“I heard the trees talking,” she said. “I wasn’t going to say anything about it, because I didn’t think you’d believe me. They told us to run—”
“And so,” little Anne put in solemnly, “we ran back along the shortcut and Ricky caught up with us, and all three of us met Penny and Paul and ran after the bad men. Is the magician one of them?”
“I wish I knew,” declared Judy. “There’s a whole lot I wish I knew.”
“I don’t want to meet him,” Anne finished. “He can make things disappear.”
“So can I,” Horace chuckled, helping himself to another cookie.
He passed the cookies around and they rapidly disappeared from the plate. Afterwards there was silence. Each one seemed busy with his own thoughts, even Blackberry on his rug before the fireplace.
Judy liked her big kitchen. It was a good place for thoughts. Usually they were pleasant ones inspired by the view from the picture window. Judy had placed the table in front of it so that she and Peter could look out on the trees that bordered Dry Brook while they were eating. They had been lovely in the summer and early fall. But now with the rain beating against the bare branches, there was something eerie about them.
“The trees are still whispering,” Penny said to Anne, whose other name turned out to be Black. It seemed a misnomer to Judy since Anne was a tiny blonde. The little girl shivered as she watched the trees.
“Look at that big one with its arms spread out over the barn. It scares me,” she confided to Penny. “That was the tree that told us to run.”
“When did it tell you?” asked Horace, overhearing Anne’s remark.