The Adventures of Philip and Sophie DOUBLE FEATURE by Drew Eldridge - HTML preview
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Chapter 19
The Stranger in the Manger
Of all our heroine’s powers, this one was by far the strangest. It happened late at night when she fell into her deepest sleeps. For the longest time, she thought they were just funny dreams. Until one day something extraordinary happened. Upon awaking, she heard some snoring next to her. Slowly, she rolled over and peeked over the side of her bed. The stranger she had seen in her dreams that night had followed her home!
She reacted exactly the way you would, reader. As loud as she could, she shrieked. The stranger woke up and started shrieking too. So did Samson, who nearly jumped up onto the chandeliers. But the funniest reaction of all came from Sophie’s father who, upon hearing them, casually strolled in holding his plain cup of co#ee. Far from panicking, he just stood there and said, “Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.” Then, he took a sip, turned around and calmly walked away like nothing had happened.
Shortly after, the sharp-featured gentleman discovered our heroine’s barn. Finding it to his liking, he decided to move in. Sophie’s father warmly welcomed him there, telling Sophie it would be her job to take care of him.
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From that day onward, her morning chores would never be the same again.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” laughed the stranger heartily. “Good day, good Mistress Sophie!”
He stood up tall and smiled.
“Good morning, Motumbo . . .” our heroine squeaked.
The giant man stepped forward, but then suddenly started losing his balance.
“Wo!” he cried, wobbling. “Wo! WoOoOo!”
He began falling backwards. Our heroine had to run to save him.
“Oh, Motumbo! Be careful!” she shrieked.
“WoOoOo! Ho! Ho! Ho!”
She got there just in time—right before he fell on a pitchfork! With all her might, she shoved him in the opposite direction. But that only ended up making things worse.
“WoOoOo!” he kept wailing again, this time falling sideways. “WoOoOo!” Sophie had to run and push him again . . . and again! Back and forth they went, turning the barn into an even greater mess! If she hadn’t grabbed onto his beard, he would have tumbled right into the trough.
“Hold . . . on . . . Motumbo!” she cried. “I . . . got . . .
you!”It was working! He was almost standing upright. But then the unthinkable happened. He teetered and fell straight towards her!
“UH OH!” he bellowed.
“Motumbo!” she shrieked. “MOTUMBOOO!”
She tried to get out of the way, but it was too late. He tumbled right on top of her.
“Oof!”
Fortunately, the hay broke their fall and neither of them got hurt. They stood up and brushed o# the straw.
“Goodness!” sighed Sophie. “What a fright!”
It was a power our heroine would never get used to 128
because of how much chaos it introduced into her life.
Motumbo was so silly! So di!erent! So wild! Sophie used to enjoy doing her morning chores, but now they always felt like a nightmare.
“WwWwoof!” the man started growling next.
“WwWwoof!”
He lowered his head and began kicking up hay like a bull.“Eek!”
Then he started chasing her.
“Snort, snort! WwWwa! Snort, snort, snort!
WwWwa! WwWwa!”
“Eek! Eek!”
The only good thing about this chaos was that it made our heroine much more patient than she would otherwise have been. As frustrating as these trips to the barn could be, they were perfect practice for all her adventures. Believe me when I say, reader, that patience more than anything is something our heroine will need!
Speaking of which, let us see if she is #nally ready to begin those adventures. We’ve awoken our heroine.
You’ve gotten to know her. You’ve seen her powers and how she can control them. But can she control herself?
Can she remain calm and steady, as she’ll need to be? Can she listen, even when it’s hard? There is only one way to
#nd out. Let us frustrate her even more this morning, reader! We’ll put our heroine’s patience to the test!
Suddenly, Motumbo started chasing her even faster!
He threw hay up into the air! He beat his chest like an ape! He made sillier and sillier sounds!
“Whoop, whoop, whoop, WHOOP, WHOOP!
Whoop, whoop, whoop, WHOOP, WHOOP!”
He tickled her heels as she ran! He poked her sides!
He bent his face into funny, but frightening shapes! How red Sophie turned! How she shrieked! Her little heart beat faster and faster!
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“Whoop, whoop, whoop, WHOOP, WHOOP! Hee, haw! Hee, haw! Whoop, whoop, whoop! Snort, snort!”
“EeEeEek!”
The barn got even messier. Sophie’s shoes were ruined! Her dress got a big, ugly tear in it! Soon, the poor girl could run no more. Motumbo had her cornered. There was nowhere else to go.
“WwWwoof! WwWwoof! WwWwWwWwWwoof!”
Finally, she lost her temper and wailed at the top of her lungs. “That’s it . . . STOP THIS INSTANT, SIR!”
Immediately, Motumbo halted. He scrambled backward to the middle of the room like an excited puppy and sat down nicely.
