Page 74 of The Gallagher Place
“Marlowe, Nora, start gathering blankets and snacks for the bonfire,” Nate said.
Marlowe rolled her eyes, but she knew she and Nora would do as he said. She had missed Nate’s authority while he was living on campus. It seemed he had missed bossing them around as well, because he spent the whole day piling up sticks at the top of the slope behind the orchard, near the edge of the woods, for a massive Memorial Day bonfire.
They rushed through dinner, and then Nate and Henry ran off to start the fire. Marlowe and Nora picked up a pile of blankets and a container of cookies freshly baked by Enzo, and Glory handed them a large thermos full of lemonade as they headed out.
“Get it burning for us, and we’ll stop by,” Frank hollered after them.
Marlowe and Nora moved through the orchard, the trees forming an archway of apple blossoms. The sky was cloudy for the season, but up at the top of the hill, a thin line of smoke was rising.
Nora had gone quiet and sulky the way she sometimes did, and Marlowe was at a loss for what to say. Marlowe had been busier that year, staying in the city on many weekends because her mother had found an oil painting class taught by a real New York artist that met on Saturday mornings twice a month. Marlowe had resisted at first, but after one class, she knew she had to take it.
Nora never complained, but Marlowe felt she had been neglectful.
She looked up ahead at the towering stack of sticks. It was over six feet tall and ten feet wide. “Oh my God, Nate really outdid himself this year. The bonfire is going to be huge. The perfect start to our summer.” She smiled over at her friend.
They sat down on the logs Henry had dragged out of the woods and watched as Nate scurried around the fire, adjusting sticks and coaxing the flames. It took some time, as some of the wood was damp from spring rains, but slowly the mountain began to heat and crackle, and the flames started to lick at the night air.
“That’s what I’m talking about. It’s going now,” Nate cheered, applauding his efforts.
“More sticks!” Henry yelled excitedly.
Nora’s odd mood evaporated as she and Marlowe threw on more sticks, shrieking when the sparks flew up at them. The clouds had parted and the darkening night sky was crystal clear. A cool night breeze twirled in the flames, making them dance. But the heat of the fire was getting so intense that none of them needed the blankets they’d brought out.
Frank and Glory came up as promised. “Well done, boys,” Frank commended them. “It’s one of the best bonfires we’ve had in a long time.”
Glory circled the fire, nudging the ring of stones around it. “You just better make sure it’s out before you come in,” she reminded them, before taking Frank’s arm and returning to the house.
At its full apex, the bonfire transformed into something from a different time. It burned tall and bright, a massive torch. Marlowe and Nora pretended they were witches and danced and pranced around the crackling flames. Nate and Henry laughed at their silly pretend play, but they didn’t care one bit; the fire was magical.
On nights like these, Marlowe knew why people said the Hudson Valley was haunted. She knew why stories of demons and mischievous fae folk had persisted in the Berkshires and the Catskills for so long. As recently as a decade before, there had been stories of strange happenings near the old Sheffield Bridge, the wooden structure that spanned the Housatonic River.
Most of the time, Marlowe did not fear the supernatural. She didn’t deride such stories, but she didn’t obsess over them either. But with the bonfire blazing up into the night, making the trees stand black and tall around them, Marlowe knew those stories to be true. She knew them to be part of the fabric of the land.
Witches flying above the trees to convene with the devil in some far-off meadow? Why not? Cows opening their mouths and speaking? It didn’t seem out of the realm of the possible. She knew there was power in the mystery of this place. She’d felt it when she and Nora made their own mischief when they were younger, sneaking into the Gallagher hayloft and painting their brand on the cows. She felt it again now, building in the flames.
Nate declared that the bonfire was so amazing, he was going to stay out all night. “We’ll watch the sunrise!”
Marlowe readily agreed, rejoicing in the four of them together again, side by side on the log, passing the lemonade back and forth. But by an hour past midnight, she was fading. The fire had become so hot that standing too close was almost painful. Her eyes were scratchy from the smoke and starting to droop. She longed for her bed.
Henry was dozing off already, his head lolling on Nora’s shoulder.
“I don’t think I’m going to make it all night,” Marlowe said. “Are you ready to head in?”
“Oh, stay just a bit longer!” Nora begged. She shook Henry’s arm, jostling him awake. “We’re almost there.”
Marlowe laughed. “We’re nowhere close. It’s going to take hours for this to burn down. But you can stay if you want—I’ll take Henry back.”
And Nora stayed, alone with Nate.
Marlowe wasn’t annoyed, but she thought it was strange. Nora and Marlowe were usually a unit. If one of them went to bed, the other followed. But then, Nora was excited about the bonfire, enthralled by the idea of staying up until dawn. Nate swore he pulled all-nighters once a week in college, and Nora hung on to all his stories of toga parties and wild nights with her eyes wide and eager.
As she and Henry stumbled down the hill to their beds, Marlowe remembered how the girls in her class thought Nate Fisher was the boy of their dreams. It made Marlowe laugh, given that she knew none of them had any real chance of dating Nate. It was baffling, actually, how girls seemed to like him. Nora was just as immune to Nate’s charms as she was—they were more like siblings than anything else.
At the bottom of the hill, Marlowe turned back once and caught her breath at the sight. The flames reached as high as the trees. Sparks rained down around the pit like stars. Nate and Nora were not visible; there were only shadows flickering about.
“Maybe we should go back.” Henry yawned. “We’re going to miss it.” But Marlowe felt spooked by the way the land seemed to shift and whisper in the dead of night. She quickened her strides back to the house, dragging Henry along.
She slept deeply that night, without dreams or nightmares. When she woke, it was almost nine in the morning. Nora was in the spare twin bed, her hand tucked beneath her smooth cheek, the daisy-covered quilt pulled tight around her. And, once more, all was right.
