The Night Gardener (18 page)

“Miss Penny?” she said.

The girl spun around. The moment she saw Molly, her face went white with panic. “I—I—I didn’t mean it!” she cried, backing away from the tree.

Molly took a careful step closer. She pointed to herself in one of the drawings. “Where did you get this book?”

Penny lowered her head. “I only wanted to hear a story—and it’s your fault because you’re leaving and then I’ll have no one but Alistair!” She scuffed the floor. “It’s not fair. Everyone else uses this room, so why shouldn’t I?”

Molly knelt down in front of the girl and spoke as calmly as she could. “I swear I’m not angry. But I need you to tell me: What is this room?”

The girl sighed.
“Not for children.”
She said this as if she had been told as much many times. “Please don’t tell Mummy or Papa.”

Clearly the girl was far too frightened of punishment to give any plain answers. Still, there was one thing Molly could get from her. She held out her hand. “Give me the key,” she said.

Penny took the key from her pocket. “I was going to put it back in Mummy’s dresser—honest I was.” She handed it to Molly. Molly stared at the key. It weighed like an anchor in her palm.

Penny blinked at Molly with wide, bespectacled eyes. “Am … am I punished?”

Molly put the book in the girl’s arms. “Not this time. Just you run along.” She held out a finger. “But don’t speak of it to no one.”

Penny seemed too relieved to question the order. She sprinted out the door and down the hall without another word.

Molly was left alone in the strange room. How many times had she imagined what lay behind the green door—and now here she was. The room was small indeed, only about the size of a broom closet. But for a small, cracked window, its walls were completely bare. And then there was the tree.

Molly stared at the knothole, which seemed to stare back at her like a giant black eye. It looked like Penny had been talking into it. Molly took a step closer and pressed her hand against the cool bark around the edge. Nothing happened. She peered into the knothole. It was dark and empty and smelled like a cellar. “H-h-hullo?” she called.

The tree did not answer.

Molly stepped back, feeling a bit silly. What had she expected? As for the book with Molly’s picture—that simply had to be a coincidence. Red hair wasn’t all that uncommon, especially in storybooks.

Molly stepped back from the tree and walked to the door. She would have to return the key before Mistress Windsor noticed it was missing. She was about to step into the hall when a faint sound caught her ears—

It was a gentle lapping of waves.

Molly let go of the door handle and slowly turned around. The knothole, which moments before had been empty, was now filled with dark water. She moved closer. A few foamy drops sloshed over the edge of the knothole, wetting the floorboards at her feet. As Molly came nearer, she caught a briny odor that smelled like home. “Seawater,” she whispered.

She stared into the little pool: an ocean inside a tree. She noticed something white moving beneath the water. It floated up and bobbed quietly on the surface. It was an envelope. There was one word written across the front in elegant, water-stained script:

Molly

Molly’s heart was galloping. She furtively looked around her and then turned back to the knothole. The envelope was still there, waiting for her, calling to her. She reached out a trembling hand and pulled it from the water, which silently drained away until the knothole was
once again empty. Molly stared at the envelope in her hands—the envelope
addressed to her
. It was wet and flat and very much real. She turned it over and opened the flap. Inside was a piece of ivory paper, folded two times. A letter.

Molly unfolded it and gasped. She stared at the words written in that same familiar, cramped hand across the top of the page:

To Our Dearest Molly & Darling Kip
…

Molly clutched the paper tight, afraid to look away, afraid the words might disappear.

She knew that handwriting.

The letter was from her mother.

ip flipped his wishing button high into the air and caught it. “Can you read it again?”

“I think three times is enough,” Molly answered. “I’m already hoarser than Galileo!”

Kip grinned. Even Molly’s bad jokes couldn’t spoil his mood. He stared at the letter in his sister’s hands. It was written on heavy paper that was stained with water and salt air. It had come from the top of the world. It had come from Ma and Da.

Kip and Molly were both sitting on the roof of the stables, legs dangling from the eaves. The valley around them was painted gold by the falling sun. At first, Kip had been afraid that the letter was a trick—something his sister had written to make him feel better. But the moment he saw the writing, he knew it was real. He could not read it, of course, but he could tell a thing written by Ma’s pen just as plain as he could tell a bowl of her stew or a sock darned by her needle. The words were in watery blue ink, and they went like this:

To Our Dearest Molly & Darling Kip,

Your da and me received your letter with great joy—it surely sounds like you two have had a grand adventure! We’ve had some adventures of our own. After getting shipwrecked, Da made a tiny raft from an old rum barrel. We used an oar for a mast, and I wove a blanket of seaweed for a sail. We named her the “Kip ’n’ Molly,” and she kept us safe through still and storm till we reached the snowy north, where we met a band of Eskimo merchants in a whale-drawn skiff! The Eskimos were so pleased to find we spoke English that they invited us aboard for a steaming bowl of kraken soup, which your da and me agreed was the loveliest thing we ever did taste. We even got the recipe so’s that we can make a pot when we’re all together once more. Until that day, you remember to take good care of each other in your new home and keep out of trouble (that means you, Kip!). We’ll write again soon, so stay put no matter what.

