Something whirled around inside Jess's head; He opened his mouth, but it was dry and no
words came out. He jerked his head from one face to the next for someone to help him.
Finally his father spoke, his big rough hand stroking his wife's hair and his eyes downcast
watching the motion. "They found the Burke girl this morning down in the creek."
"No," he said, finding his voice. Leslie wouldn't drown. She could swim real good."
"That old rope you kids been swinging on broke." His father went quietly and relentlessly
on. "They think she musta hit her head on something when she fell."
"No." He shook his head. "No."
His father looked up. "I'm real sorry, boy."
"No!" Jess was yelling now. "I don't believe you. You're lying to me!" He looked around
again wildly for someone to agree. But they all had their heads down except May Belle,
whose eyes were wide with terror. But, Leslie, what if you die?
"No," he said straight at May Belle. "It's a lie. Leslie ain't dead." He turned around and
ran out the door, letting the screen bang sharply against the house. He ran down the gravel to
the main road and then started running west away from Washington and Millsburg-and the
old Perkins place. An approaching car beeped and swerved and beeped again, but he hardly
noticed.
Leslie-dead-girl-friend-rope-broke-fell-you-you-you. The words exploded in his head like
corn against the sides of the popper. God-dead-you-Leslie-dead-you. He ran until he was
stumbling but he kept on, afraid to stop. Knowing somehow that running was the only thing
that could keep Leslie from being dead. It was up to him. He had to keep going.
Behind him came the baripity of the pickup, but he couldn't turn around. He tried to run
faster, but his father passed him and stopped the pickup just ahead, then jumped out and ran
back. He picked Jess up in his arms as though he were a baby. For the first few seconds Jess
kicked and struggled against the strong arms. Then Jess gave himself over to the numbness
that was buzzing to be let out from a corner of his brain.
He leaned his weight upon the door of the pickup and let his head thud-thud against the
window. His father drove stiffly without speaking, though once he cleared his throat as
though he were going to say something, but he glanced at Jess and closed his mouth.
When they pulled up at his house, his father sat quietly, and Jess could feel the man's
uncertainty, so he opened the door and got out, and with the numbness flooding through him,
went in and lay down on his bed.
He was awake, jerked suddenly into consciousness in the black stillness of the house. He
sat up, stiff and shivering, although he was fully dressed from his windbreaker down to his
sneakers. He could hear the breathing of the little girls in the next bed, strangely loud and
uneven in the quiet. Some dream must have awakened him, but he could not remember it. He
could only remember the mood of dread it had brought with it. Through the curtainless
window he could see the lopsided moon with hundreds of stars dancing in bright attendance.
It came into his mind that someone had told him that Leslie was dead. But he knew now
that that had been part of the dreadful dream. Leslie could not die any more than he himself
could die. But the words turned over uneasily in his mind like leaves stirred up by a cold
wind. If he got up now and went down to the old Perkins place and knocked on the door,
Leslie would come to open it, P. T. jumping at her heels like a star around the moon. It was a
beautiful night. Perhaps they could run over the hill and across the fields to the stream and
swing themselves into Terabithia.
They had never been there in the dark. But there was enough moon for them to find their
way into the castle, and he could tell her about his day in Washington. And apologize. It had
been so dumb of him not to ask if Leslie could go, too. He and Leslie and Miss Edmunds
could have had a wonderful day-different, of course, from the day he and Miss Edmunds had
had, but still good, still perfect. Miss Edmunds and Leslie liked each other a lot. It would have
been fun to have Leslie along. I'm really sorry, Leslie. He took off his jacket and sneakers,
and crawled under the covers. I was dumb not to think of asking.
S'OK, Leslie would say. I've been to Washington thousands of times.
Did you ever see the buffalo hunt?
Somehow it was the one thing in all Washington that Leslie had never seen, and so he
could tell her about it, describing the tiny beasts hurtling to destruction.
His stomach felt suddenly cold. It had something to do with the buffalo, with falling, with
death. With the reason he had not remembered to ask if Leslie could go with them to
Washington today.
You know something weird?
What? Leslie asked.
I was scared to come to Terabithia this morning.
The coldness threatened to spread up from his stomach. He turned over and lay on it.
Perhaps it would be better not to think about Leslie right now. He would go to see her the first
thing in the morning and explain everything. He could explain it better in the daytime when
he had shaken off the effects of his unremembered nightmare.
