Draw the Dark (30 page)

They took Sarah’s mom to Milwaukee this afternoon. The doctors still don’t know what’s going to happen. Right now, Reverend Schoenberg’s still in Winter because Sarah has to stay in the hospital for another day. Sarah’s aunt is on her way to Milwaukee, though, so Mrs. Schoenberg won’t be alone.

In a way, I think I ought to stay until everything’s sorted out, but it might be a long time and I need to do this now, while I’ve got things square in my head. While I’m still brave enough to try. Because, of course, the muttering hasn’t gone away.

You know what day this is? Yeah, yeah, the day after Halloween, hah-hah. It’s All Saints’ Day. I looked it up. It’s supposed to honor those who’ve had visions of heaven—and not just any visions, but beatific ones: direct communion with God.

So is that irony or what?

I love you, Uncle Hank. I wish we could go together, but we can’t because I don’t think that where I’m going is safe for you. You’ve kept me safe all these years. Now it’s my turn to return the favor. But I love you.

So, please understand that you haven’t failed. I
need
to do this. I need to see for myself what’s possible. I need to see what that mountain’s all about. I need to find out who’s there. I’ve got a pretty good idea already.

If it’s Mom, then I have to figure out why she can’t get back. She might be trapped. Or maybe she won’t leave Dad. Or—maybe—she doesn’t want to come back because she thinks that what she’s found there is better than anything this world can offer.

If she thinks that, she’s wrong.

On the other hand, who knows? Maybe once I’m there, I won’t want to come back either. But I don’t know, and I won’t until I see through her eyes, and let her see through mine: so she knows what’s possible in
this
world.

Because this world is a good one. Because love is powerful and love is strong, strong enough to bridge time and space . . . and worlds.

So does the knob that I’ve painted.

I take the knob in my hand and it turns—

And then there is light, that brilliant purple light so bright I have to close my eyes. But I still hear them, these Armies of Light.

I step toward them and whisper: “Mom?”

First off, to my indefatigable editor, Andrew Karre, who popped into my e-mail one glorious April afternoon and has since proven to be as insightful and thoughtful a reader and advocate as one could ever have the great good fortune to meet. Thank you so much, Andrew, for your support, patience, enthusiasm, and gentle humor. Never has a birth been so painless.

A big shout-out to everyone at Carolrhoda who worked on this book, and especially Lindsay Matvick, who—despite having several hundred clamoring authors—always saw me in the back whenever I raised my hand.

To my no-nonsense, straight-shooter, level-headed agent, Jennifer Laughran: every author needs such an advocate and anchor.

Big hugs and sloppy kisses to Louisa Swann, Jo Ann Dent, and Bev Schroeder, who helped chase away the book-birthing blues. Thanks also to my fellow writers from the Oregon Writers Workshop who critiqued the original proposal; and to Kristine Kathryn Rusch, who hinted, ever so gently, that I should just write already.

I am indebted beyond words to Dean Wesley Smith— friend, colleague, mentor, my very first editor. Thank you, Dean, for your wisdom, ever-available shoulder and the occasional, well-placed boot in the rear.

Finally, for David: Thank you, dear, for riding the roller coaster and not eating a single cat.