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“You do! I’m certain that you do. I don’t know why yet, but I’m sure you belong with me. With us, I mean.” A scarlet blush creeps into her cheeks.

“I’d like to, I would. I just … ” Bailey looks around at the sheep, at the house and the barn up on the hill lined with apple trees. It would either solve the argument of Harvard versus farm or make it much, much worse. “I can’t just leave,” he says, though it is not, he thinks, exactly what he means.

“I know,” Poppet says. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask you to. But I think … No, I don’t think, I know. I know that if you don’t come with us we won’t be back.”

“Won’t be back here? Why?”

“Won’t be back anywhere,” Poppet says. She raises her eyes to the sky again, scowling at it before she turns back to Bailey. “If you don’t come with us, there won’t be any more circus. And don’t ask me why, they don’t tell me why.” She gestures at the sky, at the stars beyond the clouds. “They just say that in order for there to be a circus in the future, you need to be there. You, Bailey. You and me and Widge. I don’t know why it’s important that it’s all three of us, but it is. If not, it will just crumble. It’s already starting.”

“What do you mean? The circus is fine.”

“I’m not sure it’s anything that’s really noticeable from the outside. It’s … If one of your sheep was sick, would I notice?”

“Probably not,” Bailey says.

“But you would?” Poppet asks.

Bailey nods.

“That’s how it is with the circus. I know how it’s supposed to feel and it doesn’t feel like that right now and it hasn’t for a while. I can tell something’s wrong and I can feel it crumbling like cake that doesn’t have enough icing to hold it together but I don’t know what it is. Does that make any sense?”

Bailey only stares at her, and she sighs before she continues.

“Remember the night we were in the Labyrinth? When we got stuck in the birdcage room?”

Bailey nods.

“I’ve never been stuck anywhere in the Labyrinth before. Never. If we can’t find our way out of a room or a hall I can focus and I can feel where the doors are. I can tell what’s behind them. I try not to do it because it’s not any fun that way, but that night I did when we couldn’t figure it out and it didn’t work. It’s starting to feel unfamiliar and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“But how can I do anything to help?” Bailey asks.

“You’re the one who finally found the key, remember?” Poppet says. “I keep looking for answers, for the right thing to do, and nothing’s been clear except for you. I know it’s too much to ask to have you leave your home and your family, but the circus is my home and my family and I can’t lose them. Not if there’s something I can do to prevent it. I’m sorry.”

She sits on the rock wall, facing away from him. Bailey sits next to her, still facing the field and the incorrigible sheep. They sit in silence for a while. The sheep wander in lazy circles, nibbling on the grass.

“Do you like it here, Bailey?” Poppet asks, looking out over the farm.

“Not particularly,” Bailey says.

“Have you ever wished for someone to come and take you away?”

“Did Widge tell you that?” Bailey asks, wondering if the thought is so strong that it sits on him, evident and readable.

“No,” Poppet says. “It was a guess. But Widge did ask me to give you this.” She pulls a tiny glass bottle from her pocket and hands it to him.

Bailey knows that though the bottle appears empty it is likely not, and he is too curious not to open it immediately. He pulls out the minuscule stopper, relieved that it remains attached to the bottle with a curl of wire.

The sensation inside is so familiar, so comforting and recognizable and real that Bailey can feel the roughness of the bark, the smell of the acorns, even the chattering of the squirrels.

“He wanted you to be able to keep your tree with you,” Poppet says. “If you decide to come with us.”

Bailey replaces the stopper in the bottle. Neither of them speaks for some time. The breeze tugs at Poppet’s hair.

“How long do I have to think about it?”