The Key to Extraordinary Read online

  “It’s going to sound crazy,” he said.

  “I like crazy,” I told him.

  “Have you ever had a weird dream, Emma? Not just a strange dream, like the kind that comes when you have a big test the next day or whatever. But a dream that … means something. Do you believe in dreams like that?”

  Cody Belle’s eyes widened as she looked at me for an answer. The Touch feathered against my neck. I shivered as I said, “You have no idea.”

  He went on. “For a while, I had this crazy idea that the tornado had taken my voice away. Like, hidden it somewhere. And then I dreamed my voice was in the woods near the cemetery. I dreamed about a girl holding a jar, running. It was my voice inside that jar … and I had to find it. Instead, I found you screaming at me. And this.” He reached under the collar of his shirt and pulled a shoestring necklace over his head. He handed the necklace to me. “I found it near the woods. My flashlight shone over the brass part there and I knew … I just knew it was special.”

  Even before I opened my hand, I knew what I was holding. Something metal and cold. Something with a strange, swirly design in the center.

  Something I’d only dreamed about.

  Earl had found the key.

  We arrived back at the cafe just as Warren’s minions were carrying the trunk out of the caves and into the dining area. Because the trunk was so heavy, Warren had to wait for several of his men to come and move it. They’d tracked mud and dust all over the floor of the cafe, which didn’t surprise me. Of course they didn’t care about the cafe. To them, it was one more place to be demolished. To me, it was everything. The restaurant was still empty, probably because people were looking for Earl. Penny Lane swooped in circles around Warren Steele’s head, occasionally diving at him. This wasn’t really helping anything, but I appreciated Penny’s loyalty.

  Earl saw the treasure trunk and grabbed my arm. “Emma! He has the treasure!”

  “I know.” I glared at Warren.

  Warren saw me and groaned. “I thought you were gone.”

  “I was hoping you were gone.”

  “Wait.” Earl looked down at me. “Does that mean you were already here?”

  “I’LL PUT YOUR KEYS IN THE FRIDGE,” Penny squawked at Warren.

  Warren waved the bird away and yelled out for one of his men. “Bring me a crowbar from the truck!”

  “A crowbar?” I gasped. “That treasure is hundreds of years old. You’ll damage it!”

  “Sweetheart,” Warren said as his men dropped the heavy trunk with a loud THUNK. “Gold is the only thing I’ve ever known that can’t be damaged.”

  Earl looked down at me. “Emma … you left it? You walked away from the buried treasure?!”

  “I made the decision to walk away,” I clarified. As Warren raised the crowbar to pop the lock, I cried out for him to stop. I took the key from my neck and handed it over.

  “At least be careful with it,” I said softly.

  “How about that.” Warren held the strange old key in his hand for a moment. Then he clutched it in his fist. “I’ve waited my whole life for this treasure.”

  “Me, too,” I said sadly.

  I’m sorry, Lily Kate, I thought to myself. I’m sorry, Mom.

  Earl reached out and took my hand in his.

  The electricity was still out, even though the storm had subsided. One of Warren’s goons tilted a flashlight over the lock. “Go ahead, boss.”

  “You should let Emma open that,” Earl said. “Haven’t you heard the legend? The Conductor only leads the pure of heart to the treasure. If anybody else tries to open that …” Earl shook his head. “Things could get weird.”

  I could see by the look in Warren’s eyes that he was a bit more superstitious than he’d let on.

  He shrugged. “If the little girl wants to open it, that’s fine.”

  He tossed me the key.

  I kneeled down in front of the box while Warren’s men held flashlights over the treasure. I pushed the key into the lock and heard the satisfying click.

  “Untold riches,” Warren Steele murmured happily. I had a feeling his imagination was full of shopping centers and fancy fountains, golf courses and touristy stuff.

  Untold riches. I imagined the Boneyard Cafe in business for years to come. I imagined closed shops on Main Street reopening. I imagined the graveyard spruced up, sacred and beautiful again. I imagined my name in the Book of Days, right behind my mom’s name.