He put his mind to remembering the day in Washington, working on details of pictures
and statues, dredging up the sound of Miss Edmunds' voice, recalling his own exact words
and her exact answers. Occasionally into the corner of his mind's vision would come a
sensation of falling, but he pushed it away with the view of another picture or the sound of
another conversation. Tomorrow he must share it all with Leslie.
The next thing he was aware of was the sun streaming through the window. The little
girls' bed was only rumpled covers, and there was movement and quiet talking from the
kitchen.
Lord! Poor Miss Bessie. He'd forgotten all about her last night, and now it must be late.
He felt for his sneakers and shoved his feet over the heels without tying the laces.
His mother looked up quickly from the stove at the sound of him. Her face was set for a
question, but she just nodded her head at him.
The coldness began to come back. "I forgot Miss Bessie."
"Your daddy's milking her."
"I forgot last night, too."
She kept nodding her head. "Your daddy did it for you." But it wasn't an accusation.
"You feel like some breakfast?"
Maybe that was why his stomach felt so odd. He hadn't had anything to eat since the ice
cream Miss Edmunds had bought them at Millsburg on the way home. Brenda and Ellie stared
up at him from the table. The little girls turned from their cartoon show at the TV to look at
him and then turned quickly back.
He sat down on the bench. His mother put a plateful of pancakes in front of him. He
couldn't remember the last time she had made pancakes. He doused them with syrup and
began to eat. They tasted marvelous.
"You don't even care, do you?" Brenda was watching him from across the table.
He looked at her puzzled, his mouth full.
"If Jimmy Dicks died, I wouldn't be able to eat a bite."
The coldness curled up inside of him and flopped over.
"Will you shut your mouth, Brenda Aarons?" His mother sprang forward, the pancake
turner held threateningly high.
"Well, Momma, he's just sitting there eating pancakes like nothing happened. I'd be
crying my eyes out."
Ellie was looking first at Mrs. Aarons and then at Brenda. "Boys ain't supposed to cry at
times like this. Are they, Momma?"
"Well, it don't seem right for him to be sitting there eating like a brood sow."
"I'm telling you, Brenda, if you don't shut your mouth...." He could hear them talking but
they were farther away than the memory of the dream. He ate and he chewed and he
swallowed, and when his mother put three more pancakes on his plate, he ate them, too.
His father came in with the milk. He poured it carefully into the empty cider jugs and put
them into the refrigerator. Then he washed his hands at the sink and came to the table. As he
passed Jess, he put his hand lightly on the boy's shoulder. He wasn't angry about the milking.
Jess was only dimly aware that his parents were looking at each other and then at him.
Mrs. Aarons gave Brenda a hard look and gave Mr. Aarons a look which was to say that
Brenda was to be kept quiet, but Jess was only thinking of how good the pancakes had been
and hoping his mother would put down some more in front of him. He knew somehow that he
shouldn't ask for more, but he was disappointed that she didn't give him any. He thought, then,
that he should get up and leave the table, but he wasn't sure where he was supposed to go or
what he was supposed to do.
"Your mother and I thought we ought to go down to the neighbors and pay respects." His
father cleared his throat. "I think it would be fitting for you to come, too." He stopped again.
"Seeing's you was the one that really knowed the little girl."
Jess tried to understand what his father was saying to him, but he felt stupid. "What little
girl?" He mumbled it, knowing it was the wrong thing to ask. Ellie and Brenda both gasped.
His father leaned down the table and put his big hand on top of Jess's hand. He gave his
wife a quick, troubled look. But she just stood there, her eyes full of pain, saying nothing.
"Your friend Leslie is dead, Jesse. You need to understand that."
Jess slid his hand out from under his father's. He got up from the table.
"I know it ain't a easy thing-" Jess could hear his father speaking as he went into the
bedroom. He came back out with his windbreaker on.
"You ready to go now?" His father got up quickly. His mother took off her apron and
patted her hair.
May Belle jumped up from the rug. "I wanta go, too," she said. "I never seen a dead
person before."
"No!" May Belle sat down again as though slapped down by her mother's voice.
"We don't even know where she's laid out at, May Belle," Mr. Aarons said more gently.
Chapter 12
Stranded
They walked slowly across the field and down the hill to the old Perkins place. There
were four or five cars parked outside. His father raised the knocker. Jess could hear P. T.
barking from the back of the house and rushing to the door.
