Thirty years after Vincent’s disappearance, his granddaughters, aged three and four, lived with their mother and father in a house in California, in a town called Forestville, where the trees were so old and tall it was impossible to see the sky. Regina Owens had grown up to be a beautiful woman with long, black hair and gray eyes the color of mist. She had a lovely singing voice and was so graceful the birds came to watch when she hung the laundry on the line. She knew how to have fun. She didn’t believe in drudgery or boredom and had a trick so that the broom swept all by itself when she cleaned the house. Her daughters, Sally and Gillian, were thirteen months apart, as different as chalk from cheese, but best friends all the same, a good thing, for there were no other children for miles.
Their world was mossy and green with rain that splattered down for days on end. The girls’ father, Daniel, was a fisherman and a guide on the Russian River; their mother was a painter whose subject matter was trees, not surprising given their location. The girls liked to climb the trees surrounding their house, and often had tea parties with their stuffed animals aloft, using the branches as the table and chairs. When they concentrated they could make the wind come out of nowhere and shake the branches and then they would laugh and hold on for dear life. Sally would open her hands and birds would come to her as if they’d been called and Gillian could dangle on the farthest branch and let the wind blow right through her and not be scared at all.
The girls’ grandmother April, who had been their favorite person in all the world, had recently and unexpectedly died of a lethal bite from a brown wandering spider that had been hiding in a bunch of bananas brought from a market. They had not eaten fruit since. They had not laughed or climbed trees. They had been in mourning, and their mother especially had been so sad she took to her bed. It was not at all like Regina to be mournful, but sometimes she could be heard crying while she hung the laundry on the line, and now the birds scattered. She spent her birthday under the covers, even though the box from Ladurée Royale that always came to her from Paris on that day had arrived and the girls knew there would be delicious macarons inside, a treat to be savored. First a pale orange cookie that was apricot, then a green pistachio, then chocolate, of course, then the best of all, pink ones that tasted like roses. Regina brightened up then, as she did when anything came from Paris. Sometimes there was a postcard with a single heart as the message. Once there was a beautiful box of pastels.
They had the macarons and a fragrant tea that always made them feel especially brave. “Always choose courage,” Regina told her girls. She wasn’t worried about Gillian, who loved to walk on a tightrope set up between the trees, but cautious Sally was another story. “Don’t live a little,” Regina would whisper to her older daughter when she tucked her in at night. “Live a lot.”
Regina had fallen in love with the girls’ father when they were students at Berkeley. They’d dropped out to live on the land and for the first year they’d lived in a shack, sleeping together in one sleeping bag, mad for each other. They were still so in love they hadn’t spent a night apart. Sorrow was not in either of their natures. At last their father told their mother that it was high time they had a little vacation. He surprised her with plans for a second honeymoon.
Regina my beautiful queen, he said, let’s celebrate our lives.
He kissed her on the mouth and made her laugh and after that she seemed more like her old self, the one who knew how to have fun and who always took her daughters outside to dance in the rain. They packed their suitcases, promising to bring home presents and chocolate bars. The girls stood at the window waving, and they watched their parents dance on the lawn before they waved back and headed off for their trip.
But something had gone wrong. That much was evident. The girls were woken in the middle of the night by their babysitter, a teenager who had become so hysterical the sisters couldn’t make out a word she said. They clutched each other and tried to make sense of the babysitter’s ramblings. She mentioned a phone call from the sheriff, and then she talked about fire and water, which they knew never mixed. She called them poor pathetic creatures and wondered what would happen to them now. As the babysitter considered their future, her despair set her into fits of uncontrollable weeping.
It was pouring, buckets of cold, stinging rain. No one could dance in this sort of weather. The trees were shuddering without the sisters willing them to do so. Leaves fell like a black blanket. Birds that always gathered at Sally’s window disappeared. The girls waited for their babysitter to catch her breath and stop crying. They had never been up in the middle of the night and they knew bad luck when it came to them. It tapped on the door, quietly at first, then it pounded, insisting on being let in.
Gillian, fair and usually fearless, clutched her stuffed bear and stood in a corner, terror creeping up her spine. Sally, dark and serious, sat on the bed and held the babysitter’s hand to calm her. This was the moment Sally had been dreading, when the life they had enjoyed was turned upside down. Her grandmother had confided that it happened to everyone sooner or later. Sally had always thought it would be later, but as it turned out it was now.