“Heavens to Betsy! Aren’t you frisky today!” Sophie exclaimed. Then she felt tears build up. She couldn’t hold back any longer and started crying.
This was all it took, reader, to bring our poor heroine to her knees. Already, she wanted to give up. Looking at the door, she felt tempted to storm out—the same way she’d done so many other times. But on this morning, something was di#erent. After all that running away, she was $nally beginning to realize that running wasn’t going to solve her problem. Sophie had only one choice. She had to get back up on her feet and try reasoning with him. But this only proved to be even more frustrating.
Slowly, Motumbo started shu%ing back towards the sobbing girl. He patted her gently on the head and apologized.
“Aww, Motumbo sorry for frightening good Mistress Sophie. Motumbo not mean to. Motumbo just playing, that’s all.”
Then he gave her a great big, long, tight hug—and kissed her little hand.
“Eek!” she screeched, jumping up. His beard was so tickly!
“Motumbo won’t do it again,” he answered. “Mo-130
tumbo promise! Motumbo LOVE Mistress Sophie. Motumbo love SO MUCH.”
Our heroine took a deep breath, just like her father had taught her. She sighed and did her best to remain calm.“Oh, Motumbo!” she began. “I just can’t take this anymore! You . . . your behavior . . . calling me . . . calling me . . .” Sophie could hardly say the word, it was so upset-ting. “Mistress . . .” She cringed and squirmed. “Won’t you stop all this silliness and come inside already? You’re a man, not an animal. I’m not your master. I’m just a girl!
Please, please . . .” she begged, seizing his hands. They were so big. It felt like holding two bunches of bananas.
“Please, come inside. We can build you a proper house.
Or you can live with us! There is so much I could teach you.”Motumbo listened very politely and sensitively as she spoke. His eyes were so full of a#ection, like he’d do anything for her. She began to think that maybe she’d $nally gotten through to him. But that hope was shattered the moment she mentioned a house. He let go of her hands and burst into laughter.
“Ho! Ho! Ho! HO! HO! HO!” he chuckled. “Motumbo? Live in a house? But why would Motumbo do that? House too small for Motumbo!” He beat his chest again. “Besides, Motumbo love his barn. Barn Motumbo’s favorite place in WHOLE WORLD! Ho! Ho! Ho!”
“But . . . why?” our heroine moaned in pain. It felt like a knife was being plunged into her heart—and then twisted. Nothing frustrated our heroine more than absur-dity and obscenity. “WHY!?” She seized him by the hand again, this time squeezing very hard. Now, she looked like the crazy one. “Look around! It’s a barn! A BARN! It’s cold . . . and FILTHY in here! Are you mad? What’s wrong with you? Don’t you want a bed to sleep in!? A nice, cozy blanket!?”
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“Hmm . . .” thought Motumbo, scratching his chin.
Then he burst out laughing again. “No! Motumbo don’t!
Ho! Ho! Ho! Motumbo already have bed, see? Behold, Motumbo’s bed of straw! And as for blanket—who needs blanket who has friends?” He pointed to the wooly sheep
—and big fat muddy pig he liked to cuddle with.
“Squee!” it seemed to croak in agreement. Motumbo started squealing again too. “Squee! Snort, snort, snort.
Squee! WeEeEe!”
There was that feeling again, reader—like a second knife. Only this time, in her stomach! “Oh!” she gagged.
“How . . . how . . . how revolting!” Every heroine has a weakness, reader. Hers was mud. It took every ounce of her strength just to stop herself from fainting. “But there must be SOMETHING we can do, Motumbo!” she begged. “Surely, we could at least make a few changes around here!”
Motumbo looked at her with a very doubtful expression on his face, but decided to hear her out. As she paced around the room pitching him some ideas, he followed along and listened.
“Why—how about some candles, Motumbo? Brighten up the place a bit! How does that sound?”
“Hmm. No, thank you!” he answered politely. “Motumbo afraid of #re . . .”
“Oh . . . I see,” said Sophie. “Well, what about a book-shelf, then? Look! Here’s a nice spot! What do you say?”
But he just kept shaking his head.
“No—reading make Motumbo sleepy.”
He stretched and yawned just thinking about it.
“O-kay . . .” she answered. “How about a grandfa-ther clock? My father builds them, you know. He could make one just for you! We could put it in the corner here.”
“Oh, no! No!” he pleaded. “Clocks make Motumbo late!”
132 “W-w-well . . .” Sophie stuttered. “Would you at least
“W-w-well . . .” Sophie stuttered. “Would you at least consider wearing some clothes?”
Sophie looked down and gulped. All Motumbo wore was a loincloth—one which was far too small.
“Nah!” he grunted, dismissively. “Too constricting.
Motumbo prefer to be freeee!”
He started swaying back and forth, dancing again.
“Eek!”
Quickly, Sophie covered her eyes.