  It was official: I was my family’s biggest failure.

  “Open it!” Warren barked.

  “Leave her alone!” Cody Belle shined her light in his eyes. “It’s Emma’s, anyway. She found it first!”

  While Warren bickered with Cody Belle, I pulled the lock free from the trunk. The lid gave off a loud screech as I pushed it open.

  The room fell silent as we stared inside and found …

  “Flowers,” I said.

  “More Keeping Susans?” Cody Belle leaned down beside me and took a papery bloom in her hand.

  “Flowers?” Warren seethed. He grabbed a handful of flowers from the trunk. He crushed them slowly in his hand, and they scattered to the floor.

  “And another book,” I said as I ruffled through the flowers. I get it; every book is somebody’s treasure. But what was up with people in this town burying books?

  “Maybe the money is in the book,” Warren said, yanking it from my hands.

  “Careful!” I jumped up and readied myself to grab the book. But I didn’t have to grab it. Warren let the book fall to the floor. He looked down at the book and the trunk full of flowers and shook his head. “Turns out the treasure’s a pile of lies, like everything else in this town. Looks like it’s yours to keep, my dear. Tell your granny I’ll be back in a few hours for that contract.”

  He stomped out of the cafe, his men scampering along close behind him.

  I sat down on the floor again and pulled the book into my lap. My weary band of treasure hunters settled in beside me. Penny Lane perched on the trunk. I turned the cover to reveal an old photograph.

  It was a black-and-white photo of a family standing in front of a small house. Even though the photo had no color, my eye went to the sky behind them. It took up every piece of empty space, so much sky you’d never get tired of it. Earl and I turned the pages carefully, looking at more photographs of faces. Of families. And then, on a page by itself, three flowers I’d seen in my dreams:

  A daisy.

  A violet.

  A red rose.

  On the next page, tucked into the middle of the book, we found a letter.

  “You read it,” Earl said.

  Here lies the true account of my beloved sister,

  The Conductor

  My voice trembled as I read aloud the letter inside.

  Here lies the true account of my beloved sister,

  The Conductor

  Written by Amelia Abernathy

  My eyes are old now; the light around me is fading. I can no longer tell a tree from its shadows. The birds look as dark as the night that turned them loose. In these last days, while I can still see the words I lay down on paper, I must tell our story.

  In spring of 1860, my sister, Lily Kate Abernathy, had the Destiny Dream of our ancestors. In her field of blue flowers, Lily Kate saw a treasure chest. But there was no crown or coin or ruby inside. She only saw words painted in the slats of the trunk:

  “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

  As is often the case for the destined, it took time for Lily Kate to figure out what her dream meant.

  All too soon, it became clear. And we began the most dangerous summer of our lives. We hid treasure in the hills of Blackbird Hollow.

  “Keep reading,” Earl said as he settled in beside me, holding the flashlight steady.

  Before we became conductors, we were flower girls. We set up our flower cart on Main Street, and sold blooms and bouquets to people in the Hollow. The most popular flowers were St
arblooms, of course. We sold fresh bundles to midwives and doctors. We sold pouches of crushed Starblooms to travelers to keep in their pockets for any sickness they might encounter. Lily Kate always wore a vial of crushed Starblooms around her neck. My sister was born with a weak heart, according to the doctor. Sometimes the Healing Blues would help her breathe easy and calm down. Since she had a weak heart, maybe she would have died anyway, even if she hadn’t given the vial away. I’ll always wonder.

  For many years, life here in the Hollow was peaceful bliss—full of flowers and music and dances at the church, where our dad was pastor. But then a certain darkness seemed to creep over the Hollow: dark clouds, long shadows, strange whispers of a coming war. Some of the flowers, especially the healing blue Starblooms, withered. Late one night, by the small, brave light of our old lantern, our daddy told us about the Underground Railroad. About how he planned to hide people under the church.