Their parents had taken a canoe down the Russian River, loaded down with their father’s fishing equipment and their mother’s paints and canvases and the pastels that had been sent from Paris. When the rains commenced, suddenly and without warning, the canoe overturned. Daniel nearly went under in the rushing tide, but he managed to hang on to the hull of the boat. Their mother, so buoyant she could not be drowned, floated alongside him, saying encouraging words so he wouldn’t give up. When they at last made it to shore, they were grateful for their luck. There was a small motel, and they checked in to wait out the storm, but they must have dozed off and they didn’t hear the storm worsen. When lightning struck the building they were tangled together in bed, deeply asleep, not recognizing that there were curses in this world, and they were still there, their arms around each other, when the fire began, with smoke filtering through the walls of their room.
The babysitter informed the girls that the sheriff’s office would soon be sending someone over. Since there was no family, the sisters would be taken into protective custody. “They’ll find you someplace to live. It might not be together, but you won’t be alone.”
“But where will Mommy and Daddy be?” Gillian asked. Her voice trembled and her eyes brimmed with tears. “When are they coming home?” Gillian said.
Sally had very dark gray eyes and a somber expression. “Don’t you get it?” she said to her sister. “They’re not.”
“That’s impossible,” Gillian said. “We have to have parents.”
Sally turned to the babysitter. She was the take-charge sister, and in this moment it was clear that she had better begin to do so. “Can you make a phone call?”
The babysitter covered her puffy eyes with a damp cloth and said, “Maybe later. I’m too upset right now.”
Sally stood up, took hold of Gillian’s hand, and led her into the parlor.
“No one is splitting us up.” She went to the telephone and opened her mother’s datebook. She quickly began to page through it. Fortunately, she knew how to read. She remembered an enormous bouquet of wildflowers from Massachusetts had been sent to their grandmother’s funeral. The card had been signed With love from Bridget and Frances Owens. That meant they were family.
“What are you looking for?” Gillian wanted to know.
The girls were in their pajamas and their feet were bare. They both had a shivery feeling.
“Granny said that if anything ever happened I should call our family.”
“We have a family?”
Sally brought the phone to the babysitter, still reclining on the couch, and had her dial.
“Go pack,” Sally whispered to Gillian as she took hold of the phone. “Get our best dresses. The ones Granny bought us.”
“What about everything in our room?”
Sally shook her head. They would be traveling light from now on. “You can take Arthur and Pip.” Gillian’s stuffed bear and her toy mouse. “I’ll take Maxine.” Sally’s stuffed black dog.
Sally waited for someone to answer. The person who picked up turned out to be a mean old lady.
“Do you know what time it is?” said the annoyed voice on the line.
“I can’t tell time,” Sally admitted.
“Who is this?”
“Sally Owens. Who is this?”
“Frances Owens,” the old woman said, sounding surprised.
“You sent the flowers. My grandmother said to call our family if anything happened.”
There was a pause. “And did it?”
A police cruiser was pulling into the driveway. The headlights were so bright Sally shielded her eyes. When the lights were turned off Sally blinked. She would have to tell the people at the funeral parlor that her parents should be dressed in black, with no shoes. That was the way their grandmother had been buried. She and Gillian would wear their best dresses and, out of respect, be shoeless as well.
“Oh, thank God,” Sally heard the babysitter say when the officers knocked on the door.
Sally held the phone receiver tightly. “We’re coming to live with you,” she said to the mean old lady. At least she and Gillian would be together. Gilly had returned, dragging along their party dresses. Hers was violet and Sally’s was pink trimmed with lace. “Good,” Sally said. “Those are the right ones.”
“What are you saying?” the woman on the phone asked in an upset tone. “What happened?”
The officers approached the girls solemnly. They’d taken off their hats and one policeman got down on one knee so he could talk to the sisters at eye level. “I think you need to hang up the phone, little girl,” he said.
“Oh, no,” Sally answered. She handed the receiver to him. “This is our aunt. She’ll make all the arrangements for us to go and live with her.”
The plane ride was their first and it was horrible. There was a storm over the middle of the country, with lightning streaking the sky, which terrified both girls.
“Lightning never strikes twice,” Sally said firmly, to reassure both herself and her sister. All the same Gillian vomited twice into a paper bag that Sally then handed to the flight attendant. They were in their flimsy party dresses and they both had small leather suitcases under their feet. Sally had taken along practical things, toothbrushes and toothpaste, photographs of their parents, a comb, pajamas and slippers. Gillian had stuffed in all of her other party dresses, so many that her suitcase barely shut.