"Hush, P. T.," a voice which Jess did not know said. "Down." The door was opened by a
man who was half leaning over to hold the dog back. At the sight of Jess, P. T. snatched
himself loose and leapt joyfully upon the boy. Jess picked him up and rubbed the back of the
dog's neck as he used to when P. T. was a tiny puppy.
"I see he knows you," the strange man said with a funny half smile on his face. "Come in,
won't you." He stood back for the three of them to enter.
They went into the golden room, and it was just the same, except more beautiful because
the sun was pouring through the south windows. Four or five people Jess had never seen
before were sitting about, whispering some, but mostly not talking at all. There was no place
to sit down, but the strange man was bringing chairs from the dining room. The three of them
sat down stiffly and waited, not knowing what to wait for.
An older woman got up slowly from the couch and came over to Jess's mother. Her eyes
were red under her perfectly white hair. "I'm Leslie's grandmother," she said, putting out her
hand.
His mother took it awkwardly. "Miz Aarons," she said in a low voice. "From up the hill."
Leslie's grandmother shook his mother's and then his father's hands. "Thank you for
coming," she said. Then she turned to Jess. "You must be Jess," she said. Jess nodded. "Leslie
-" Her eyes filled up with tears. "Leslie told me about you."
For a minute Jess thought she was going to say something else. He didn't want to look at
her, so he gave himself over to rubbing P. T., who was hanging across his lap. "I'm sorry -"
Her voice broke. "I can't bear it." The man who had opened the door came up and put his arm
around her. As he was leading her out of the room, Jess could hear her crying.
He was glad she was gone. There was something weird about a woman like that crying. It
was as if the lady who talked about Polident on TV had suddenly burst into tears. It didn't fit.
He looked around at the room full of red-eyed adults. Look at me, he wanted to say to them.
I'm not crying. A part of him stepped back and examined this thought. He was the only person
his age he knew whose best friend had died. It made him important. The kids at school
Monday would probably whisper around him and treat him with respect - the way they'd all
treated Billy Joe Weems last year after his father had been killed in a car crash. He wouldn't
have to talk to anybody if he didn't want to, and all the teachers would be especially nice to
him. Momma would even make the girls be nice to him.
He had a sudden desire to see Leslie laid out. He wondered if she were back in the library
or in Millsburg at one of the funeral parlors. Would they bury her in blue jeans? Or maybe
that blue jumper and the flowery blouse she'd worn at Easter. That would be nice. People
might snicker at the blue jeans, and he didn't want anyone to snicker at Leslie when she was
dead.
Bill came into the room. P. T. slid off Jess's lap and went to him. The man leaned down
and rubbed the dog's back. Jess stood up.
"Jess." Bill came over to him and put his arms around him as though he had been Leslie
instead of himself. Bill held him close, so that a button on his sweater was pressing pain- fully
into Jess's forehead, but as uncomfortable as he was, Jess didn't move. He could feel Bill's
body shaking, and he was afraid that if he looked up he would see Bill crying, too. He didn't
want to see Bill crying. He wanted to get out of this house. It was smothering him. Why
wasn't Leslie here to help him out of this? Why didn't she come running in and make
everyone laugh again? You think it's so great to die and make everyone cry and carry on.
Well, it ain't.
"She loved you, you know." He could tell from Bill's voice that he was crying. "She told
me once that if it weren't for you . . ." His voice broke completely. "Thank you," he said a
moment later. "Thank you for being such a wonderful friend to her."
Bill didn't sound like himself. He sounded like someone in an old mushy movie. The kind
of person Leslie and Jess would laugh at and imitate later. Boo-hooooooo, you were such a
wonderful friend to her. He couldn't help moving back, just enough to get his forehead off the
stupid button. To his relief, Bill let go. He heard his father ask Bill quietly over his head about
"the service."
And Bill answering quietly almost in his regular voice that they had decided to have the
body cremated and were going to take the ashes to his family home in Pennsylvania
tomorrow.
Cremated. Something clicked inside Jess's head. That meant Leslie was gone. Turned to
ashes. He would never see her again. Not even dead. Never. How could they dare? Leslie
belonged to him. More to him than anyone in the world. No one had even asked him. No one
had even told him. And now he was never going to see her again, and all they could do was
cry. Not for Leslie. They weren't crying for Leslie. They were crying for themselves. Just
themselves. If they'd cared at all for Leslie, they would have never brought her to this rotten
place. He had to hold tightly to his hands for fear he might sock Bill in the face.
