Bugs, Weeds, and Water

Chapter 3

When she squeezed out from under the porch, a flood of sunlight washed out Zoey's vision, making her stumble. Waiting for her eyes to adjust to the bright light, she tightened her grip on Celeste's wrist.

"Thick as thieves, thick as thieves," Celeste began chanting again in a sing-song voice in Lancelot's ear.

"Shhh," Zoey warned her as Celeste's dandelion-fine platinum hair came into focus, framing her face in an ethereal light. Brushing a strand of her unruly brown hair off her own forehead, Zoey caught the blaze of Ruby's auburn mane as it hit the sunshine. It was the color and texture of polished mahogany.

'It was weird how different the three of them were. Nature had a strange sense of humor.'

"What now, Einstein?" Ruby asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a scowl. "If Aunt Flory catches us, I'm not taking the blame. This was your dumb idea."

Zoey put a finger to her lips, gesturing for Ruby to crouch under the kitchen window as she and Celeste had done. "Walk softly," she mouthed, pointing to the tap shoes Ruby wore everywhere, even church. Ruby obeyed, slipping silently past the sill. Once clear of the house, they bolted for the forest.

"Thick as thieves," Celeste continued to chant. 'There was no point trying to quiet her. Once Celeste fixated on something, nothing distracted her. Hopefully, Verna was so busy listening to the sound of her own voice that she wouldn't notice Celeste.'

Celeste threw out her arms when the triplets reached the woods at the property's edge and began spinning in circles. "Thick as thieves, thick as thieves," she chanted, swinging Lancelot by the arm.

"Give her a minute," Zoey said. "Then we'll tell Aunt Flory we were in the park." Looking back at their little cottage nestled on the shore, with its ivory stucco polished smooth by the wind off the lake, Zoey smiled. Surrounded by woods and only a short walk from the entrance to Point Pelee National Park at the southern tip of Canada, it was the perfect playground for three growing girls. Famous for its sandy beaches and annual bird migrations, the park hosted swells of campers and nature enthusiasts each spring, but it was home all year round for the Starling family. They marked the seasons with the tides of wildflowers that flooded the woods each year; wild violets, trilliums, purple cress, and bellwort in the spring, columbine, joe-pye w**d, and coneflower in the summer and fall.

"Hey, look," Ruby exclaimed, pointing over Zoey's head. "Blackburnian warbler. Male. Full plumage." Zoey's eyes followed Ruby's line of sight to an orange-faced bird nestled in the bare branches of a tree. Its tangerine and black feathers reminded her of one of Aunt Flory's prized tiger-lily blossoms.

Celeste stopped spinning and turned her attention to the bird. "First one this year," she breathed.

"Sip. Sip. Sip," the bird sang before flying into the forest.

"We have to tell Aunt Flory," Celeste said, the spell broken. The Blackburnian was one of Aunt Flory's favorite warblers. She'd want to note the date of its arrival in the thick leather-bound diary where she kept track of migration each year. Celeste pulled Zoey back toward the house. "Come on; she'll be so excited,"

"You run ahead," Zoey said.

"So, when are you going to tell me why you're extra obsessed with finding our father lately?" Ruby asked as Celeste ran for the house. "What's the big deal? It's not like we're the only kids in the world to grow up without a dad." Ruby never showed any interest in the subject of their father.

"Maybe not, but wouldn't you at least like to know who he is? It's normal to be at least a little curious."

"Who said I want to be normal?" Ruby said, laughing. "You're the one worried about what everyone thinks. Knowing won't change anything. Worse, what if he turned out to be someone like Evelyn Turnbull's father. That's all we'd need."

Evelyn was the girl who lived next door. She was the same age as the triplets. According to local gossip, her father was a strict disciplinarian who often led with his temper. As the school bully, Evelyn seemed determined to dish out to others what was served to her. Though generally not particular about the age or gender of her victims, her favorite target was a shy pale girl named Rita Porter, who wore braces on her legs. 'Poor Rita never moved faster than when she saw Evelyn coming.'

"So what if he was," Zoey answered. "At least we'd know. Even if we wanted nothing to do with him. I'm not the only one who's curious, you know. They may not say it to our faces, but the whole town talks about it behind our backs." She picked up a rock and tossed it into the woods, watching as something - probably a squirrel or raccoon - moved in the nearby bushes where it landed. "Everyone loves a good secret."

"Not as much as you," Ruby said.

"Well, good or bad, I think we have a right to know who our father is," Zoey said. "Especially since our mother's gone."

Ruby was unmoved. "We've got Aunt Flory," she said, picking a wild violet from a sprawling patch on the lawn. "You're wasting your time. Aunt Flory has told you over and over that no one knows anything about him." She held the flower up to the sunlight. "Don't you think if he wanted to be part of our lives, he'd have found us long ago?"

"Maybe he doesn't know we exist," Zoey offered.

"I doubt that," Ruby said. "From what I hear, it was pretty big news when we arrived. Especially in a small town like Leamington" She picked a petal and rolled it between her fingers. "There's a reason he didn't hang around. I'd say we let sleeping dogs lie."

"Aunt Flory's getting to you," Zoey grumbled. "Whatever reason he had, we're old enough to know now," she said stubbornly, marching toward the house.