“Well, how about a proper education, then!” she shouted next.
Surely, Motumbo would want that. But once again, she was surprised.
“Edu-cation?” he asked. “What is edu-cation?”
Sophie sighed.
“You know—learning things!”
“Like what?”
“Things you might be curious about. I’m terribly curious about a lot of things, Motumbo! Aren’t you?”
Motumbo thought about it and shrugged.
“No, not really. Motumbo know how to love! Motumbo know how to serve! Motumbo know way to church!
If edu-cation not teach Motumbo how do these things bett-ah, then Motumbo not interested.”
When all her heroic e#orts failed, Sophie then asked Motumbo to close his eyes and describe what he thought would be the perfect home. She ran to a cupboard where there were pencils and paper. She would draw it! Then, her father and her would build it for him! Motumbo paced back and forth and gave a very detailed account—everything from the way the walls would be, to the kinds of toys he liked and the perfect bed. Sophie started getting very, very excited! “MmmHmm!” she’d say with a great big smile, “MmmHmm! What else!?” But when she was $nished and looked down at the page, she realized that she had drawn a giant hamster cage. Motumbo laughed heartily and approved. So did the muddy pig. By the end, 133
our heroine was completely exhausted and had run out of all the patience she had left. She gave up and collapsed onto her knees before him.
“Oh, Motumbo. . .” she sighed, seizing him by his enormous hands again. “Motumbo! Whatever am I going to do with you? “What is it that I can do? Please just tell me. I beg you!”
This time, Motumbo was the one who sighed.
“Hmm . . . you really want to know?” he asked with a great big smile spreading across his face.
“Yes. Yes!” she pleaded.
“Okay. Then, Motumbo tell you.” He went down on one knee and got as close to her as he could. “All Motumbo want from good Mistress Sophie is to let Motumbo be Motumbo—like good Sophie’s fatha’ does. Let Motumbo love. Let Motumbo serve. Let Motumbo come to church. Let Motumbo . . . be free.”
Just then, our heroine began to realize how she must have been making Motumbo feel all that time. She was always marching in there with the intention of changing him, avoiding him or wishing he were di#erent. Did she ever once stop and think about whether Motumbo was just $ne the way he was? Maybe she was the one who needed to change a little.
Sophie always lost her patience with Motumbo because she made the mistake of thinking she could control him—like she could control so many other things. But before she started her adventure, she had to learn that some things would always be out of her control. When she $‐
nally realized the truth that morning, all that worry and frustration suddenly melted away.
“Okay. . . okay. . .” she said sni%ing and holding back her tears. “I’ll try. . .” She gave her friend a great big hug.
“I’m sorry, Motumbo! Can you ever forgive me?”
Motumbo nodded and hugged her back.
They got along much better after that. Sophie didn’t 134
mind being chased as much. She even found it fun sometimes. And if she ever didn’t want him to chase her, all she had to do was calmly raise her hand as he approached.
Motumbo would stop dead in his tracks and behave like a perfect gentleman. She taught him how to tap dance, have tea parties and even how to play the banjo. Motumbo taught Sophie fun new games. I wouldn’t say these mornings became any less chaotic, reader—but they were certainly more fun. Instead of her morning chores ending in shrieking and crying, they concluded with hoedowns, rodeos and gales upon gales of laughter.
When our heroine came out of the barn that day, the sun was extra bright. The air smelled fresh. With just one conversation, her patience had tripled. She felt like she could get along with just about anyone now.
Around the corner, she found her father. He was sitting on the fence, tinkering with one of his tools.
“Oh,” he muttered, as if not expecting her. “So, how did it go this time?”
He was pleasantly surprised by Sophie’s answer.
“You know,” she said, “I really like that Motumbo.”
“Is that so?”
“MmmHmm! I think he’s right where he should be.”
“Good,” he nodded approvingly.
She turned around and he watched her head back to the house whistling and humming.
“ . . .That’s good.”
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Queer Happenings
Sometimes being magical was fun. You could sneak extra cookies. You could know when a guest was coming.
You could do nice things for your friends. Other times, being magical was frustrating. You could wander far beyond what people called “boundaries” and meet the funniest sorts of folks. Though you never knew who might follow you home! However, being magical could also be a little scary. Queer things would happen to you. Spooky things! Sometimes all day long.
Once, Sophie had been alone in her room sewing a new dress. Suddenly, all the buttons and beads in her kit started #oating around her! On another occasion, she was planning a scene in one of her plays. She thought of the $reworks she might use. “Pow! Bam!” she had said, imagining it. All of the sudden, one of her props caught on $re.
“Eek!” She nearly burned down the house! The spookiest of all was the time she wandered a little too far in one of her “dreams” and ended up getting lost. She was asleep for days and many began to worry that she might never wake up.
Because of this, our heroine often wished she didn’t have her powers. What if she accidently hurt someone?