He, Jess, was the only one who really cared for Leslie. But Leslie had failed him. She
went and died just when he needed her the most. She went and left him. She went swinging
on that rope just to show him that she was no coward. So there, Jess Aarons. She was
probably somewhere fight now laughing at him. Making fun of him like he was Mrs. Myers.
She had tricked him. She had made him leave his old self behind and come into her world,
and then before he was really at home in it but too late to go back, she had left him stranded
there like an astronaut wandering about on the moon. Alone.
He was never sure later just when he left the old Perkins place, but he remembered
running up the hill toward his own house with angry tears streaming down his face. He
banged through the door. May Belle was standing there, her brown eyes wide. "Did you see
her?" she asked excitedly. "Did you see her laid out?"
He hit her. In the face. As hard as he had ever hit anything in his life. She stumbled
backward from him with a little yelp. He went into the bedroom and felt under the mattress
until he retrieved all his paper and the paints that Leslie had given him at Christmastime.
Ellie was standing in the bedroom door fussing at him. He pushed past her. From the
couch Brenda, too, was complain- ing, but the only sound that really entered his head was that
of May Belle whimpering.
He ran out the kitchen door and down the field all the way to the stream without looking
back. The stream was a little lower than it had been when he had seen it last. Above from the
crab apple tree the frayed end of the rope swung gently. I am now the fastest runner in the
fifth grade.
He screamed something without words and flung the papers and paints into the dirty
brown water. The paints floated on top, riding the current like a boat, but the papers swirled
about, soaking in the muddy water, being sucked down, around, and down. He watched them
all disappear. Gradually his breath quieted, and his heart slowed from its wild pace. The
ground was still muddy from the rains, but he sat down anyway. There was nowhere to go.
Nowhere. Ever again. He put his head down on his knee.
"That was a damn fool thing to do." His father sat down on the dirt beside him.
"I don't care. I don't care." He was crying now, crying so hard he could barely breathe.
His father pulled Jess over on his lap as though he were Joyce Ann. "There. There," he
said, patting his head. "Shhh. Shhh."
"I hate her," Jess said through his sobs. "I hate her. I wish I'd never seen her in my whole
life."
His father stroked his hair without speaking Jess grew quiet. They both watched the
water.
Finally his father said, "Hell, ain't it?" It was the kind of thing Jess could hear his father
saying to another man. He found it strangely comforting, and it made him bold.
"Do you believe people go to hell, really go to hell, I mean?"
"You ain't worrying about Leslie Burke?"
It did seem peculiar, but still - "Well, May Belle said...."
"May Belle? May Belle ain't God."
"Yeah, but how do you know what God does?"
"Lord, boy, don't be a fool. God ain't gonna send any little girls to hell."
He had never in his life thought of Leslie Burke as a little girl, but still God was sure to.
She wouldn't have been eleven until November. They got up and began to walk up the hill. "I
didn't mean that about hating her," he said. "I don't know what made me say that." His father
nodded to show he understood.
Everyone, even Brenda, was gentle to him. Everyone except May Belle, who hung back
as though afraid to have anything to do with him. He wanted to tell her hewn sorry, but he
couldn't. He was too tired. He couldn't just say the words. He had to make it up to her, and he
was too tired to figure out how.
That afternoon Bill came up to the house. They were about to leave for Pennsylvania, and
he wondered if Jess would take care of the dog until they got back.
"Sure." He was glad Bill wanted him to help. He was afraid he had hurt Bill by running
away this morning. He wanted, too, to know that Bill didn't blame him for anything. But it
was not the kind of question he could put into words.
He held P. T. and waved as the dusty little Italian car turned into the main road. He
thought he saw them wave back, but it was too far away to be sure.
His mother had never allowed him to have a dog, but she made no objection to P. T.
being in the house. P. T. jumped up on his bed, and he slept all night with P.T.'s body curled
against his chest.
