Page 48 of Her Wicker Guardian

Rachel looks at me. “See? I told you. She’s an organizer.”

“I heard that,” Shannon says as she crosses the yard and holds out the rolled papers.

Rachel takes them. “What is it?”

“From the Harvest Festival committee.”

Rachel stares at her long enough that Shannon’s expression changes.

Then Rachel’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

“Yes. We don’t even have two weeks to build another one.”

Oh shit. I know that phrase now. I still do not know exactly what it means, but it usually appears when something has just become more difficult.

Rachel unrolls the paper across the folding table. A drawing of a large bear fills most of the page.

I move closer.

It stands upright on its hind legs, front paws raised, taller than Rachel. The weight runs down through the wide hips and legs, and the shoulders are built to hold the raised forelegs without pulling the body out of shape.

I look at Rachel. She has the same resigned expression she gets when something around the cottage needs fixing.

“This will fall,” I say.

“What?”

I point to the shoulder joint. “Here.”

Shannon makes a sound behind her hand, and Rachel gives her a warning look before turning back to me. “You think the shoulder won’t hold?”

“The shoulders.”

“Both?”

I point to the drawing again. “Too much weight.”

Shannon sets the iPad beside the paper and brings up a picture of another wicker bear. “The festival still needs one of these.”

Rachel looks at the screen. “And the one we made is currently standing here talking to us.”

I study the bear. The crossings make sense immediately. Some hold the weight. Some shape the body. Others only make it look like fur and muscle. I can see where the willow needs to bend and where it needs to hold.

“I can make this.”

Rachel turns toward me. “What?”

I touch the picture. “Bear. I can make.”

Shannon looks at Rachel, then back at me.

“You can make a bear?” Rachel asks.

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

I do not know how to explain something that becomes clear as soon as I see it.