The Mapmaker and the Ghost(52)
Giving Mrs. Janine Moram this piece of news had finally been the trick to getting her to smile again. And now that it looked like her garden would be even more spectacular than it had been before, she was pretty much in a constant state of euphoria.
“Birch, could you come over and help your dad with pulling up some of this old grass?” Goldenrod heard her mother’s cheerful voice as she made her way over to where the old lady was packing some dirt around a small bush.
Cassandra looked up at Goldenrod’s approach and smiled. “And how did it go today?”
“Well, Pilmilton Woods has officially been mapped in its entirety,” Goldenrod said.
“Bravo,” Cassandra said. “Is it ready to show your friend Charla yet?”
“Almost.” Goldenrod smiled. “I might as well get the rest of Pilmilton in there too. I think she’s gonna love it.”
“Good,” Cassandra said and then lowered her voice so as not to be overheard by the others. “Did you see him?”
Goldenrod nodded. “I said good-bye,” she whispered back. “He’s gone now.”
“He must have been very proud of you, Goldenrod.”
“I hope so,” Goldenrod said.
“Meriwether Lewis may have dealt with grizzly bears and blizzards and even getting accidentally shot in the thigh by one of his own men … but even he never had to deal with Spitbubble.”
Goldenrod laughed. “Well, at least Ms. Barbroff proved that she really, really doesn’t like hoodlums after all,” she said, shaking her head in awe of the fact that her ex-teacher had turned in her own son to the police for his part in the museum escapade.
“And you have to admire her for her consistency,” Cassandra said.
“I do,” Goldenrod said as she knelt beside the old lady. Not surprisingly, Spitbubble had most certainly not chosen the judge’s option to help the Morams with restoring their garden. Goldenrod couldn’t imagine that he would be at the gymnastics school with No-Bone either. In fact, it didn’t seem likely that he would be facing the rest of the Gross-Out Gang anytime soon. Toe Jam had told Goldenrod and Birch all about what Snotshot had discovered during her confrontation with Spitbubble—that he wasn’t really planning on letting them stay in the forest—and his former crew was none too happy about it. Can’t say I blame Spitbubble for staying away, Goldenrod thought. After all, they are a pretty formidable group. I wouldn’t want any of them going up against me … again.
“All right.” Goldenrod turned her attention back to Cassandra. “So what do you need me to do?”
“Go in here and get your hands dirty.” Cassandra paused for a moment as her eyes twinkled. “I think having this blue rosebush here will be a good reminder for you, Goldenrod. Just in case you ever think you have to leave your own backyard in search of adventure again.”
Goldenrod laughed as she helped Cassandra pack dirt around the bush.
She knew the old lady knew, just as well as she did, that to truly seek adventure, one will always, always have to leave the backyard.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The quest to get this book into your hands has involved the invaluable help and advice of many fellow adventurers who are owed a lot more than my thanks. One is my agent, Marissa Walsh, who took a chance on me and then worked tirelessly to get this book in front of the right person. That person turned out to be Stacy Cantor Abrams, my vastly talented editor at Walker, who saw more in the story than I could ever have seen as a solo explorer and who helped shape it into practically everything that it is.
Speaking of Walker, I think even Lewis and Clark would have been hard-pressed to find a crew that is as dedicated, kind, and talented as the one that has been guiding me through these uncharted territories. A huge thanks to Kim Burns, Katy Hershberger, and Kate Lied—Legendary Adventurers of marketing and publicity. And to Nicole Gastonguay, epic senior designer, for making these pages look so much more magical than I could have even imagined and for the coup that was snagging cover illustrator Gérald Guerlais and “mapmaker” Gideon Kendall.
I owe a lot to those who have traveled alongside me through many more treks than just this one: An enormous amount of gratitude to my amazing friend Katie Spessard, who has read and edited almost everything I’ve ever written and whose taste, sensibilities, and constructive criticism have made me a far better writer than I could possibly be without her. Being an unpublished writer (or even a published one) means that there are moments when only the most sincere words of encouragement and love can keep you going; for those I am forever grateful to Jenny Goldberg, for being so very good at them, and to Graig Kreindler for being my sense of direction both literally and metaphorically.
A big thanks to two of my favorite writing teachers of all time, Lamar Sanders and Mollie Fermaglich, who not only built my entire foundation of telling a story but also were the first people not obligated by blood or friendship to like my work. To Lisa Hsia, for being a great mentor—and an even better friend—and the kind of boss who takes the whole I’m-quitting-because-I-want-to-work-on-my-novel thing with a very straight face and a lot of words of encouragement.
Goldenrod’s quest began in two different writing workshops, so I must thank all those who helped set her on her way from the very start: Carolyn MacCullough, Theresa Drescher, Sharon Garbe, Gabriela Pereira, Nell Mermin, Jenny Ziomek, Kim Kowalski, Mary Fried, Tara Devineni, Bridget Curley, Kelly Sullivan, Julia Kim, Rhonda Atkins, Jennifer Stark, Sarah O’Holla, Andie Levinger, Laura Quinlan Hug, Irene Borland, Kathleen Admirand-Dimmler, Josh Farrar, and Irwin Walkenfeld. Thank you to the Apocalypsies and the Class of 2K12, two groups of fantastic debut authors who have made this past year so much fun as well as far less lonely.