“Don’t you girls have anything warm to wear?” the flight attendant asked when they were finally landing. “It’s Boston, after all. There could be snow.”
Neither girl had ever seen snow. For a moment they were excited as they peered out the window and spied huge white flakes.
“Oh, Arthur,” Gillian said to her stuffed animal. “I think you’re going to like it here.”
Sally sat back in her seat, worried. It was dark in Boston and the snow was swirling and their parents weren’t coming back and the old lady she’d spoken to had been mean.
The flight attendant walked them off the plane and through the terminal. It was already cold and they weren’t yet outside. Ice coated the windowpanes. People spoke loudly, in rough voices. Someone said it was wicked nasty out tonight. The sisters held hands. They didn’t like the sound of that.
“I actually don’t think Arthur’s going to like it here,” Gillian muttered in a dark voice.
“Of course he will. Where do you think bears come from?” Sally said primly. She herself was shivering. “They like cold climates.”
“There are bears in California,” Gillian protested. “Daddy said he saw one.”
“I think that’s your family,” the flight attendant said, pointing.
The sisters turned quickly to look. There were two women in black coats, one very tall, and the other shorter, with snow-white hair. They both had red balloons tied to their wrists so the girls would see them. The shorter one carried a black cane with a carved raven’s head. She waved and called out their names. Sally and Gillian stopped, frozen in place. This most assuredly could not be their family.
“I don’t like them,” Gillian said.
“You don’t even know them,” Sally said reasonably.
“I don’t want to.” Gillian’s voice sounded the way it always did before she began to cry. “They’re old.”
“Granny was old.”
“No she wasn’t. She was beautiful. That’s why her name was April.”
“Let’s go, girls,” the flight attendant urged.
They had reached the arrivals gate. What was done was done. What was to begin was on the other side of the gate. They could run, but to where? The police were in California, and they’d be split in two and given to people who wouldn’t care if Gillian was afraid of the dark and Sally liked to eat the same thing for breakfast every day, oatmeal topped by a spoonful of honey.
The girls looked at each other, then approached their aunts.
“There you are!” the one who said she was Aunt Jet cried cheerfully. “Aren’t you opposites! I think I’ll call you Night and Day. You’re late, but a late start means an ending that will be right on time.”
The aunts smelled like lavender and sulfur. They wore boots and gloves and knitted scarves, and they’d brought along scratchy black wool coats for the sisters. When the girls put them on, it felt as if spiders were crawling up their arms and backs and the girls didn’t like the idea of spiders at all.
“What did I tell you?” the tall one, Franny, said to the nice one. “People in California dress like fools.”
“No we don’t,” Sally said, insulted.
This tall aunt was clearly the mean one. She appraised Sally coolly. “You’re not a troublemaker, are you?” she asked.
“She’s not at all!” Gillian said protectively.
“Then I suppose you are,” Aunt Frances said to the younger girl.
“What if I am?” Gillian said, her hands on her hips.
“Then you’ll bring trouble upon yourself, which I’d hate to see.”
Gillian’s eyes widened. She was seconds away from tears.
“Well, you’re probably blind and couldn’t see it anyway!” Sally said in an effort to defend her sister.
“I am not blind or deaf and if you have any sense you’ll listen to what I say,” Franny advised. “I will always have your best interests at heart.”
“We’d better go,” Jet said, having had enough of the squabbling. “There’s snow.”
Flakes were falling as they walked through the parking lot to a battered Ford station wagon. Aunt Frances took the car key and burst the balloon that was tied to her wrist. The pop made Gilly put her hands over her ears.
“Really, Franny,” Jet said. “Must you?”
“Well, it wouldn’t have fit into the car.” Franny popped Jet’s balloon as well, then feeling some remorse because their nieces looked so nervous, she stuck her hands in her pockets and brought out red licorice and gumballs for the girls to suck on during the long drive from the airport. “I suppose this is what children like,” she said. “I always preferred lemon slices.”
The flight had been a red-eye and dawn was breaking as they turned onto Main Street. The snow had accumulated and it was slow going. There were crows perched on the rooftops of many of the houses and almost no stores on Main Street. A pharmacy, a bakery, a grocery store. As they drove past, the streetlights flared, then went out.