Be good, be brave,

Ma & Da

If Kip closed his eyes, he could almost hear Ma speaking the words as she wrote them. He could picture Da standing behind her, laughing as she said the bit about getting into trouble. Kip laughed, too. He opened his eyes and let out a deep breath—a breath he had been holding on to for a very long time.

He watched as Molly carefully folded the letter and put it back inside the envelope. “When did it come?” he said. “I been watchin’ the road for weeks, but never saw any postman.”

“It’s hard to explain …” She was silent for a moment. “Let’s just say, it came by
special delivery
.”

Kip didn’t like that she was being so mysterious, but did it really matter? His parents were out there. The letter was proof. They were coming for him and Molly. He turned the wishing button over in his fingers. “Now that I know they’re all right,” he said, “I dinna think I need to stay out on the bridge so much.”

Molly smiled, mussing his hair. “I’m glad to hear it.”

But then Kip remembered something. He had been so caught up in the letter from Ma and Da that he had almost completely forgotten about the tree. “While you were doin’ chores,” he said, “I did some snoopin’ around that hole the night man was diggin’.”

“You did
what
?” The alarm was plain on Molly’s face.

“Don’t worry, I was careful.” He stared across the lawn. “I saw the tree’s roots … They were
alive
. They started movin’ right in front of my eyes. Like little black worms pushin’ through the soil. They were
so hungry, but not for water.” He showed her the red spot at the end of his finger where the roots had grabbed hold of him.

“Why, it’s only a scratch,” Molly said, hardly even looking. “You probably just nicked it on a rock.”

Kip pulled his hand back. He remembered how they had found Galileo in the woods, a black root coiled around his foot. “I dinna think there is a sourwoods,” he said. “I think there’s just that tree with its black roots creepin’ all the way to the river. I tried plantin’ some flowers right under it. They’re all dead now—I think those roots killed ’em.” He looked at her meaningfully. “Those same roots are in the house. In your room.”

“Kip, it’s
just a tree
.” Molly’s voice was sharp. “If you don’t like it, then stay away from it. Mistress Windsor told us as much when we came here.”

He sat up. “You dinna think she knows somethin’, do you?”

“Here’s what I think: if she found out you’d been sniffin’ around her tree with spades and rakes like that—you’d have a lot more than a sore finger.” She looked flustered, as if she were trying to form words that wouldn’t come together. “Just ’cause the tree’s ugly don’t make it evil,” she said.

“But it ain’t just ugly—or have you forgotten about what we saw last night?” He looked back over the ground. “Because
I
remember. I remember the wind. And the man. And the waterin’ can. And most of all, I remember you, hunched next to me, scared outta your mind. Just like I was.” Even though it wasn’t cold, Kip shivered. “The Windsors
can do as they like. But we have to get outta here—the sooner the better.”

When he said this, Molly looked away.

“We
are
leavin’, aren’t we?” he said. “We agreed to it.”

Molly stared at him for a long moment, some unknown worry playing behind her eyes. “I know what I said, but that was before this.” She held up the letter. “If we leave … we might never hear from Ma an’ Da again.”

“Of course we will,” Kip said. “We’ll just write and let ’em know where we go.”

“It don’t work that way … They might not
get
our letter. It could get lost or—who knows? Ma an’ Da said as much themselves.” She pulled the letter from the envelope and pointed to some words at the bottom.
“Stay put no matter what.”

Kip stared at the words. “I know they said that, but they didn’t know—”

“They did too know!” Molly cut him off. “Remember? We told ’em all about the night man in our first letter. They read that letter and then wrote back and told us to
stay put
, and that’s what we’ll do.”

Kip turned away, his cheeks burning. “You dinna sound like you’re asking.”

He felt a hand touch his shoulder. “Kip, I know you’re frightened. I am, too, but you have to trust me. Trust Ma an’ Da.” Molly’s voice was softer now. “The only hope we have of ever hearin’ from them again is by stayin’ right here.”