You may have heard this greeting and wondered at it. We really do mean it to be friendly.
She stood stock-still for a time, and I thought I might have offended her. Then she bit her lip on one side and stuck her tongue out the other. “How could you tell?”
I couldn’t help laughing at that.
She held out one manicured hand and said, “Jura Carver. Ardenville refugee.”
Ardenville, if you’re not familiar with it, is the closest big city. It’s known mainly for its eight-lane highways and its many aluminum-chair manufactories.
I took her hand and gave it a shake. “Genuine Sweet.” Feeling pressed to add my own little something of interest, I tacked on, “Wish fetcher.”
Jura jerked her chin back. “Wish fetcher? What’s that?”
I found myself wondering just then if it was a good idea, telling folks about my wishing. Missus Fuller’s expression had been downright peculiar when I’d told her what Gram and me had been up to. But all of the sudden, I really needed to talk about that full tank of gas and the rest of my wish-fetching puzzlement. And it seemed a lot easier to tell it to a stranger, someone I’d never, ever see again, than to talk to someone who already knew me as Dangerous Dale Sweet’s daughter.
And so, on a whim some might consider foolish, I set the whole ball of wax before her. Fourth-generation, no selfish wishes, starlight pouring from the sky. Everything. And I was real glad to get it off my chest.
Until Jura gave me her own peculiar expression—part stare, part lime-pucker.
“Hmm,” was all she said.
Seconds ticked by.
I could feel the red rising to my cheeks. I’d cut the fool, and that was all there was to it.
“But you wanted the library, ha-ha!” I nearly shouted. Jura took a shocked half-step backward. “Which is right across the street from my second cousin’s beauty shop. Her name’s Faye, so’s you know. She’s real, real good at hair. And she’s got a library card. Pretty much everyone does. Which is why it’s so easy to find!” I giggled, giddy with embarrassment. “All in one building! City hall, the police department, the library, the extension office. Even the historical society, should you have the need.”
“A need for a historical society?” Jura asked.
“You never know.” I grinned tightly.
Jura looked where I was pointing, then turned her gaze my way.
“A wish fetcher?” she asked.
“. . . Yep.”
“And this liquid light you’re talking about, it’s really from the stars? Sort of a . . . quantum fruit punch?”
I didn’t understand that, precisely, but my gut told me we were on the same page. “Sure!”
She thought about that. “Sounds sort of like a water witch. You know, the way the talent runs in families?”
“A water witch?” I tried to remember what that was. “Like a dowser?”
She nodded. “My great-grandma was one. Only, I don’t think I can do it. I tried once, right over one of the city water mains, and my stick didn’t so much as twitch,” Jura admitted. “But still, I believe people can do it.”
“Oh, surely, so do I. The McCleans, up on Stotes Hill, are known for it,” I said. “You should try your dowsing here. Amy McClean says the ley lines are real strong in Sass.”
“Ley lines are places where power collects,” Jura mused. She gave me a long, careful look and said, “Wishes, huh?”
I nodded.
She broke into a smile—a beautiful one, of course. “That’s cool, Genuine.” Even though she was from the city, she pronounced it right: Gen-u-wine.
“So, what are you going to do with it?” she asked, heading for the library.
“I was just studying on that. I don’t rightly know,” I said, walking alongside her.
“Think of all the good you could do!” Her eyes got bright and wide. “I mean, you could stop war! House the homeless!”
My stomach rumbled. “Feed the hungry.”
“Exactly!”
Then came one of those moments, the sort where two people run out of things to say and they end up staring at their shoes. Seeing as how I knew everybody in Sass, it had been years since I’d made anything resembling a new friend. I wasn’t sure I recalled how to do it. I cast about for something to say.
“I live just past Jackrabbit Bend,” I blurted. “If you need help finding the post office or something.”
“Thanks.” She bobbed her head. “If I get to stay, I may take you up on that.”
That got my attention. “You might be staying?”
“I hope so. I want to. Even though I’m going crazy with nothing but staticky news and the cooking channel! How do you stand it with only two stations?”
I laughed. “You stay in Sass long enough, you’ll get used to making do. The older kids even made up a cooking-channel drinking game.”
“What do they drink?” Jura asked, a mite scandalized. “Moonshine or something?”
“Naw. Just milk. We’ve got a lot of it around here. Cow and goat and even sheep—”
“Sheep!”
“I don’t think anybody’s made moonshine here since Prohibition days,” I went on. “It’s easy enough to go to Chippy’s, if you’re a drinker.” I frowned and changed the subject. “Not too many people move to Sass. Does your family work for the lumber mill or something?”
She shook her head. “My auntie lives here. You know Trish Spencer?’’
I told her I did. Miz Spencer was the manager of the credit union.
“Well,” Jura continued, “my mom and I were thinking could I stay with her so I could get away from my old vomitorium of a school. But it turns out I probably can’t because my aunt’s not my legal guardian, blah, blah, blah.”
“Your school’s real bad?” I asked.
Her eyes darted after a crow that flew by. “You must’ve heard something about big-city schools, even on your staticky news channel. Metal detectors in the halls. Locker searches.”
“I can see how that might lick the red off your candy,” I said. “So, your parents can’t move here?”