THIRTEEN - Building The Bridge
He woke up Saturday morning with a dull headache. It was still early, but he got up. He
wanted to do the milking. His father had done it ever since Thursday night, but he wanted to
go back to it, to somehow make things normal again. He shut P. T. in the shed, and the dog's
whimpering reminded him of May Belle and made his headache worse. But he couldn't have
P. T. yappping at Miss Bessie while he tried to milk.
No one was awake when he brought the milk in to put it away, so he poured a warm glass
for himself and got a couple of pieces of light bread. He wanted his paints back, and he
decided to go down and see if he could find them. He let P. T. out of the shed and gave the
dog a half piece of bread.
It was a beautiful spring morning. Early wild flowers were dotting the deep green of the
fields, and the sky was clean and blue. The creek had fallen well below the bank and seemed
less terrifying than before. A large branch was washed up into the bank, and he hauled it up to
the narrowest place and laid it bank to bank. He stepped on it, and it seemed firm, so he
crossed on it, foot over foot, to the other side, grabbing the smaller branches which grew out
from the main one toward the opposite bank to keep his balance. There was no sign of his
paints.
He landed slightly upstream from Terabithia. If it was still Terabithia. If it could be
entered across a branch instead of swung into. P. T. was left crying piteously on the other
side. Then the dog took courage and paddled across the stream. The current carried him past
Jess, but he made it safely to the bank and ran back, shaking great drops of cold water on Jess.
They went into the castle stronghold. It was dark and damp, but there was no evidence
there to suggest that the queen had died. He felt the need to do something fitting. But Leslie
was not here to tell him what it was. The anger which had possessed him yesterday flared up
again. Leslie, I'm just a dumb dodo, and you know it. What am I supposed to do? The coldness
inside of him had moved upward into his throat constricting it. He swallowed several times. It
occurred to him that he probably had cancer of the throat. Wasn't that one of the seven deadly
signs? Difficulty in swallowing. He began to sweat, He didn't want to die. Lord, he was just
ten years old. He had hardly begun to live.
Leslie, were you scared? Did you know you were dying? Were you scared like me? A
picture of Leslie being sucked into the cold water flashed across his brain.
"C'mon, Prince Terrien," he said quite loudly. "We must make a funeral wreath for the
queen."
He sat in the clear space between the bank and the first line of trees and bent a pine
bough into a circle, tying it with a piece of wet string from the castle. And because it looked
cold and green, he picked spring beauties from the forest floor and wove them among the
needles.
He put it down in front of him. A cardinal flew down to the bank, cocked its brilliant
head, and seemed to stare at the wreath. P. T. let out a growl which sounded more like a purr.
Jess put his hand on the dog to quiet him.
The bird hopped about a moment more, then flew leisurely away.
"It's a sign from the Spirits," Jess said quietly. "We made a worthy offering."
He walked slowly, as part of a great procession, though only the puppy could be seen,
slowly forward carrying the queen's wreath to the sacred grove. He forced himself deep into
the dark center of the grove and, kneeling, laid the wreath upon the thick carpet of golden
needles.
"Father, into Thy hands I commend her spirit." He knew Leslie would have liked those
words. They had the ring of the sacred grove in them.
The solemn procession wound its way through the sacred grove homeward to the castle.
Like a single bird across a stormcloud sky, a tiny peace winged its way through the chaos
inside his body.
"Help! Jesse! Help me!" A scream shattered the quietness. Jess raced to the sound of May
Belle's cry. She had gotten half- way across on the tree bridge and now stood there grabbing
the upper branches, terrified to move either forward or backward.
"OK, May Belle." The words came out more steadily than he felt. "Just hold still. I'll get
you." He was not sure the branch would hold the weight of them both. He looked down at the
water. It was low enough for him to walk across, but still swift. Suppose it swept him off his
feet. He decided for the branch. He inched out on it until he was close enough to touch her.
He'd have to get her back to the home side of the creek. "OK," he said. "Now, back up."
"I can't!"
"I'm right here, May Belle. You think I'm gonna let you fall? Here." He put out his right
hand. "Hold on to me and slide sideways on the thing."
She let go with her left hand for a moment and then grabbed the branch again.
"I'm scared, Jesse. I'm too scared."
"'Course you're scared. Anybody'd be scared. You just gotta trust me, OK? I'm not gonna
let you fall, May Belle. I promise you."
She nodded, her eyes still wide with fear, but she let go the branch and took his hand,
straightening a little and swaying tic gripped her tightly.
"OK, now. It ain't far-just slide your right foot a little way, then bring your left foot up
close."
"I forgot which is right."
"The front one," he said patiently. "The one closest to home."
