The Map That Breathed - Hardcover

Melanie Gideon was born and brought up in Rhode Island and now lives in northern California with her family. This is her first novel for young readers.

The Map That Breathed
Part OneChapter OneNora Sweetkale had always been a well-behaved girl. She made her bed every morning. She was pleasant to grown-ups. She rarely lied, and if she did, it was in order to spare somebody's feelings. She brought home As and Bs on her report card, and she was comfortably smart, which meant she had to study for her tests, but not too hard. She'd never caused her mother much worry. But all that changed when she got the blue book in the mail."Something's come for you," her mother said one afternoon, handing Nora a small brown parcel. Nora gave a little shriek of delight; she never got packages."There's no return address," her mother remarked. "Were you expecting something?"Nora turned the package over in her hands and shook her head.Her mother sighed, concern furrowing her brow. Pauline Sweetkale worked for Social Services; it was her job to be suspicious. "Well, you'd better open it and see what it is."Nora nodded. She turned to leave the kitchen."Open it here," said her mother.Nora bit her lip. For some reason she wanted privacy; she wasn't sure why. She sat down at the table and slowly unwrapped the parcel. She had the strangest sense that she was unwrapping something terribly important, something that would change her life. She unwound the Bubble Wrap carefully and gasped, for nestled in the plastic was a bird, its feathers turquoise and aquamarine, wings folded up tight against its body. And it was alive! She could see its breast heaving, its tiny heart pounding; it was panting for air. Nora clapped her hand to her mouth at the wonder of it. She looked up to gauge her mother's reaction, but her mother was digging around in the fridge, intent upon finding something; Nora had her privacy after all.The bird's not from here, Nora thought. It's not from this world. She had never entertained such an idea before. Up until that moment she had been a practical girl who believed only in what she could see. But this bird ... it seemed to suggest other possibilities.The bird searched Nora's face with a surprisingly human awareness, its eyes glittering, full of grief. Nora wanted to comfort it. She reached out to touch it, but this was the wrong thing to do, for as soon as she placed her finger on its tiny head, the bird vanished and in its place was a book, its cover and pages the exact hues of the bird's feathers."So what is it?" her mother asked, turning around, a package of celery in her hands. She swooped over to pick the book up."No!" Nora shouted and clutched the book to her chest."Why, Nora! Whatever's wrong with you?""It's mine, it was sent to me. I should be allowed to look at it first," the girl protested. She felt as if she would burst into tears.Her mother looked at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. Her mouth opened as if to say something, then closed as she decided that the book was harmless and she needn't be worried."You're right. It is yours. Off with you, then." Her mother started making the salad for supper. 
 
Nora went up to her bedroom. The book stayed a book, but its animal presence remained, and instinctively she knew she must hold it close to her body.She gently opened it, crooning to it softly. When she ruffled through the pages (which were empty, it was a blank book) there was the unmistakable sound of wings beating in the air, and Nora knew she hadn't imagined what she'd seen. The book was alive, if barely so, and it needed her to survive.The first days with the book were wonderful. It was as if Nora had a newborn baby, dependent on her for everything. It was lovely to feel so wanted and needed. She took the book everywhere. She pressed it close to her chest, believing this was the right thing to do. But as the weeks passed, its dependence on her gradually developed into something darker, more insistent, and Nora's moods grew darker as well, until one day she knew the truth: She was a prisoner of the book. 
 
