Chapter Eight
The storm has passed.
Hearing Grandpa P’s voice again startled the boys and their eyes snapped open. They were inside Grandpa P again.
Scot exhaled loudly in relief. “All right. We made it. We’re back,”
Douglas grabbed his tee shirt. “Yeah. And look, we’re wearing our regular clothes again.”
Scot looked at his clothes. Sure enough, he was wearing his polo shirt, shorts, and hiking boots again. Just to be sure, he peeked inside his shirt to see if the long underwear was gone. To his relief, it was.
They got on all fours and peered out. Grandpa P was right. The storm had blown over and they could see blue sky through rents in the clouds.
Douglas looked at his watch. “Scotty, I mean, Scot, it’s only ten-thirty in the morning! We’ve been inside Grandpa P for about an hour and a half hour. How can that be?”
Scot shook his head in confusion. “I don’t know. We were in Vermont all day and it was getting dark when we left.”
The boys each put one palm flat on the inside of the tree. Douglas said, “Grandpa P, we’re confused. Were we really in Vermont, or were we here?”
You have memories from cousin maple tree. More I cannot say.
Douglas frowned slightly. “Well, okay. If he can’t tell us, let’s look for clues.”
Scot nodded. “That’s a good idea. What can we think of that would tell us if we were there or not?”
Douglas snapped his fingers. “I know! The back of your hand, Scot. Is the burn there?”
Scot inspected his hands carefully. “Nope, no burn. Look.” He held his hands out so Douglas could see them.
Douglas sighed, disappointed that the clue wasn’t there. “You’re right. There’s no burn. Our clothes are the same. We’re still inside Grandpa P and it’s morning not night. We’re in Montana not Vermont. It’s summer not spring so there’s no show. It must have been a dream and we dozed off while it was raining.”
Scot scratched his head. “But it was so real. I felt the cold and snow, and wore wool clothes. Lost to Jamie at checkers. I tasted sugar-on-snow, pickles, boiled eggs, everything. I can’t believe we weren’t there.”
“There’s no other explanation. It must have been a dream. A very real dream.”
“But what I don’t understand is how did we both have the same dream? Is that possible?”
Douglas sat back and pulled his legs up so he could rest his chin on his knees. “Looks like it is. I wonder if we did because we’re twins.”
“Maybe. We seem to think and talk alike at times, But to have the same dreams? That’s just plain spooky.”
Douglas crawled out of the hollow tree onto hailstones scattered over the grass. Following Douglas, Scot scrambled out and they got to their feet. The boys turned and put their hands on the still-damp bark of Grandpa P.
“Grandpa P, thanks for the memory…,” Douglas began.
“…they were so real. We’ll be back,” Scot finished.
It is good. Ponderosa Pine is here.
Douglas dropped his hand from the tree, frowning a little. “Scot, did it sound like Grandpa P was laughing?”
Scot lifted his hand from the tree. “Yeah, it did. But what would a tree think is funny? Does he know something we don’t?”
“After today, I’m sure he does.” The sun broke through the clouds and Douglas said, “I think we’d better get home so Mom and Dad know we’re okay.”
They turned to start toward home, but Scot saw something flash inside the tree. “Douglas, did something drop out of your pockets? I think I saw something shiny inside Grandpa P.”
“No. I didn’t have anything in my pockets.”
“I didn’t either, but I’m sure I saw something sparkle in the sunlight.”
“I’ll go see what it is.” Douglas dropped to his hands and knees, and crawled inside.
He was inside for only a few seconds before bursting out and jumping to his feet. His eyes were wide with excitement. “Look! Look at this!”
Scot’s mouth dropped open and his eyebrows rose almost disappearing into the shaggy hair drooping over his forehead. In both hands, Douglas held one of Aunt Thelma’s glass canning jars filled with light-brown maple syrup.