All of them were made from large, sharp, single diamonds, and each gemstone had been formed from the tears of someone Jack had loved. There were several similar daggers in this secret cabinet. He turned back to a cabinet, well hidden, where he kept his daggers. The inky stain of Pitch’s blood had discolored it and was, Jack knew, the source of the pain, for it only twinged when Pitch or his forces posed a threat. He looked at his palm, at the curious scar etched across it. He grabbed his staff, Twiner, and prepared to leave, but then paused as another even sharper pain seared through his hand. Go lay an egg, General Rabbit Bunny, North would retort, and they would begin to amiably argue. The word, my dear North, is “pleases,” E.
Jack Frost! The fair-weather Guardian! North would playfully gripe. North would already be grumping about his being late. Jack was readying to meet up with the other Guardians when he felt the dull, worrying ache in his left hand. This tree, like all the tree-houses Jack called home, was a handsome, comfortable clutter of the region’s history. The jacket that George Washington had worn the night he crossed the Delaware was hanging on a hat rack that had belonged to Teddy Roosevelt. There was a tomahawk from a chief of the Algonquians. The inside of Jack’s tree contained more than a dozen rooms within its majestic hollow, and the furnishings were a mix of pieces from several centuries: spears, shields, stools, and pottery from the various tribes of the Iroquois, along with colonial tables and ornate chairs and couches brought over from Europe. Jack, however, could feel the thrum of excitement from the children. People had finished shopping and were heading to their apartments and penthouses and homes. It muffled the sounds of the city, though New York was already quieting down. It was a sapling when the city was still called New Amsterdam and there were more Native Americans than settlers living in the swampy forests of Manhattan Island.īy this Christmas Eve 1933, millions of people lived within shouting distance of this noble oak, but its secrets were still more absolute than they had been when flintlocks or bows and arrows were the order of the day.Ī heavy snow was falling over all of the East. This tree was much older than the park it stood in and was even older than the city of New York itself. A thousand people, maybe more, walked past it daily and had done so for many years, but not one of them knew that Jackson Overland Frost was very often living inside it. Jack’s tree was the oldest in Central Park. And for the last few decades or so, he had spent that day in his favorite place: his tree.
The Pause that Thickens (the Plot, that Is)ĬHRISTMAS EVE WAS JACK’S favorite day of the year. In Which We Get to the Root of the Matter
The Greatest Library the World Has Never Known What’s Good for the Goose Is Grand for the Ganderly
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