It was suppertime. Nora glanced at the book, which she had placed on the dining-room table. She knew all too well the consequences for letting it out of her sight. Agony.At first she had only experienced a small tug when she forgot it or left it behind, a kind of breathlessness that was merely uncomfortable. But that tug very quickly turned into something much bigger, an acute pain, as though inside her body her bones were being shattered and the splinters were erupting through her skin. Despite the pain, Nora still felt liberated at the sight of the book. She hadn't forgotten the wonder and mystery of it; how it had first appeared to her as a bird, its true form. She believed the book was connected to her future and if she could just bear the pain, if she could just be awfully brave, she would realize her destiny. The book was merely testing her allegiance.Nora set the table loudly, slamming the silverware down. She was surprised by her dreadful behavior but even more horrified at her inability to control her temper; it descended upon her like some wild animal, pinning her down at whim. This had been another side effect of assuming responsibility for the book, a less painful but more troublesome one. Sometimes she felt like her old lighthearted girl-self, wanting nothing more than to do errands with her mother and play I Spy with her three-year-old brother, David. Other times she felt so grim and heavy, so unlike her family, that she couldn't breathe.Ms. Sweetkale took the fish sticks out of the oven and sighed. The familiar look of distaste was on Nora's face, the one that signaled the start of her violent moods. Puberty had hit Nora like a sudden storm, and her mother was trying to get used to thechanges. She missed her old daughter, the one who confided in her, who had never had a sullen moment in her life. Nora had always wondered about the unfairness of losing both her mother and father in an airplane crash shortly after she was born, but now she was beginning to question her adoptive mother's shortcomings."Not again, Nora," her mother warned, having no intentions of being held prisoner by her daughter's moods.Nora didn't answer. She poured herself a glass of milk and stared, her gaze a direct challenge."You want to go to Moonstone Beach, we'll go to Moonstone Beach," her mother relented, finally succumbing to Nora's request that she be taken there tomorrow. It was thirty miles from Sand Hill Cove, the beach they usually frequented. She slid a pat of butter onto the broccoli. "I just hope the waves aren't too much for David. It'll be no fun for him if they are."Nora said nothing. Her mother looked up. "And Nora, we are not going to have the father conversation again, so don't even think about starting it.""Why not?""Because it's ridiculous. You do not just ask for a father.""But couldn't you just work on it a little? You could dress up a bit more, wear a little makeup, act a little interested," said Nora meanly, shocked at what was coming out of her mouth.She couldn't believe she was saying this stuff out loud. It was, however, the truth. Nora had become embarrassed about her mother. Her mother was fifty-two, older than all of Nora's friends' mothers. She was dowdy. A bit overweight. She hadstopped wearing lipstick years ago. But what Nora had become most dissatisfied with was being in a single-parent family. She wanted a father. She wanted their family to be four, not three."Young lady!" shouted her mother. "You are out of line. I'm going to tell you this just once more, and that's the end of it, forever. You, David, and I are a family. You don't need a father to complete you or to make us a family. You and I became a family the day I adopted you, and David became a member of our family the day we adopted him. You can't sit around waiting for a father to appear. Maybe someday you will get a father. Maybe you won't. And maybe you'll have to choose one yourself. Now, get your brother and let's eat. I don't want to hear another word about this." 
 
That night after dinner Nora decided to go straight to bed."Should I be worried about you?" Her mother stood at the bottom of the stairs, a dish towel in her hands. "Is there something you want to tell me?" she asked softly. She had not given up hope that Nora would confide in her.David ran by with a roll of paper towels."I'm fine, Mom, I'm just tired," Nora said, feeling horrible about the way she had been acting. "And I'm sorry. I won't ask about a father anymore." She looked down at her hands. "I know I've been kind of a jerk."Her mother studied her for a moment. "I know you're sorry. Go take a bath. You've had a long day."Nora nodded wearily. Her mother's kindness made her want to cry. She had never felt farther away from her, yet she felt incapable of closing the distance she had put between them.After her bath Nora climbed into bed and held the book in her hands. She leafed through it. Not a word, not a sentence was written upon the pages; still it felt heavy and full of import. The book was very old, its paper wrinkly and parchmentlike, and it had a strange sort of anchor embossed on the cover. The binding was blue leather, discolored in many places where the oils from somebody's fingers had left their mark. Nora felt as if she and the book were feeding each other, bringing each other to life. This was her secret, but it was also her burden. She shut off the light and closed her eyes. 
 