What if she got her village in trouble one day? Sometimes she felt so worried and scared that she would be sad for hours on end. It was a good thing she had a best friend she could talk to. Someone who was just as skilled at keeping secrets.
“Narissa!” she yelled, banging on her friend’s door.
Something spooky had happened again that morning, just after she’d visited Motumbo. It sent Sophie running as fast as she could to tell her about it. “Narissa! Hello!” she continued, banging some more. “Are you there? It’s important!”
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“Just a minute!” a voice
from the other side called back.
Their farms were right
next to each other. Ever since
they were little, their families
had walked to church together.
Sophie tried her best to
wait patiently. What was
taking her so long? She put her
ear to the door and listened. It
sounded like Narissa was
rustling through her closet.
“I’m coming! Hold on!”
Then Sophie heard some
stomping. It got louder and
louder—and closer! A moment
later, the door swung open,
nearly knocking her right off
the steps. A girl with a big,
bright smile and rosy cheeks
emerged. She was a little taller than Sophie and had fabulous, bouncy blue hair.
“O-kay! I’m ready!” she yelled, posing in the doorway.
“Golly,” sighed Sophie regaining her balance. “That was a close one! Good morning, Narissa.”
Then the girl froze. Her eyes fell to Sophie’s dress.
She just stood there, staring at it. The smile slowly started to disappear.
“Umm . . .” Sophie stammered, feeling a little nervous.
“Narissa?” She glanced down at herself, wondering what the problem was. But she didn’t see anything. “Is . . . there something wrong?”
The girl groaned.
“Yes, there is,” she answered, crossing her arms.
“Look! Your dress! It’s completely di"erent from mine!
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We’re supposed to be matching today! Don’t you remember?”
Sophie paused and thought about it. “Oh . . .” she sighed. “No, I don’t think I do. Sorry!” She could be so forgetful sometimes. But then she thought a little more and—“Hey, wait a minute . . . Are you sure we agreed to—”But thankfully Narissa had already forgiven her.
“Yep!” she interrupted, rushing forward and covering Sophie’s mouth.
“Mmm!” was all that came out.
“But don’t worry! I can "x it! I just have to get changed, that’s all!”
“MmMmMm!”
Then, without warning, Narissa seized Sophie by the arm and started hauling her around the corner.
“Come on! Around back! Yesterday was laundry day.
My dresses are all out on the clothesline, drying.”
“But . . .” whimpered Sophie, struggling free. “I need to tell you something!”
“Then you can tell me on the way. LET’S GO!”
The only problem with our heroine’s best friend, reader, was how rough she could sometimes be. She was always pinching, prodding and grabbing her. When she hugged Sophie, she’d pick her right off the ground and squeeze her so tight she couldn’t breathe. When she held her hand, she’d almost never let go. Sophie’s favorite game was “dress-up.” But with Narissa, it felt more like wrestling. During their sleepovers, she would raid Sophie’s closet and handle her like a rag doll . . .
bending her this way . . . contorting her that way . . .
and stretching her into all kinds of uncomfortable posi-tions. She’d pin Sophie down and tickle her until it wasn’t fun anymore, break into her house at night to kidnap her for midnight swims, and chase her with a towel at the village bathhouse, whipping her like a race-138
horse. Sophie loved her best friend dearly, but sometimes it could be so painful! She was no less rough with her that morning.
“Hey, quit pulling so hard, Narissa!” she squeaked.
“You’re going to tug my arm o".”
“You’re walking too slow!”
“But this is as fast as I can go . . .”
“Okay,” she answered, smiling. “Then I’ll have to carry you!”
She turned to Sophie and scooped her up.
“Eek!”
“There! That’s better! Now, what was it you wanted to say?”
Sophie had learned that being in Narissa’s clutches was a little like being in quicksand. The more you struggled, the tighter she squeezed. The more you squirmed, the more her hands would look for other, ticklier places to hold onto. It was safer to just relax and let her have her way.
“Well . . .” she began, doing her best to talk. It was hard with all the bouncing and jostling. “After visiting Motumbo this morning . . .oof! . . . I went into the bathroom to $x my hair. Oof! I looked in the mirror and no one was there, but me. But after I put away my brush, I looked again—and saw someone standing behind me!”
“Wow! Really?” asked Narissa, excited.
“Yeah!”
“Cool!”
“Cool?” Sophie gasped. “How is that cool!? It scared the life out of me, Narissa! Just thinking about it gives me the creeps!”
“So, what happened? Who were they?”
“That’s the thing. I don’t know! They vanished the moment I saw them. I don’t even remember their face.
Only . . . their eyes . . .”
“Maybe it was a ghost.”
“Agh! A ghost!?” Sophie squeezed up close to Narissa 139
“Agh! A ghost!?” Sophie squeezed up close to Narissa and trembled in her arms.