Suddenly, she was dizzy again. Her chest was tight, making it hard to breathe. She stumbled to the ground.

"What are you doing?" Ruby asked, hands on her hips as she caught up with her.

Zoey clambered to her feet as the air returned to her lungs, and the sky stopped spinning. "I tripped," she said, dusting the dirt from her knees. 'Ruby knew her better than anybody. She didn't dare look her in the eye.' Celeste had turned around and was eyeing her curiously too. "Come on," Zoey insisted, trying to sound harried rather than frightened. "Aunt Flory will be fit to be tied by now."

As they rounded the corner to the yard, the girls ran into the familiar faces of their neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Nelson. They were on their daily walk to the park. Martin Nelson had a pair of binoculars strung around his neck as he pushed his wife, Ellen, in her wheelchair. Mrs. Nelson carried a pair of binoculars in her lap, the strap neatly wrapped around her limp left wrist. Despite Mrs. Nelson's wheelchair, the couple were barely in their forties. Mr. Nelson wore a stylish sweater and jacket that matched Mrs. Nelson's flowing linen dress. Mrs. Nelson wore her dark hair in a sleek bob that emphasized her heavily-lashed eyes and elegant neck. Her skin was dark and sleek like a coffee bean, while the golden hue of Mr. Nelson's lighter complexion reminded Zoey of maple syrup. Soft-spoken with an unwavering air of dignity, the Nelsons were well-respected in the community, and the Starling girls adored them. The Nelsons had been an essential part of their life for as long as they could remember.

"Another beautiful day in the park," Mr. Nelson said in greeting.

"We saw the first blackburnian warbler," Ruby announced, rushing to Mrs. Nelson's side.

"He was on the edge of the woods," Ruby continued. "A beautiful male."

Tall and slim, Mr. Nelson smiled down at them with perfectly even teeth.

"I hope we'll be lucky enough to catch up with him," he said. "I'd ask you girls to join us, but it sounds like you're late for lunch." He gave them an amused smile. "We heard your Aunt Flory calling you."

"S-several times," Mrs. Nelson added, her smile drooping to the left side.

Zoey blushed. "I guess we didn't hear her."

"Well, your Aunt Flory is a forgiving woman. I'm sure you'll find a way to make it up to her." He always made a point of supporting Aunt Flory's attempts at disciplining the girls, though his tone was never scolding.

"Yes, sir," Zoey and Ruby mumbled in unison.

"We'll clean up the lunch dishes for her," Zoey offered, her cheeks burning. She hated disappointing him. Ruby, shuffling her tap shoes in the dirt, looked equally uncomfortable.

"That sounds like a good start," Mr. Nelson said, nodding encouragingly. Martin Nelson was from South Carolina and still held a trace of a southern accent. The triplets never tired of hearing stories of the American South and his childhood in Charleston. He was an avid naturalist with extensive collections of pressed wildflowers, dried insects, and minerals he patiently shared with them. They often gathered together on Saturday mornings in his haphazard basement office, a cramped but cozy space beneath the stairs that smelled of pipe tobacco and old leather. The four of them spent many contented hours there, cataloging specimens from his collections and enjoying each other's company.

"T-tell Flory to c-call me later," Mrs. Nelson said. "I have the r-recipe she asked for." Ellen Nelson was also from the South, but her accent was more refined. Despite her stutter, a lingering reminder of a stroke, her voice was light and delicate, like a bird's song. According to Aunt Flory, she'd fallen ill many years ago, when she was still a new bride.

"I don't expect she'll be too mad," Mr. Nelson said. "No one knows better than your Aunt Flory the lure of these woods during spring. Especially for children." Zoey flinched. Despite her affection for Mr. Nelson, she hated being called a child.

"We'd better go before the food gets cold," Zoey said. Aunt Flory always worried the girls were intruding on the Nelsons. She frequently warned them against interrupting Mr. Nelson's work or annoying Mrs. Nelson with their commotion. But the Nelsons, who had as a young couple moved to Leamington for Mr. Nelson's job as an agricultural biologist, had no family nearby and seemed to welcome the girls' intrusions. They even encouraged them with frequent invitations for tea. Despite Aunt Flory's constant worry that the girls would tire her, Mrs. Nelson always flashed her crooked smile when they walked through her door.

"If you'd all like to stop by after lunch, I received those new mineral specimens in the mail today," he said. "You girls can help me organize them."

A smile blossomed on Zoey's face. "Really?" she said. "They're already here?" They had only ordered them a week ago.

"I can't wait to see them," Ruby cried.

"Maybe we should wait," Mr. Nelson teased. The girls erupted in a chorus of complaint. "Then off you go," he said, pushing Mrs. Nelson's chair forward again. "We'll see you later." Steadying his wife with a gentle hand on her shoulder, he steered her over a pothole. They moved as fluidly together as if they were dancing, and for a moment, Zoey imagined them gliding across a ballroom floor. Mr. Nelson turned to catch her watching them. "You better get going," he laughed, waving her off. "If you keep Flory waiting much longer, she might ground you this afternoon. Make sure she knows it wasn't us who kept you from the table."