It was bigger than any star should be, and I knew it was my star, the star I’d been born under, the star that watched over me, and would until I took my very last breath. But you know what else? It was more than a star, too. It was the face of someone who cared about me more than anyone else ever could or had. A face, even though I can’t say I saw eyes or nose or anything like that. Right then, I found myself thinking of what Gram had said about wish fetchers being the underlings of angels.
I would have started feeling silly for thinking that sort of tootle, but there it came! Silver light started pouring from the sky. It was just as I’d seen it in my head, but a thousand times brighter. It was a silver like no one had ever imagined before, as pure as a baby’s first breath, and as sweet. By the time the first drop hit the bottom of my cup, the smell of carnations was so strong my eyes began to tear up, but in a nice way.
When I’d caught the last of the starlight, the hole in the clouds closed over, and you never would have thought a scrap of light could have pierced that blanket-covered sky. I lowered the cup gingerly so as not to spill the precious stuff.
Now what? I wondered.
I realized with a jolt that I didn’t have any pockets, so I didn’t have any lint! How would I make a wish seed, the way Gram had done? After two full minutes of worry, I remembered what Gram had said about me finding my own way, and about how her ma used to drink the starlight, while Gram poured it as if she was watering a plant. What would my way be? What should it be?
I looked at that cup and thought of all the things a person could do with something that pours. You could fill a pot and boil something in it. You could put it in a bottle and spray it. You might even wash your feet in it. I wondered and pondered, and kept coming back to the idea of cooking something with it. (I don’t believe that will come as much of a surprise to you, since food had been on my mind a lot those last few months.) All right, then, some type of wish snack, but what?
Just then I remembered that big bag of flour sitting in our kitchen. Gram hadn’t used but a smidge of it making those dumplings, so there was plenty left.
What if . . . ?
What if I mixed up the starlight with flour and made biscuits?
Wish biscuits!
Careful, so careful, I carried my cup home and managed not to spill a drop. When I got there, Pa was away and Gram’s light still shone beneath her door, so I didn’t have to trouble myself too much with being quiet. I took out the flour, a big bowl, and a baking sheet. We didn’t have much lard left, so I let that be, hoping the sort of magic one would find in pure starlight would keep it from sticking to the pan too badly.
I poured and stirred until I had a mixture that looked something like the glitter paste my art teacher made. With a big spoon, I heaped four dollops of dough onto the baking sheet.
There was one little hitch, and I didn’t realize it until I was sliding the biscuits into the oven: ovens run on electricity, and electricity costs money. It was one thing to fetch wishes for the good of others, but it was another to fetch wishes to your own detriment. I was already using some of our precious flour. Should I run up an electric bill that we couldn’t pay, too?
But, you know, sometimes the little voice inside you whispers, and even though it may not make a lot of sense at first, it hits you all of the sudden—There might be something to that! Just such an idea came to me then.
I took my finger and ran it along the inside of the cup, catching the dregs of the starlight. Then I touched my finger to the oven’s heating element. It turned red and hot so fast I hardly had time to pull my hand away! Quickly, I slid the pan in and shut the door.
About fifteen minutes later, the smell of wish biscuits lured Gram from her room.
“What are you cooking at this hour?” she asked.
I beamed. “Wish biscuits.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I never would have thought of that.” I think she was impressed.
“Hope it’s all right, I used some of the flour.” I nodded toward the bag.
Gram looked at the flour and cocked her head. “This flour? Dilly’s flour?”
“That all right?”
“Fine, honey, except that there’s not one handful less than there was after lunch.” She gave the bag a squeeze. “It was this bag you used?”
I nodded. “What other flour do we have?”
She conceded my point with a bob of her head. “Well, ain’t that something. Miracle flour. Seventy-nine years in this town and Sass still has the power to surprise me.”
Gram hovered over me as I eased the biscuits from the oven. They were as perfect as any bread you ever saw. Golden brown on top, fluffy white down below, and perfectly round.
“Bee-u-ti-ful!” Gram gushed.
It would have been one of life’s perfect moments, had my stomach not grumbled right then.
“Why are you frowning?” Gram set a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got miracle flour! I don’t know about you, but I’m having fry bread.”
Seeing as how Gram and I were up late snacking on fry bread, I didn’t get as much sleep as I might have. I was late rising and late leaving, so I had to rush to the library to meet Jura, like we’d planned.
JoBeth Haines, town librarian and police dispatcher, smiled as I walked in.
“Genuine! Good thing you stopped by! The new Georgia History Today just came in.” She slid the magazine over the counter, along with the Sass Settee, our biweekly newspaper. “My column’s in the Settee, you know. ‘Police Beat.’ Page three.”
“Thanks, Missus Haines. I can’t wait to read it.”
I gave the Settee’s headlines a quick glance: PACK YOUR UMBRELLA, SAYS WEATHER BUREAU! and SASS-Y CHILI RECIPE FEATURED ON COOKING CHANNEL!
I looked around the library. It didn’t take long, seeing as how the place was half the size of my schoolroom. Still, it was stacked floor-to-ceiling with books, giving it a cozy sort of feel.
Both computer stations were empty.
“Missus Haines, did you see a girl in here today? A stranger, about my age?” I asked.