“Maybe!” her friend smiled. “After all, it wouldn’t be the !rst time you saw one, would it?”
Sophie gulped.
“Well . . . regardless, I’ve come to tell you that I’ve made a decision, Narissa. I’m not going to use my powers anymore! Not even to help people. It’s too dangerous!
And frightful!”
“What!?”
Narissa plopped Sophie down next to the clothesline.
“They’re not powers,” said Sophie. “They’re a curse! I just want to be normal. I can’t always control them . . . but if I try really hard, maybe they’ll just go away.”
“Hey, come on. Don’t say that. You’re not cursed.
You’re just di#erent, that’s all. I like your powers!”
“But what if God doesn’t want me using them? What if it makes him angry . . . or disappointed . . . or worse . . .
what if it makes him . . .” Sophie gulped and started tearing up. “ . . .not like me anymore . . .”
But sometimes a little of Narissa’s roughness was exactly what our heroine needed. She may have been bossy to Sophie. She may have been stubborn, manipulative and nosey. She may even have been a tad abusive at times. But she was also brutally honest, impossible to deceive and fearless of all things strange. Sophie could tell her abso-lutely anything. Narissa wouldn’t get spooked, disbelieve her, or look at her any di#erently after. She encouraged Sophie, loved her !ercely (perhaps a little too !ercely at times) and was always there for her. Many people in the village wondered how they could possibly be friends, given how di#erent they were. Often, Sophie wondered it herself. But it was times like this, when our heroine was feeling blue, that she always remembered.
“What!? No way!” said Narissa. She grabbed Sophie by the shoulders and pulled her close. “God loves you, Sophie! He made you just the way you are! Don’t listen to 140
any bad feelings like that. He has a plan for your powers, just as He has a plan for everything else. There is a reason He gave them to you. We just . . . don’t know what it is yet . . . that’s all.”
“Really?” sighed our heroine, sni"ing more. “You really think so?”
“Yeah!” Narissa let Sophie go. “So, don’t give up!
Okay?” She smiled and winked at her. Then she pushed Sophie’s spectacles back into place and dried her tears with her cu$.
“Well,” Sophie replied, feeling a little better.
“Maybe . . . maybe you’re right.”
“Of course, I am!”
“I just wish I knew what it was, that’s all. If only I knew . . . then maybe it wouldn’t be so scary.”
“Well, maybe there’s a way to %nd out.”
“You think?”
“Maybe.” Narissa shrugged.
“I hope so. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. At this point, I think I’d do just about anything to
%nd out.”
And that’s when Narissa suddenly got her brilliant idea.“Hey, wait a minute. I know!” she shouted.
Sophie looked at her curiously.
“Why don’t you ask Jean-Pierre today!? He knows lots about God, right?”
Jean-Pierre was the village priest. He lived in the temple at the village square.
“Oh, yeah . . .” Sophie remembered. “That’s right!”
“He’s who I talk to whenever I feel confused. He gives marvelous advice!”
“But . . .” stammered Sophie, “you never take his advice, Narissa . . .”
“So? It’s still good advice! Well, come on. What do you say? It’s a worth a try, right? We can go right now!”
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“Golly . . .” she sighed nervously. She never really thought about asking Jean-Pierre before. But Narissa was right. If there was anyone in the village who could help her "gure that out, it was him. But did they have time that morning? She pulled out her pocket watch to check. Fortunately, Narissa snatched it out of her hand before she could see and threw it into the bushes.
“Yes, now!” she ordered. “Trust me, we can make it! I know a shortcut!”
Sophie thought and thought.
“Hmm . . . hmm . . . hmm . . .”
She was never was very good at making decisions.
“Hey! Don’t make me twist your arm!”
“Eek!”
Finally, she made up her mind.
“Okay!” our heroine cheered. “Let’s do it!”
“Really?”
“Yes! I want to! Let’s go!”
The two friends held hands and started jumping up and down. It was settled. They would go to the temple at the village square. The only problem was getting there.
“Okay, which way?” said Sophie pulling her.
But Narissa wouldn’t budge until she did something
"rst. She hurried over to the clothesline.
“H-hey . . . wait . . . what are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m getting changed.”
“But . . . out here?”
“Why not? Don’t worry.” Narissa winked at her. “It will only take a minute.” Then she started undressing.
“Eek! Are you crazy!?”
And now you see, reader, why it was so good that Narissa had a friend like Sophie too. With lightning-fast re$exes and gallant speed, our heroine dashed to the nearest bedsheet. She tore it o% and used it as a wall to cover her.
142
“Jiminy crickets!” she yelled chasing Narissa, who kept running away. “Get back here! Someone might see you!”Who knows what would have happened to this girl without Sophie? At the very least, I think you would agree
—she wouldn’t have had nearly as much fun.