  “I think we’re alive at this time in history for this reason,” Daddy said to us. “Remember, girls, we’re not the brave ones. We’re giving the brave ones a sanctuary. They are the treasure,” he said. “And we must keep them secret.”

  Lily Kate had already written her dream in the Book of Days. Instead of completing her entry, she ripped out the page, so we could keep our work secret. And so we became conductors, leading the enslaved out of the woods and into the sanctuary of the caves beneath the church. When it was safe, we led them to the river, to press on to their promised land of freedom.

  There were others in town who offered up their homes for hiding places. We knew them by the flowers they pinned to their collars or hats:

  A violet,

  A daisy,

  A single red rose.

  Safe houses were marked with a discreet symbol—a compass rose—carved somewhere near the door.

  Lily Kate made up ghost stories about the graveyard, to keep people from snooping near the church.

  The song was my idea. “Darlin’ Daisy” marked every safe spot in our town.

  The goal was always to get folks to the church. We could hide them for days in the caves connected to the basement. And Daddy drilled stars into the floor to let fresh air, light, and music down into that darkness. For months, we went undetected.

  But one night, we were found out. Authorities came to Blackbird Hollow, looking for runaway slaves.

  Lily Kate met me in the woods with the family—the treasure—and tucked a Telling Vine into the pocket of my apron. “Move quickly,” she told me. “Be quiet as little mice. Get to the other side of the river.”

  It wasn’t until she was gone that I realized she’d given her vial of Starblooms to the little boy. Once I got them safely across the river, I ran back to the church. That’s when we found Lily Kate. I remember the doctor telling us that her heart was weak, that it finally gave out. It’s a miracle, then, that a weak heart could hold so much joy, so much courage, so much life.

  It wasn’t until the week after her funeral that I remembered the Telling Vine she’d tucked into my pocket. She’d left a song there that she made up for me—when we walked home hand in hand, when we pushed the flower cart through the misty morning fog. It was as if she knew her time was short, and she wanted me to have a lullaby to keep forever.

  I carried on, in secret, with my sister’s work. Now I have written an account of our adventures because I know this: Every lifetime, no matter how long it lasts, is a gift. And to love, and be loved, even by one person during your lifetime … that is a treasure no one can take from you.

  “They were conductors on the Underground Railroad,” I said, turning the page. “People were the treasure.”

  The final page of the book was a photograph of Lily Kate and Amelia Abernathy, standing beside their flower cart, hand in hand. Lily Kate wore an elaborate crown of flowers in her hair. Amelia wore a daisy tucked into her braid, like me.

  The silence that filled the room then wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. It was a sweet silence, sacred, even. The rising sun shimmered through the stained-glass window, sending warm, multicolored patches of light over our faces.

  Suddenly, the door was flung open and my brother ran inside. “Emma!”

  “I’m here!” I yelled back.

  “Thank goodness.” Topher swooped me up off the ground and hugged me. “They’re here!” he yelled over his shoulder. “Are you all okay? Are you hurt? Why are you covered in mud?”

  “They came looking for me,” Earl offered. “And they found me.”

  Just as Topher realized an old treasure chest was in the middle of the floor, Waverly Valentine burst into the room.

  “Topher!”

  Topher gave her a thumbs-up. “They’re okay.”

  “Awesome.” Waverly beamed. “Everybody get out here quick. Something strange is happening in the graveyard.”

  Cody Belle, Earl, and I ran out into the graveyard, with Topher close behind us.

  “Emma!” Granny Blue hugged me tight.

  “I’ll explain later,” I told her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going.”

  “Shh,” Uncle Peri whispered as he came up to us. “Look …”

  I opened my eyes to see a bunch of gob-smacked faces. It wouldn’t surprise me if the entire town ended up in the graveyard that morning. They’d all probably met up to go looking for Earl Chance. People stood among the graves staring at the ground … amazed.

  Tiny blue flowers—the same flowers I’d seen blooming on Lily Kate’s grave—were blooming everywhere. And in the early morning light, each petal sparkled as though it’d been dunked in glitter. Even as we watched, flowers bloomed out of the ground and around the bases of trees. Flowers even bloomed through the moss on some of the graves. More still bloomed like blue dewdrops off the vines in the maple trees.

