The Mapmaker and the Ghost(30)

He had muttered something that sounded like, “Well, you know where to find me. Looks like I’ll be here another half a century,” before vanishing again.

She needed to come up with a plan to reclaim the blue rose, but that would have to wait. Because once again, she had another more pressing matter bothering her.

The Morams had seized the opportunity and noise Toe Jam and No-Bone’s impromptu wrestling match had caused to make another attempt at running out of the forest. Finally, they could see the sun streaming through the edge of the woods. They were almost home, and Goldenrod could see Birch break out into a wide grin.

She was sorry to do it, but she had to at least tell him where she was going. She grabbed on to his backpack. “Hey,” she panted. “Listen, I have to warn the old lady.” She pointed in the direction of the cottage that could now be clearly glimpsed from between the trees. “Before I go home.”

“Who is she?” Birch asked.

“She’s my friend. She lives in there. I have to tell her what we overheard, but I understand if you want to just go home,” Goldenrod said.

Birch looked extremely reluctant. Goldenrod could almost see the wheels turning in his head about whether to brave the rest of the way home by himself or to at least stick with his sister, even though she was choosing to go on yet another mission that didn’t involve the safety of their house.

He sighed, but nodded and pointed toward the cottage.

Goldenrod gave a small smile. “Come on. We’ll make it quick.” She led the way up the path of the brilliant little garden, to the porch with the metal table and chairs, and to the front door.

She knocked.

There was no answer. Birch nervously looked in the direction of the forest.

Goldenrod knocked again.

Still no answer. Birch grabbed the buckle on his backpack and started to squeeze it.

On the third knock, the door to the old lady’s house swung open a tiny bit.

“Oh, great … she doesn’t even lock the door? Those jerks are gonna have it so easy,” Goldenrod mumbled as she pushed the door open a bit more and peeked around the corner.

It was only at this moment, when Goldenrod went to call out the old lady’s name, that she realized she didn’t know it. She was surprised at herself. What sort of Legendary Adventurer wouldn’t gather all the facts? she thought.

“Hello?” she finally called out. “Anyone home? It’s Goldenrod.”

She stepped a little farther into the house.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Birch asked.

“Yes. I told you, she’s my friend,” Goldenrod said as she walked farther into the room and Birch followed.

The house was dark. All the shades were drawn. And as Birch quickly closed the front door, the room grew darker still. It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the dimness. At first, all they could see was an abundance of dust dancing in the light leaking out of the closed blinds. But slowly, they began to realize that the dust wasn’t just dancing there; it absolutely permeated everything in the little house.

Goldenrod, who now also realized that she had never before set foot in the old lady’s house (she was very mad at herself for having missed so many details—Meriwether Lewis would probably be even more appalled with her than he already was), was aghast. If she didn’t know any better, she would say that no one had lived in the cottage for years.

The front room was also the only room on the first floor. It seemed to serve as a living room, dining room, and small kitchen all at once. But everything, from the old wooden furniture to the picture frames on the mantelpiece, was covered with a layer of dust thick enough to obscure all details (like the exact color of the wood or the faces of the people in the photos). There was one small exception. The thin pink runner rug that ran from the front door to the kitchen seemed to be immaculate, as was a tiny space on the kitchen counter, which Goldenrod could now see housed the china teacups that she had once been served chocolate milk in.

The little details Goldenrod could make out through all the thick gray fuzz were odd. Crocheted shawls, black-and-white photographs, old needlepoint samplers. Everything seemed like a cliché of an old lady’s house, like things that someone with no imagination would automatically assume belonged in one.

“Hello?” Goldenrod called again, a little less certain. There was still no answer.

“I don’t think she’s here,” Birch said meekly, clearly wanting to go home.

But Goldenrod had just noticed that the pristine pink runner ended at the bottom of the staircase—which was also completely dust-free.

Without hesitation, she immediately made her way over and started to climb the stairs.

“Goldenrod …,” Birch began. She motioned for him to follow her. His face set into a severe expression of worry; he bit his lip and obeyed.

At the top of the stairs was a long hallway, off of which stood one door to either side and one door straight at the end, all of which were shut.

Goldenrod creaked straight down the hallway and to the last door. She reached for the knob.

“Goldenrod.” Birch had finally found his voice again. “Can we please just go home? Please?”

Goldenrod turned around to him. “She’s my friend, Birch. I have to warn her about No-Bone and Toe Jam.”

“Can’t you call her from home?”