“Come on, Sophie!” she teased. “You’re going to have to be faster than that.”
“Goodness gracious!” Sophie kept exclaiming.
“Heavens to Betsy! Great Scott!”
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Shortcut to the Village Square
Sophie liked walking along the roads to church, but Narissa preferred the bumpier, more adventurous paths.
“Where are you taking me, Narissa?” she asked. “This isn’t the right way, is it?”
“Of course it is!” she answered.
“But—are you sure?”
“Hey! Do you want to "nd out what your powers are for, or not? Trust me! I know the way. This is a shortcut! I think . . .”
Sophie gulped.
Nibelheim was no ordinary village. It was built upon the ruins of an ancient city. There were statues, tomb-stones and fallen temples just about everywhere you looked. Especially in the wilder, wooded parts that were too steep and rocky to farm. Narissa was quick and nim-ble. She dashed through these trails with ease. But Sophie was lousy at it. She got stuck in every bush . . . “Agh!” . . .
tripped over every tree root . . . “Eek!” . . . and slipped on just about every single rock . . . “Oof!” It was a good thing her friend was there to catch her, or she may have never made it out.
“Narissa! Help!”
“Gotcha!” she answered with her big smile.
Often, they found old trinkets, coins and runes in the soil. They had lots of fun collecting and deciphering the symbols on them. Many were the late nights they’d spent trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle. Who were the people who dwelt there before them? What happened to them? “Nibelheim” wasn’t the name Sophie’s village chose for itself. It was the name inscribed on an ancient stone tablet they discovered when they arrived on the shores. It meant “Home of the Mist.” The People of the Book kept it in honor of them.
144
Sophie and Narissa also found crystals in the soil. The coast of the continent was rich with blues and greens.
Reds were a little less common in that part of the world, except around the volcanos. Yellows seemed to appear more after thunderstorms. By the end of their little excur-sions, their pockets would be stu"ed.
But the most exciting part was the buried treasure chests they’d #nd! All Sophie would have to do is close her eyes and think about them. Somehow, she’d know exactly where they were. She did the tracking and Narissa did the digging. With all the artifacts they discovered, they could have probably opened their own museum.
“O-kay,” said Narissa, coming to her favorite part of the woods. There was a deep ravine called “Snake Pit.”
All the children were afraid of it. But not Narissa! She had climbed up a tree one day and built a rope swing over it. “Come on!” she said, holding on. “Let’s GO!” With her brilliant blue hair $owing in the wind, she swung across e"ortlessly. Sophie gasped in astonishment as she landed 145
on the other side. “Hi-ya! There! You see? It’s easy!” Sophie looked doubtful. Then Narissa threw the rope back.
“Okay . . . now it’s YOUR turn!”
“What! Me?” our heroine squeaked. She looked around to see if there was anyone else, but there wasn’t.
“Yes! You!”
Sophie had never dared try before. When Narissa swung over, she always took the long away around. But today there was no time.
“Hey, I thought you said you’d do anything,” Narissa teased.
“I did?” answered Sophie, trembling.
“MmmHmm! So, prove it!”
Sophie hopped up onto the ledge. She felt a cold gust of wind. The sun’s bright beams nearly blinded her. It shone behind Narissa, making her blue hair glitter with gold. She looked down at the snakes and started to feel scared. But then Sophie saw the Dragon King’s mountain fortress in the distance. That black smoke rising! Those horrible, ugly ships patrolling the seas! For some reason, it made her feel braver and more determined.
“Alright,” she said. “I’ll do it.” She closed her eyes and took a very deep breath, almost like she was getting ready to dive under water. Her cheeks pu#ed up like a chipmunk’s. Narissa tried her best not to laugh. Then Sophie bent her little knees, gripped the rope tightly and counted down backwards from three—“Mmm! Mmm! MMM!”—
before jumping. “EeEeEeEek!” she squealed all the way across. Narissa couldn’t hold back her laughter any longer.
Sophie was as sti# as board, twirling around in circles. But then Narissa realized she wasn’t going to make it. She dashed towards the edge, reached out and caught our heroine by the hand just in time. “Gotcha!”
When they $nally arrived at the village square, their hair and dresses were full of twigs. They took turns dusting each other o#. Nibelheim was bright and colorful.
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There were !owers on every windowsill, children laughing on every corner, kittens, puppies, pony rides and a band who played the most cheerful, delightful music you can imagine. The air smelled like fresh cinnamon buns and apple pie. You could hardly take a step without being o"ered some. But the best part, at least in our heroine’s opinion, was how squeaky clean and friendly everyone was. As she skipped and hummed, she tried her best to greet each and every one of them.
“Good morning! How do you do?” she said curtsying.
“Very well, thank you,” they’d reply. The women curtsied back to her. The men smiled and tipped their hats.
“And you?”
“Very well! Thank you!”