She nodded again and obediently moved her right foot a few inches.
"Now just let go of the branch with your other hand and hold on to me tight."
She let go the branch and squeezed his hand.
"Good. You're doing great. Now slide a little ways more." She swayed but did not
scream, just dug her little fingernails into the palm of his hand. "Great. Fine. You're all right"
The same quiet, assuring voice of the paramedics on Emergency, but his heart was bongoing
against his chest. "OK. OK. A little bit more, now."
When her right foot came at last to the part of the branch which rested on the bank, she
fell forward, pulling him down.
"Watch it, May Belle!" He was off balance, but he fell, not into the stream, but with his
chest across May Belle's legs, his own legs waving in the empty air above the water. "Whew!"
He was laughing with relief. "Whatcha trying to do, girl, kill me?"
She shook her head a solemn no, "I know I swore on the Bible not to follow you, but I
woke up this morning and you was gone."
"I had to do some things."
She was scraping at the mud on her bare legs. "I just wanted to find you, so you wouldn't
be so lonesome." She hung her head. "But I got too scared."
He pulled himself around until he was sitting beside her. They watched P. T. swimming
across, the current carrying him too swiftly, but he not seeming to mind. He climbed out well
below the crab apple and came running back to where they sat.
"Everybody gets seared sometimes, May Belle. You don't have to be ashamed." He saw a
flash of Leslie's eyes as she was going in to the girls' room to see Janice Avery. "Everybody
gets scared."
"P. T. ain't scared, and he even saw Leslie. ."
"It ain't the same for dogs. It's like the smarter you are, the more things can scare you."
She looked at him in disbelief. "But you weren't scared."
"Lord, May Belle, I was shaking like Jello."
"You're just saying that."
He laughed. He couldn't help being glad she didn't believe him. He jumped up and pulled
her to her feet. "Let's go eat." He let her beat him to the house.
When he walked into the basement classroom, he saw Mrs. Myers had already had
Leslie's desk taken out of the front of the room. Of course, by Monday Jess knew; but still,
but still, at the bus stop he looked up, half expecting to see her running up across the field, her
lovely, even, rhythmic run. Maybe she was already at school - Bill had dropped her off, as he
did some days when she was late for the bus - but then when Jess came into the room, her
desk was no longer there. Why were they all in such a rush to be rid of her? He put his head
down on his own desk, his whole body heavy and cold.
He could hear the sounds of the whispers but not the words. Not that he wanted to hear
the words. He was suddenly ashamed that he'd thought he might be regarded with respect by
the other kids. Trying to profit for himself from Leslie's death. I wanted to be the best-the
fastest runner in the school and now I am. Lord, he made himself sick. He didn't care what the
others said or what they thought, just as long as they left him alone-just so long as he didn't
have to talk to them or meet their stares. They had all hated Leslie. Except maybe Janice.
Even after they'd given up trying to make Leslie miserable, they'd kept on despising her - as
though there was one of them worth the nail on Leslie's little toe. And even he himself had
entertained the traitorous thought that now he would be the fastest.
Mrs. Myers barked the command to stand for the allegiance. He didn't move. Whether he
couldn't or wouldn't, he didn't really care. What could she do to him, after all?
"Jesse Aarons. Will you step out into the hall. Please."
He raised his leaden body and stumbled out of the room. He thought he heard Gary
Fulcher giggle, but he couldn't be sure. He leaned against the wall and waited for Monster
Mouth Myers to finish singing "O Say Can You See?" and join him. He could hear her giving
the class some sort of assignment in arithmetic before she came out and quietly closed the
door behind her.
OK. Shoot. I don't care.
She came over so close to him that he could smell her dime-store powder.
"Jesse." Her voice was softer than he had ever heard it, but he didn't answer. Let her yell.
He was used to that.
"Jesse," she repeated. "I just want to give you my sincere sympathy." The words were
like a Hallmark card, but the tone was new to him.
He looked up into her face, despite himself. Behind her turned-up glasses, Mrs. Myers'
narrow eyes were full of tears. For a minute he thought he might cry himself. He and Mrs.
Myers standing in the basement hallway, crying over Leslie Burke. It was so weird he almost
laughed instead.
