Orin Wanderwood's Arc

Chapter 24 of 26

Orin came out of the cellar with Lily in his arms and Kate close behind. The wet grass shone under a thin gray sky. Marrow waited with the dog. She said the creature had gone north and stayed there. For the first time in days, no one was chasing them. Orin set Lily down under a plum tree behind the house. The blossoms were pink-white, the fruit dark purple. He had held this tree in his head for years. He looked up at the house he had brought her to. A pine chalet. Steep roof. Dark boards. No low window with morning light. No orange tree by the door. He had told Lily this was theirs. He was no longer sure it was. Lily opened her eyes. "Where is this." "Home," Orin said. The word felt thin. "It doesn't look right," Lily said. "You were small." "So were you." He made himself say it. "The window was low. The light came in yellow. There was a tree by the door with orange fruit. This house has none of that." Marrow crouched beside him. "Then this isn't it." "It could be the wrong side. The garden—" "Orin." Marrow's voice was flat. "We're at the pine chalet on the south road. That's what Lily told you. That's where we came. If the window is wrong, the house is wrong." The ghost girl stepped out from behind the trunk. She had followed them from the cellar road, small and pale in her white dress. She looked at Lily a long time. Then she looked at Orin and shook her head once. "She isn't your sister," the ghost girl said. Orin's hand went still on the blanket. Lily sat up on her own. She stared at him with no recognition, only the tired patience of a stranger being polite. "My name is Lily Whitmore," she said. "My mother is Rose. She grabbed my arm at the trees. I pulled away." Orin's mouth was dry. "I have a sister named Lily." "I'm not her." Something broke open in his chest, quiet and clean. He had carried her out of the field. He had spoken a name into the dark for her. He had done it for the wrong girl, and she was still alive, and that had to be enough for now. Boots came up the path. An old woman in a brown jacket. Blisters showed above her sandals. She had been walking a long time. She stopped when she saw the child under the tree. "Lily," Rose said. One word, no cry in it. "Mama," Lily said. Rose knelt in the wet grass and put her hands on her daughter's face. She did not weep. She said, "You went into the trees. I told you not to." "I know." Orin stood up and stepped back. The plum tree was his. The house was not. The sister was not. He still did not know where his low window was. But he knew, now, that it was somewhere else.