Sometimes Sophie would get a little too excited and send herself spinning.
“And how do YOU do? And how do YOU do?” There were so many. She couldn’t keep up. “And how do YOU
and YOU and YOU do? Eek!”
“Sophie,” said Narissa, holding her up. “You can’t say good morning to everyone, or you’re going to get dizzy and fall over again. Don’t you remember what the doctor said?”
“Sorry, Narissa! But I can’t help it. Everyone is so charming! Oh, look! Fresh strawberries!”
Farmers brought in their best crops on Sundays. They parked their carts in a big circle. People came and took what they pleased. Everything was free in Nibelheim. Instead of using money, people just shared. Nor were there any police or mayors. Why would there be when everyone got along? The only rule the People of the Book followed was “do what the Book says.” As long as everyone did that, there was no need for any more. On Sundays, you would always hear at least one person standing up tall, passion-ately reading from It.
“Be kind . . . treat others fairly . . . say you’re sorry if 147
you do something wrong . . . always forgive . . . share everything . . . do good deeds . . . shower everyone you see with a"ection . . .” And so on and so forth.
Sophie loved her village so much that sometimes she’d climb up onto the fountain in the middle and just sit there with a big smile on her face, watching everyone as they did these things. It was her favorite thing to do in the whole world.
But our heroine was on a mission that morning. She needed to #nd the village priest before church started.
Quickly, she handed her basket to Narissa and ran up the stairs into the temple.
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A Place of Light and Song
Temples were places where the People of the Book gathered to read, pray and sing together. There were rows and rows of wooden benches to sit on, elegantly engraved stone walls and bright stained-glass windows. Further in, was a staircase that led up to a kind of stage where the sacred Ceremony of Light was held.
The Ceremony of Light was the most important part of going to church. When the reading, singing and speeches were over, the priest would walk to an alter and drop a special blue and yellow crystal into a pitcher of water. The blue in it would cleanse and cool the water. The yellow would make it sparkle and shine. Then, he’d say a prayer and pour the water into a pink crystal chalice that everyone would take turns drinking from. The person who helped him hold and serve the sacred water was called “the Light Bearer.” Only a little girl was allowed to do it.When Sophie entered, she lowered her eyes, put her hands together and whispered a little prayer. That was how the People of the Book said hello to God. Then she looked up at the alter and bowed to the big, fancy golden copy of the Book, which sat upon a silver pedestal.
“Welcome, my child,” said a man dressed in long white robes. He had a short grey beard and a gentle smile.
His voice was soft, deep and slow—like the tone of someone reading you a pleasant bedtime story. “Please, come in!” he said, extending his even whiter sta#.
“Jean-Pierre!” our heroine whispered.
Sophie bowed to the man just as low as she had to the alter. Then she took him by the hand and kissed his ring.
That was where he kept that special blue and yellow crystal when it wasn’t being used. It chilled and tickled her lips.
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“Sorry I’m a little early!” she continued. “But I wanted to talk to you about something—if you have time.”
“Certainly,” he replied, putting his arm around her shoulders.
Jean-Pierre was such a kind man. The way he looked at people made them feel so special. Sophie loved the feel of his soft, warm robes. She couldn’t help curling up in them as they walked.
Slowly, he led our heroine up the stairs. They made sure to bow together in perfect unison every time they passed a holy relic. There were scrolls, sculptures and the prettiest, sweetest-smelling candles all the way up. When they reached the top, they pulled up two fancy chairs and sat across from one another.
“Some tea?” he whispered.
“Oh, yes please!”
He poured her a little cup from the sacred teapot.
“Thank you!”
Then he reached into a cupboard and pulled out a small silver tin.
“Turkish delight?” he asked next, opening it. Sophie gasped. Her favorite!
“How lovely!”
He had licorice and some chocolate marshmallow squares too. They sat together nibbling, chatting about recipes and making yummy sounds for several minutes before starting. The People of the Book rarely did anything without eating or drinking #rst.
“So,” said Jean-Pierre #nally, leaning back in his chair, wiping all the powdery sugar from his beard. “What’s on your mind?”
Sophie was now feeling so comfortable that she almost forgot. She had to think for a moment before remembering.
“I wanted to ask you a question. It’s about God.”
“Oh? Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place.
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What is your question, my child? If I know the answer, I shall surely tell you.”
Sophie tried to think of the best way of asking but couldn’t make up her mind. So, instead, she just blurted it out.
“Jean-Pierre,” she sighed. “How do you know what God wants you to do?”
The priest paused and began stroking his beard in deep thought. “Ah, a very good question,” he said, hem-ming and hawing. “Hmm . . . Mmm . . . a very good question indeed.” He took out his pipe and lit it, taking two or three big pu#s before answering. In Sophie’s experience, that was always a sign he was about to give a really good answer. She waited patiently.