"When my husband died" - Jess could hardly imagine Mrs. Myers ever having had a
husband -"people kept telling me not to cry, kept trying to make me forget." Mrs. Myers
loving, mourning. How could you picture it? "But I didn't want to forget." She took her
handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose. "Excuse me," she said. "This morning when
I came in, someone had already taken out her desk." She stopped and blew her nose again. "It-
it-we-I never had such a student. In all my years of teaching. I shall always be grateful -"
He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to unsay all the things he had said about her-even
unsay the things Leslie had said. Lord, don't let her ever find out.
"So - I realize. If it's hard for me, how much harder it must be for you. Let's try to help
each other, shall we?"
"Yes'm." He couldn't think of anything else to say. Maybe some day when he was grown,
he would write her a letter and tell her that Leslie Burke had thought she was a great teacher
or something. Leslie wouldn't mind. Sometimes like the Barbie doll you need to give people
something that's for them, not just something that makes you feel good giving it. Because
Mrs. Myers had helped him already by understanding that he would never forget Leslie.
He thought about it all day, how before Leslie came, he had been a nothing - a stupid,
weird little kid who drew funny pictures and chased around a cow field trying to act big -
trying to hide a whole mob of foolish little fears running riot inside his gut.
It was Leslie who had taken him from the cow pasture into Terabithia and turned him into
a king. He had thought that was it. Wasn't king the best you could be? Now it occurred to him
that perhaps Terabithia was like a castle where you came to be knighted. After you stayed for
a while and grew strong you had to move on. For hadn't Leslie, even in Terabithia, tried to
push back the walls of his mind and make him see beyond to the shining world - huge and
terrible and beautiful and very fragile? (Handle with care - everything - even the predators.)
Now it was time for him to move out. She wasn't there, so he must go for both of them. It
was up to him to pay back to the world in beauty and caring what Leslie had loaned him in
vision and strength.
As for the terrors ahead - for he did not fool himself that they were all behind him - well,
you just have to stand up to your fear and not let it squeeze you white. Right, Leslie?
Right.
Bill and Judy came back from Pennsylvania on Wednesday with a U-Haul truck. No one
ever stayed long in the old Perkins place. "We came to the country for her sake. Now that
she's gone . . ." They gave Jesse all of Leslie's books and her paint set with three pads of real
watercolor paper. "She would want you to have them," Bill said.
Jess and his dad helped them load the U-Haul, and noon- time his mother brought down
ham sandwiches and coffee, a little scared the Burkes wouldn't want to eat her food, but
needing, Jess knew, to do something. At last the truck was filled, and the Aaronses and the
Burkes stood around awkwardly, no one knowing how to say good-bye.
"Well," Bill said. "If there's anything we've left, that you want, please help yourself."
"Could I have some of the lumber on the back porch?" Jess asked.
"Yes, of course. Anything you see." Bill hesitated, then continued. "I meant to give you
P. T.," he said. "But" - he looked at Jess and his eyes were those of a pleading little boy - "but
I can't seem to give him up."
"It's OK. Leslie would want you to keep him."
The next day after school, Jess went down and got the lumber he needed, carrying it a
couple of boards at a time to the creek bank. He put the two longest pieces across at the
narrow place upstream from the crab apple tree, and when he was sure they were as firm and
even as he could make them, he began to nail on the crosspieces.
"Whatcha doing, Jess?" May Belle had followed him down again as he had guessed she
might.
"It's a secret, May Belle."
"Tell me."
"When I finish, OK?"
"I swear on the Bible I won't tell nobody. Not Billy Jean, not Joyce Ann, not Momma -"
She was jerking her head back and forth in solemn emphasis.
"Oh, l don't know about Joyce Ann. You might want to tell Joyce Ann sometime."
"Tell Joyce Ann something that's a secret between you and me?" The idea seemed to
horrify her.
"Yeah, I was just thinking about it."
Her face sagged. "Joyce Ann ain't nothing but a baby."
"Well, she wouldn't likely be a queen first off. You'd have to train her and stuff."
"Queen? Who gets to be queen?"
"I'll explain it when I finish, OK?"
And when he finished, he put flowers in her hair and led her across the bridge - the great
bridge into Terabithia - which might look to someone with no magic in him like a few planks
across a nearly dry gully.
"Shhh," he said. "Look."
"Where?"
"Can't you see 'em?" he whispered. "All the Terabithians standing on tiptoe to see you.
"Me?"
"Shhh, yes. There's a rumor going around that the beautiful girl arriving today might be
the queen they've been waiting for."
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