  “Healing Blues,” Aunt Greta said. She stood up from her scooter and hobbled toward the old oak tree. Her hand trembled when she reached for the flower. “They haven’t bloomed here in years. Not like this.”

  Not since the Conductor was here, I thought.

  Violets and daisies pushed up through the muddy ground.

  Sunflowers bloomed tall, stretching their petals in the morning light. Forget-me-nots covered the ground like party confetti. Gardenias. Magnolias. Morning glory and mountain laurel … they all bloomed.

  I’d never seen so much color in the graveyard.

  The farmers Marcum stood under the tall oak. I saw Mrs. Marcum press her hands against her heart. I ran for her, afraid something was wrong.

  But then her husband did the same thing; he rested his hand over his heart.

  “I feel it, too …” he said. “Or … do I hear it?”

  And then I felt it. And heard it. This time the song was slow and beautiful, like a ballad:

  “Darlin’ Daisy, lace your boots up,

  Take the lantern, shine it bright,

  Oh, these summer days are dwindling,

  But we’re going to dance tonight!”

  Mr. Marcum was the first to sing along. As other people joined in, the Gypsy Roses began to rain down all around us.

  “Darlin’ Daisy, pass the schoolhouse,

  Creep as quiet as a mouse,

  Sneak down Dutch and Vine and Main Streets,

  All the way to the old church house.

  Sing—

  “HALLELUJAH!”

  As we shouted, a strange wind came down from the mountains.

  I know there is a true and scientific explanation of where the wind comes from. But I like to think it happens when clouds shrug their shoulders. When stars spin hard enough for a few lucky people on earth to get caught up in their cosmic whirl. Sometimes wind just feels like weather. But sometimes it feels special, like it’s carrying something with it. I heard voices tangled in that wind.

  “Oh, sweet Daisy, don’t go fearing,

  When we dance along the ridge,

  All the ghosts around are friendly …

  … Unless you try to dig.”


  It’s possible we were only hearing voices from the Telling Vines. But maybe, as my mom always said, we were standing in a thin place. And so, for that one magical moment, in a Gypsy Rose summer, we heard the ones we’d loved, and lost—singing. Having a front porch jamboree in heaven.

  Rose petals rained madly all around us. We all stretched out our hands. We all spun in circles. I heard birdsong, wild laughter, and gasps of pure delight.

  “In the buggy, Darlin’ Daisy,

  Now ride faster!

  None can follow!

  Look back once over your shoulderrrrr …

  Wave good-bye to Blackbird Hollow!”

  By the time the stormy skies had passed, the song was gone. And we were left standing among the graves, among the falling roses and glittering flowers. We were left to wonder. And to remember. Life was everywhere, all around us.

  Just when you think you don’t have it in you to bloom anymore, you do.

  One Month after We Found the Conductor’s Untold Riches

  At 5:04 a.m. on the day of my twelfth birthday, Topher and Granny Blue ran into my bedroom, clanging wooden spoons against silver pots and singing “Happy Birthday.”

  My family is not exactly docile when it comes to special observances.

  “This is the precise moment you were born, Emma Pearl!” Blue crowed. “Five-oh-four a.m.! I looked at the clock so I’d remember it forever.”

  Those two seemed especially giggly and antsy as they led me downstairs. I assumed they had birthday pancakes waiting for me, but I was wrong.

  Set up in the dining room was my very own drum set with a swirly E on the bass. A scribbled note had been left for me on the snare:

  Love, Granny Blue, Topher, and Club Pancake

  Now, I’m not embarrassed to admit that the gift made me cry. Goodness knows, I’ve cried bucketfuls of sad tears in my lifetime. And I’m sure I’ll cry many more. Happy tears were such a nice change. And it’s not just the drum kit that made me happy. My heart was full at the thought of my family plotting such a perfect present for me.