate. He came right next to me and put his hand on my shoulder. “I know this is hard, Missy. I know you miss your brother when we’re not all together. I do, too. And your mom thinks he’s just about ready to spend the night away from her.”