Kerensa has vanished. Whether it’s by foul play or choice is uncertain. Her friends, Sarah and Michael, begin to search and discover an underground network of people committed to sustainable economics. But this idea threatens the existing economic, religious, political and educational hierarchies. Kerensa’s connection to this network may have cost her life.
The Emerald is printing “And the Dew is Our National Treasure” in serial form, with an installment every Tuesday in the Pulse Relax section.
 
“If it were only possible,” I say, “for a person to just walk away, to just go, leaving all behind…” My words dissolve in the still air. I smile. “Sarah, I’m not mocking your beliefs; they’re just irrelevant in the hard world!”
Sarah’s finger skates circles on the black marble. I continue: “Trusting the universe is a dream a loser might have, someone who lives at the margins, someone who’s content in a cardboard box.” A Harley pulls up to the light and growls. Our glasses rattle. “Kerensa is not a loser.”
“But something else is going on here, Michael. You can try to look for her in the traditional way, and a million paths will open up, any one of which could be a shortcut. You’d have no way of knowing. You have to trust the universe.”
I shake my head; she breaks off a piece of scone and rolls it in her fingers as she speaks. “You can search systematically, Michael; go to the police, to her work, the missing person’s bureau, all her haunts. But in the end you’ll find her only if you have luck.” Sarah’s white hand slides across the marble table; her unpainted nail touches my finger. “Kerensa’s leaving is different. There’s an aura around this whole thing.”
I move my hand away. “Mysteries, Sarah? You still think there are forces at play?”
Her soft, blue eyes smile. “There are forces… .” I look away. She waits, perhaps for a stronger reaction; I give none. “Something bigger, Michael. I can feel it. Something more than a person can grasp.”
I slap my hand on the table. “This is no street waif! This is my sister. I know her. And New Age voodoo is not behind her leaving. And it won’t play a part in my finding her. I’m a doer, Sarah. I need to do.” Sarah sits back and takes her purse from her coat pocket. “Fools believe the universe will provide, because fools are lazy.” Sarah takes out an ointment and removes the cap. “If Kerensa’s gone, there’s a reason, a human reason, a logical, rational, cause-and-effect reason.”
She applies the balm to her lips with her little finger. I expect her to say: “Some of the reasons you’ll find by not looking. Some of them will come to you as if by magic.” Instead, she says: “I don’t have any money.” She looks at me, tilts her head and blinks.
“No money!” I stab my fork at her scone and hit the edge of the plate; the scone flips onto the sidewalk.
“I know I’m right about how to look,” says Sarah trying to change the subject.
“Just like you knew you had money!”
She puts on her innocent face. “When you let go, you’ll find her. She’ll be there, right beside you.”
I stand and look through pockets I know are empty. The waitress comes out the door with a tray full of
sugars and creams.
“Can you believe? I left my wallet.”
“Why must I believe?” she says. “We have a policy: The first customer of the day always gets free coffee. It’s good luck.”
I look quickly at Sarah to see if she gloats; there is hardly a smile.

Peter Wright is a printer living in Portland. He received his bachelor’s degrees from UC Berkeley, served in the U.S. Navy, worked as a stock broker and taught at Stanford University.
© Peter Wright, 2002. All rights reserved.