At eight o'clock on Saturday morning, Moonstone Beach was deserted. The early morning fog slowly dissipated, leaving behind a weak sun and patches of watery blue sky. It was late May in Waitsfield, but it was still cool in the mornings. Nora sat on a beach chair bundled up in a sweatshirt. Her mother and David were wandering up and down the shore, searching for sand dollars; it was too cold to swim.Nora glanced down at the blue book, which lay open on her lap. Her throat swelled with emotion. She felt completely alone. Oh, how she wished she were young again, when life was made good by something as simple as an afternoon on the beach with her mother, the promise of ice cream, a beloved television show after a warm bath. Nora looked up from the book, its blank pages still eluding her, and saw a boy and a woman. They hadn't been there a minute ago; the fog must have shrouded them. They seemed to have just popped into the world.Nora stared. In the burnished light the sight of them was jolting; their hair was the color of beets. The woman's hair hungdown to her waist. Nora could see only the top of the boy's head, for he was sitting in a hole in the sand.She tucked the book into her knapsack, slung it over her shoulder, and walked toward their blankets. She gazed back and forth from the Fluffernutter sandwiches the woman was unpacking to the boy. He had dug such a large hole that all Nora could see of him were his eyes and a slice of his crimson head.The woman held out half a sandwich. A turquoise scarf kept her thick, curly hair back from her face. Her face was freckled, her green eyes bright; she was beautiful. Nora found herself tongue-tied. She imagined what it would be like to have such a glamorous mother."I'm Meg," the woman said. "And this is Billy." She pointed down into the hole in the sand. "Hungry?" she asked.Nora said no, shyly."Well, then, how old are you?""Twelve," Nora said, shifting her weight nervously from one foot to the other."You've got a shining brow," Meg said softly, reaching forward to push the hair from Nora's forehead. "Know what that means?"Nora shook her head."It means you're special. Meant for great things, but you know that, don't you? That's not news to you, eh?" She had a strange sort of accent.For a moment Nora was not sure if Meg had even spoken, or if she had just wished the woman would say these things to her and so imagined it. Meg continued to smile at her, and Nora knew she had heard correctly. She was flooded with confidence and hunger. She wanted more of this, of somebody listening to her so intently,awaiting her next words. She wanted to bask in this woman's presence.Meg Nolan had that effect on nearly everyone she came into contact with, so Nora's response to her was not unusual. What was unusual was her response to Nora, although she wouldn't speak of that to Nora, not yet.Meg and her husband, Satchel, grew the tastiest, most succulent produce in all of Waitsfield. Their farm stand on Curtis Corner Road was very popular. All the children who frequented Nolan Farms with their parents fell under Meg's spell. She slipped them licorice whips, homemade potato chips, cups of apple cider.The mothers of these besotted children did not always share the same sentiments about Meg, which was not surprising. They were envious. There were actually some people in Waitsfield who wished ill on Meg Nolan and her family, and this was not surprising either. It was often this way with people who were deemed too lucky or too content, people who appeared to have more than their fair share of happiness or bumper crops."Go on now, he's waiting for you," Meg said."Who's waiting?""Billy."Nora looked startled. "But how did he know I'd be here?""He didn't. He's waiting all the same," said Meg.Nora walked toward the hole. "Hey," she called down."Hey," Billy said back.Nora looked at Meg as if for permission to continue."Go ahead. There's nothing to be afraid of. Billy's a bit shier than most. He keeps to himself. He's eleven, so you're older thanhe is. Don't forget that. You must be gentle. You must guide him," said Meg. "Or maybe he'll guide you." She laughed.Meg spoke to Nora as if she were an adult. As if she was embarking upon a great journey. As if everything was fraught with significance. This was the way Nora wanted to live. She climbed into the hole with Billy."Or perhaps you'll guide each other," Meg Nolan whispered to herself.Billy nodded at Nora solemnly and moved over to make room for her. His eyes were pale green, lighter than his mother's, the color of the inside of a lime. He did not look like he needed Nora to be gentle with him. He looked as though he could take care of himself perfectly well, and this was true, up to a point. Billy Nolan was very smart and used his intellect in place of the muscles he lacked, for he was a small, skinny boy, often beat up and always the last to be chosen for a team (unless it was the math team). He scrutinized Nora, looking deeply into her eyes, appeared to make some sort of internal decision, and turned away to face the wall of sand."Do we know each other?" Nora asked. She felt confused."Nope," Billy said.Nora's heart fluttered as she sat alongside Billy. Being next to him electrified her. She had no idea why. Perhaps because he was Meg's son. She stole looks at him and saw he was nervous too. His bangs were damp with sweat.Billy barely looked like his mother at all except for the color of his hair. He was puny, much shorter than Nora, all knees and elbows and pale skin--bluish, like skim milk. He had dark circles under his eyes, and Nora could see he bit his nails. Still,...