Probable Impossibilities by Steven & Margaret Larson

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  The woods were quiet. I shifted the pack to keep the bottles from poking me in the back. We crept down the path and stopped behind a tree where we could see the river.

  “It’s early,” Gen whispered. “Maybe he only comes out at dusk.”

  That was fine with me. I wasn’t eager for any close encounters. “We could go back to the house…”

  “Shhh!” She pointed to the trail. Leaves rustled and a twig snapped. “Let’s check it out.”

  The camera came to life with a soft whir. With resignation I followed her down the path to my inevitable fate.

  “You’re breathing too loud,” she hissed.

  “I’m carrying three years of supplies,” I muttered.

  “Quiet.”

  Something shuffled down the path ahead of us with a faint sorrowful keening. Gen threw me a what-is-that-noise look. I shrugged.

  She raised the camera and filmed. We rounded the corner. I expected a ferocious Bigfoot, a wounded raccoon, or just a scared rabbit. Instead a woman stood outside the teepee entrance holding a bunch of broken twigs. It was Ms. Kendrick in old jeans and a faded sweatshirt.

  She looked as surprised as I felt. “If I had known a film crew was following me I would have dressed for the occasion. I hope that doesn’t pick up sound. I’m not much of a singer.”

  Gen’s fingers fumbled with the camera as she hastened to turn it off.

  Ms. Kendrick hesitated the way she did in class when someone asked a question. But what she said next made no sense.

  “The water should be hot by now. Would you care to join me for tea?”

  “We stood staring like we had just been asked the bonus question on a pop quiz. Tea? In the middle of the woods?

  She laughed as if reading my mind, and then disappeared inside. Her muffled voice called back to us. “Come into my cozy shelter.”

  The pack stuck as I tried to enter. I slipped it off and set it down inside the doorway.

  Ms. Kendrick dropped her sticks near a small pit in the center of the room where a burning wood fire gave off the faint smell of sweet apples. Flames reached through a metal grate and licked around the bottom of a small black pot. Not just any pot. A miniature cauldron with a brass handle.

  “Have a seat on the sofa.” She waved her hand at the bench.

  I looked at it with misgivings. Easing down I balanced on the edge. Gen sat down beside me. The logs creaked a bit and the cloth shifted, but it held together.

  A thin trail of smoke curled upward, escaping through the hole high above. A pale light came down through the opening and mingled with the fire's yellow glow. Ms. Kendrick bent over the crate. The flickering light cast her distorted shadow on the wall.

  It moved like a hunchback creature across the teepee’s hide. The shadow's long fingers dropped leaves into an earthenware pot and began crushing them with a pestle. The dark image moved toward the fire and poked something under the grate.

  A burst of green and yellow sparks rose. Light erupted. The shadow creature shrank, and all but disappeared.

  Gen inhaled deeply. “Scented pine cones,” she said with a happy sigh. “An enchanted fire.”

  Ms. Kendrick dropped the crushed leaves into the cauldron and snapped a mesh cover over it. She handed me a dull brown stoneware cup with a lump where the handle should have been.

  Gen’s cup was not shaped much better.

  “My attempt at pottery making,” she said. “I never advanced past cups.”

  I could see why.

  Using tongs and a hot pad she picked up the cauldron and poured the tea.

  I just held the cup. Heat crept through the stoneware and warmed my fingers as I sniffed the rising steam.

  Gen was more adventurous and took a hesitant sip.

  “Well?” Ms. Kendrick said. “What do you think of my tea?”

  Gen took another sip. “It sort of grows on you.”

  “Actually it grows on a tree not far from here.”

  “It smells like something Des would make,” I said.

  “Oh? Who is Des?” Ms. Kendrick asked.

  “My brother’s girlfriend. She’s always cooking odd…I mean strange…I mean….”

  “Exotic,” Gen finished for me.

  Ms. Kendrick smiled her teacher smile. “What makes something exotic? Often it's because it's unfamiliar. The tea is not well known, but it is native to the area.” She waved her hand to take in the clusters of roots and leaves tied to the poles supporting the teepee. “All these plants are local. The Native Americans made good use of them.”

  “But how do you keep the animals from eating your plants?” I asked.

  “Sometimes the squirrels and chipmunks are a problem,” she admitted.

  “I was thinking of larger animals.”

  “What did you have in mind? Like lions and tigers and bears?”

  “Something more…exotic,” Gen said, and pulled out her phone.

  “Something unknown,” I added.

  “Is that what you were filming? An exotic creature?”

  Gen nodded and held out the phone. I watched Ms. Kendrick as she viewed the Bigfoot video, expecting her to scoff at the idea.

  There was a hint of humor in her voice as she handed the phone back. “I’ll have to be more observant.”

  “You don’t think it’s real, do you?” Gen asked.

  Ms. Kendrick's eyes twinkled with mischief and she shrugged. “I think Bigfoot is a fascinating possibility. An improbable possibility to be sure, and not something I’d bet my reputation on. But wouldn’t it be fun to discover one?”