All at once they had reached their destination. In the backseat of the station wagon, the girls were still holding hands. When they got out their shoes became soaked with snow.
“Of course,” Franny said. “No boots. People in California probably don’t believe in them.”
They walked up the path to the Owens house. Sparrows were nesting in the twisted wisteria. When Sally held out her hand one flitted over to sit in the center of her palm. “Hello,” she said, comforted by the warmth of the bird and its bright eyes.
“How unusual,” Jet said, tossing a knowing look at Franny. Another Owens to whom birds flocked of their own accord.
“It always happens,” Gillian said proudly. “She doesn’t even have to whistle.”
“Really?” Franny said. “Then she’s clearly a very talented girl.”
There were so many vines the girls could barely see the door. The garden had been put to bed for the winter, with some of the shrubs wrapped in burlap, which made them look like monsters. The wisteria twisted around the pillars of the porch, like a goblin’s fingers. The house itself was tall and tilty, with green glass in the windows and a fence that circled the property like a snake. Gillian was not a fan of snakes, or vines, or trees that looked like monsters, but Aunt Jet offered her hand and said, “I have something special for you for breakfast.”
“Is it macarons? That was our mother’s favorite. She always got a box sent from Paris on her birthday.”
Jet and Franny exchanged a look.
“Did she?” Jet said. “Well this time it’s chocolate cake. The best you’ll ever have. And we have Dr Pepper if you’re thirsty.” They went up to the porch as if they’d known each other for years.
That left Sally and Aunt Frances standing on the path.
“Do you live here all alone?” Sally asked.
“Of course not. Your aunt Jet is here.”
“You don’t have a husband?”
“I did. Once.”
Sally stared at her aunt. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Franny stared back, a bit shaken at having been asked about Haylin. Hay would have been so much better with children. If they’d ever had their own, she’d be a grandmother by now. She would be different then, softer, not so quick to frighten small children.
“I’m sorry about what happened to your parents,” Franny managed to say. “I knew your mother when she was a little girl. I still have one of the pictures she drew when she visited me. I have it right in the front parlor.”
Sally looked up at Aunt Frances, waiting to see what she would say next.
“I was a friend of your grandmother’s, you know. And your grandfather. I miss him every day,” Franny said before thinking better of it.
“We didn’t have a grandfather,” Sally said despite her inner vow not to give out any information.
“You did, but he went away to live happily ever after in France.” Franny gave the girl a closer look. “You resemble him. You’re lucky in that.”
“If all that was true he’d have had a name.”
Sally was stubborn and not afraid to talk back. Her chin was raised, as if she were ready to have Franny say something terrible. All at once, Franny felt something she’d never felt before. She felt another person’s loss.
“He has a name,” Franny said. She sounded different when she spoke. Sadder. Not mean at all. “Vincent.”
“I like that name,” Sally said.
“Why wouldn’t you?” Franny said. “It’s a wonderful name.”
“If he’s living happily ever after you shouldn’t sound so sad,” Sally told her aunt.
“You’re absolutely right.”
“Is he the one who sends the cookies?” Sally asked. “The ones made of roses from Paris?”
Franny looked into Sally’s clear gray eyes. It was an honest, innocent question. She felt a surge of relief but also a swell of sorrow for all of the years that had been lost. “Yes. I’m sure he is.”
“Will he ever come back?”
Franny shook her head. “Unlikely.”
Sally thought it over and took her aunt’s hand.
“What’s this about?” Franny said, surprised.
“Vincent. What will happen when he sends the macarons to California? He’ll worry about us.”
“When they’re sent back to Paris he’ll know you live here, with us, and he won’t worry.”
Standing on the porch where the light was always turned on, Sally felt her aunt’s loss as well. Franny lowered her gaze so that the girl wouldn’t see tears in her eyes. She thought children were better behaved if they had a little fear and respect. But rules were never the point. It was finding out who you were. In the kitchen there was a chocolate tipsy cake for breakfast. The girls might as well learn early on, this was not a house like any other. No one would care how late they stayed up at night, or how many books they read on rainy afternoons, or if they jumped into Leech Lake from the highest cliff. All the same, there were some things they needed to learn. Do not drink milk after a thunderstorm, for it will certainly be sour. Always leave out seed for the birds when the first snow falls. Wash your hair with rosemary. Drink lavender tea when you cannot sleep. Know that the only remedy for love is to love more.