The boat kissed the muddy shore with a gentle lurch, and Maria rubbed her
eyes, letting out a yawn so wide a butterfly might have flown in and made a
nest. She had slept wonderfully on the violet sea, where even dreams floated
like jellyfish and the sky stayed forever tinted in shades of lavender and
plum. The sun, shy and bashful, played hide-and-seek behind the clouds, while
the moon twirled proudly in the glow, enjoying her stolen time to waltz with
the waves.
"I am hungry," Maria declared, rubbing her tummy with a tiny groan.
The old, jolly sailor—bearded like a barnacle and smiling like a cracked
teapot—rowed the boat with one arm while sipping a gloppy green goo from a
bulbous bottle in the other.
"Mr. Sailor," Maria called again, louder now, "I said I'm hungry!"
The sailor flashed a grin of jagged, oyster-shell teeth but offered no
reply. He only took another long slurp from his drink and sighed contentedly.
Maria frowned and crossed her arms. Her thoughts drifted to her beloved
brown hedgehog, Hoggie, who had dashed behind the garden hedge and vanished
like a dream at dawn. She would find him—no matter what odd lands she had to
cross.
"If you don't give me something to eat," she warned, summoning the sternness
only a child could manage, "I won't have the strength to look for Hoggie. I
love him more than all my stuffed animals put together."
Still, the sailor said nothing. Instead, he began to sing:
"Michael rowed his boat ashore—like a fish,
Michael rowed his boat ashore—like a fish!"
"Have you heard this song?" he asked cheerfully.
"Oh yes," Maria said, squinting. "Except we use a different word."
The sailor raised a shaggy brow. "And why would that be?"
"Well… we say hallelujah instead," she replied.
He puffed up like a jellyfish. "Aren't they the same thing?"
"Absolutely not!" Maria protested.
"And what's the difference?" he pressed.
"Well… hallelujah means—" She paused, her cheeks warming. Truthfully, she
had no idea. It was just something grown-ups said with closed eyes and raised
hands.
"Hmph!" the sailor scoffed. "Then perhaps don't say words you don't
understand."
"But I do understand it!" Maria insisted. "I just don't know what it means."
He laughed and burst back into song. Maria clamped her hands over her ears
and hummed fiercely until the music melted into fog.
Before she could protest again, the boat bumped softly against land.
Maria hopped onto the squelchy brown shore and shook mud from the hem of her
blue linen dress. She turned to thank the sailor—but the boat, and he, were
already swallowed by mist.
She stood alone beneath a sky still stained with twilight violet. The trees
looked as if they'd been dipped in chocolate, and the breeze smelled of old
cinnamon and crinkly leaves.
"Oh, how peculiar," she whispered. "It's already fall! I must have slept
through a whole season."
With her adventurous spirit fully awake—just like her grandmother's had once
been—Maria twirled among fluttering brown butterflies.
"I never imagined there could be a world beyond our garden," she mused.
"Grandma said she found Wonderland once… and now I have my own."
At that moment, a gravel path appeared beneath her feet, as though the
ground had remembered something important.
"A gravel path!" Maria grinned. "That must mean good luck."
She marched along, humming a song about hedgehogs and teacups, when suddenly
a terrible racket tore through the air—like a hiccuping goat arguing with a
violin.
There, atop a toadstool as wide as a washtub, sat a dwarf in a crooked hat,
blasting a harmonica that shrieked rather than sang.
"Excuse me, Mr. Dwarf!" Maria called. "Have you seen my hedgehog, Hoggie?"
The dwarf played on.
"Mr. Dwarf!" she shouted. "Please stop that noise!"
At last, he froze—then burst into tears.
"Why, WHY?" he wailed.
Maria stepped back. "I'm only looking for my pet," she said gently.
"Do you even know who I am?" the dwarf demanded.
"No," Maria admitted. "I just arrived."
"And did you see what I was doing?"
"Yes," she nodded. "You were playing. Very… loudly."
He scowled. "Insulting!"
"Well," Maria said honestly, "it did sound like a door being stepped on."
The dwarf flushed crimson. "You insolent child!"
"I'm a lady!" Maria snapped. "And I play the flute very nicely!"
He resumed playing. Annoyed, Maria stomped her foot—and the mushroom beneath
him yawned and bucked him off.
"Oh dear!" she gasped. "I'm sorry, Mr. Mushroom."
The mushroom blinked. "What's all the fuss?"
"No emergency," Maria said. "Just looking for Hoggie."
"Ooooh, chestnuts!" the mushroom sighed happily.
The dwarf scowled. "Nobody cares."
Maria whirled on him. "You sat on his head and insulted him!"
The mushroom slowly sank into the ground.
"Oh no!" Maria cried.
The dwarf shrugged. "You're not supposed to tell someone not to do what
they're meant to do."
"I didn't know that," Maria said.
"Well, now you do."
Fed up, Maria marched down the path, muttering, "If Hoggie doesn't show up
soon, I might start howling myself."
And with that, she pressed onward—heart hopeful, mind swirling, shoes
crunching gravel toward whatever strange thing waited next.