“Well,” he said $nally. “There are lots of ways. You know, it’s a little like those stories you’re always writing.
You’re an author, aren’t you? A creator . . . designer . . .
You have characters who you want to do things. Well, how do they $gure it out?”
What a funny question! Sophie had never really thought about her books that way before. She just wrote whatever came to mind. How did she get her characters to know what to do? Sophie thought about them and did her best to remember.
“I suppose I give them clues,” she answered.
“Go on . . .” he said, taking another pu# of his pipe.
“Things happening around them . . . people in their lives . . . being in the right place at the right time.”
“Only around them?”
She thought some more.
“No—on the inside too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I create them a certain way. If I want them to do something, I put a deep, deep desire for it in their hearts, or maybe a special talent just for that purpose. There are no coincidences. No, sir! Everything happens for a reason!
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Even little things. Especially little things! These, I think, are the most common ways they learn what to do.”
“Well,” answered Jean-Pierre. “It’s the same with God.” He stood up and walked to the alter, lifting the Golden Book from the pedestal. “Here,” he said, gently placing it in her lap. Then he pulled up his chair and sat next to her. “Go on. Open it and see.”
The Book was heavy and beautifully ornamented. It took both hands to lift open the cover. The words inside were written using very rare crystal ink. The pages were special too. As she turned them, they glittered and glowed like the book was alive.
“God did the same things with the characters in His Book. The same hints . . . the same clues . . . inside and outside, as you say. Often, learning what He wanted them to do was simply a case of opening their eyes and looking for it.”
“But that was then,” answered Sophie. “This is now.
I’m not a character in the Book.”
“No, that’s true. But just because a book is over, it doesn’t mean the story is. The God who provided us with this Book is the same God who exists today. He is everywhere—at all times—both inside and around us. The Book may be over,” he said gently closing it. “But His story is still going on, even right now as we speak—in this very room. Look around. Think back and try to remember, as if you were a character in His next book. What clues might He be giving you, Sophie? What people might He have put into your life? What special desires . . . or gifts?”
“Hmm,” she thought.
I would encourage you to look back and do the same, reader. Can you #nd any clues?
First, Sophie thought of her prayer that morning.
Then, she thought of her conversation with her mother and Mr. Stanley. Next, she thought of her mysterious father . . . and Motumbo . . . and Narissa. That feeling she 152
got when looking at the Dragon King’s mountain! That feeling she got when watching everyone in the village square! Last, she thought about her powers. What could they be for? She looked up and out of the window and saw the mountain once again . . . the third time that day. Suddenly our heroine started feeling very, very worried.
“OoOoOo . . .” she sighed, holding her belly. “I don’t feel so good . . .”
“Of course, the easiest way,” added the priest next, shrugging, “is just to ask God.”
“Hmm!?”
Sophie’s eyes shot up at him. He said it as casually as if he were commenting on the tea he was sipping.
“Oh, yes. Why not? He is here after all. Come on, give it a try.”
“Uh,” muttered Sophie hesitantly. “You mean . . .
right now?”
She looked back down towards the entrance way.
That was odd! People should have been coming in by then. Their time was up. She could see the shapes and shadows of them through the window, but no one entered.
Narissa must have been distracting them.
“Sure!” said the priest. “What better time?”
But Sophie wasn’t so sure she wanted to anymore.
“OoOoOo . . .” she groaned again, holding her belly.
“I hope the Turkish delight is alright. I was told it was fresh. Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little under the weather.”
“No . . . it’s not that,” she sighed.
“Well then, come on. You do want to know, don’t you?
For He will only answer if you’re sure. When you ask Him, you must do so with a full heart . . . an open mind . . .
ready and willing to do whatever it is . . . even if its something uncomfortable or dangerous. God speaks to the patient . . . to good listeners . . . to those who are brave enough to trust. Do you really want to know what God 153
wants you to do, Sophie? Do you trust Him? Are you willing to say yes?”
“Yes!” she answered, remembering. “I do! I am! I’m just . . . a little scared . . . that’s all.”
“It’s okay to be scared,” replied Jean-Pierre, taking her by the hand and leading her to the alter. He helped her to her knees and placed her hands together. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be ready. Focus now, my child. Think of the exact question you wish to ask. Try to relax, so you’ll be able to hear. Sometimes, He speaks in words. Sometimes, in pictures, like a dream. Remember, He created you. He knows your every thought, feeling and deepest desire. If you reach out to Him, you must trust He will respond in a way you will understand.”
Sophie felt the warm sunlight on her face. She took a deep breath and did her best to relax her whole body.
“Okay,” she sighed as he backed away. “Here it goes.” She focused with all her heart, and all her mind, on the one she’d be addressing. “God . . . Sir . . . please tell me. What is it you want me to do? I’ll do it. I’ll do anything—if you tell me.”
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