The witch moved back from the light. In the shadows, she pressed her fingers to her temples. “How to explain it?” Her voice seemed to have grown softer, farther away, but it was heavier too, weighed down. “All around us are miracles. Most are marvelous and wonderful and bright and so clearly seen. But not all. Because there can be miracles even in the midst of unfathomable sadness and anger, even in the depths of grief and confusion. And these, these are the hidden ones, the ones we must search for.”

“The minister isn’t searching for miracles,” Wunder told her. “Neither is Eugenia Simone. And neither is my mother.”

“Maybe they weren’t,” the witch said. “But after talking to you, they may feel differently. A long-loved wife recovering from an illness, even if only for a short time; a family saved from a fire; two tiny babies coming into this world to stay: You reminded so many in this town of their miracles, bright and shining. And you have also begun to show them the hidden miracles, the ones that are so hard to see, the ones that are so often forgotten: the never-ending memory of a cherished one; the hands of friends, new and old, reaching out to hold you up; the love you give, the love you receive, even when that love comes from someone you cannot see or hear. Wunder, even in death there are miracles, for the living and for the dead.”

“Then why did you want the DoorWay Tree?” Wunder demanded. “You said the town needed it. You said the dead needed it. If death is so miraculous, why does anyone need help? Why do you need help?”

The witch smiled her sad, sad smile. “Because sometimes all that we can understand isn’t enough. It is easy to see the beautiful in happy times. It is easy to reach for one another in the brightness. But so many things get lost, lost in time, lost in the dark spaces between sorrows. That’s what the DoorWay Tree is for, what it has always been for. The roots of the tree reach deep down into the earth, and the branches of the tree reach high up into the sky. The tree is a way to bring the hidden miracles into the light, to connect us, to show us what has been there all along.”

Wunder shook his head. “It’s just a tree,” he said. “Nothing more. What can a tree do?”

“All that it was meant to do,” the witch said. “The dead are not gone, Wunder. The living are not alone. This world is not all there is. There is more, yes, yes, yes, there is more. But sometimes we need help to see these mysteries, to reach beyond our sorrow, beyond time, beyond death. Just as a tiny hand reached out to you, reached out and held on so tight.”

When the witch said this, Wunder felt as if there was a pressure on his pointer finger. He looked down, sure he would find four small fingers and a thumb wrapped around it.