Birdie's Book Read online

Page 11


  I freed my frozen feet, jumped up, and looked around. The waterfall bared its frozen fangs, and the evergreens were frosted white. The sky was gray. It looked like a nice New Year’s Eve snow was on the way.

  I shivered. My braces were positively freezing. I clenched my hands in the cold and remembered everything as my right fist closed on the Singing Stone. I opened my hand and looked at it.

  It was the whole stone, healed, with every tiny etched detail in place—every branch of the tree and the walled maze perfectly drawn, not a line missing! I did a little dance of joy, right there, and nearly slid down the hill.

  “The Singing Stone!” I shouted to the frozen waterfall, to the trees, to the boulders, to the snow-laden clouds. I tucked the stone deep into the pocket of my jeans and gave a quick glance around, just in case there was a shimmering tail or a girl with an orange stick hiding someplace in the frosty area. A winter sparrow darted out of a tree, startling me for a moment. Then I smiled as it flew off into the sky.

  I thought of shimmying down the ice-glazed boulders, but instead, I ran, jumping from boulder to boulder. I had to get to the Glimmer Tree! I felt like a gazelle, leaping in a graceful streak toward the evergreens. Well, not quite a gazelle, I realized, laughing out loud when I slipped and slid on my bottom, ba-BUM, down three boulders (ouch!) and landed at the snowy base of an evergreen.

  I planted a big kiss on the evergreen’s trunk.

  Then I was up, brushing snow off my seat, and running again. I raced through the willows, along the ravine, and tromped like Mo right across the bridge. I rounded each corner and switchback of the maze, excited, leaping over icy patches on the ground.

  There she stood, at the center, in all her golden brown majesty.

  “Ms. Quercus! Quercus Robur!” I whispered. I held up the Singing Stone to show her. (You never know what the Glimmer Tree might be able to see or sense!) I’m pretty sure that I heard a soft sigh of relief coming from deep within the tree.

  I reached my arms around her trunk, hugging her tight. I was so grateful for the Glimmer Tree, so grateful for my frightening and magical and wonderful trip to Aventurine. So amazed that I—plain old Birdie Bright—was going to be a fairy godmother, and that I was from a whole line of fairy godmothers!

  I walked to the side of the tree that was rotting and felt for the soft spot. I felt up and down and around and around where it had been. It was gone, all of it. The Glimmer Tree was healed!

  I closed my eyes as I laid my cheek against the tree’s beautiful, rugged bark where the rotting part had been. I felt tears begin to rise in me, from my heart up through my veins, and I wasn’t sure why. Just then, a blob of snow fell on my nose.

  I looked up into the tree. “Willowby!” I exclaimed.

  “Mrrrrow,” said Willowby in a friendly way. He crouched as if he were going to jump, and I held out my arms, wondering if I could catch him. Then he seemed to change his mind (I must have looked worried) and shimmied down the trunk instead. On the ground, he purred at me and wound about my legs the way cats do when they feel like they own you.

  “Thank you, Willowby,” I said in a proper voice. “Come on, let’s go home now.”

  I stopped all along the way, checking out the plants. I swear I could see spring beneath the winter snow! Where Mo had pointed out summer squash and Fourth of July cucumbers, I saw them in my mind and couldn’t wait to come back in the summer when they’d really be there. We passed the Christmas roses (Helleborus niger), and I thought of the girl whose tears had made white flowers sprout. There were the rose hips that looked like orange and red Christmas ornaments against the deep evergreen.

  How lucky that I could have all of this whenever I visited! Mo was so close now, just a train ride away. Suddenly I realized this was even better than Califa! I had Mo’s garden and my own garden of Aventurine now. Plus, I had Mo!

  As we got to the back porch, I stopped and made a U-turn. “Wait a sec,” I told Willowby. “Let’s go see if Granny Mo is still in the greenhouse.”

  Willowby had clearly had enough, because he dashed through his cat door on the porch.

  Me? I raced back to the Victorian greenhouse.

  “Mo! Mo?” I called as I walked through the steamy double doors into the stillness.

  She wasn’t there, but Belle was, sitting on the table beside the baby tea plants. She looked so beautiful! Granny Mo had transplanted her into a solid terra-cotta pot. My daisy now had two brand-new blooms, just like that, plus four little buds on the way! I picked her up and hummed “The Green Song” to her.

  Everything in the greenhouse was blooming like nobody’s business, as if spring had come early. Buds opened, tiny and soft baby pink, ready to burst into small hot-pink blossoms with deep-red centers any day now.

  “Phlox paniculata, the bright-eyed garden phlox,” I said out loud.

  And suddenly, there in the stillness, I knew. I knew something had happened, something magical and real at the same time. And it was because of me.

  I drifted into Mo’s little alcove. There, on the table beside the comfy chair, was a piece of paper. I thought at first that it was a journal page from The Book of Dreams. I picked it up. It was a printout of an e-mail.

  I know you’re not supposed to read other people’s letters, but I couldn’t help myself. I swear the letter jumped into my hand!

  Dear MoMo,

  I have been thinking about the terrible argument we had on my fourteenth birthday. I was so mad that I wanted to run away, but instead, I took the thing that I knew you cherished most—the Singing Stone—and that night I dreamed myself to Aventurine.

  When I got to the place where the Agminium grow, I threw the Singing Stone at the rocks as hard as I could. It broke into two pieces; one fell between the rocks, and the other fell into the water. The wind died down, clouds gathered over the sun, and the humming sounds of nature stopped as if they’d been turned off.

  My remorse was immediate. My shame was complete. At that moment I changed my mind, but all I could do was to save the half of the stone nearest me as I felt myself disappearing from Aventurine.

  I felt emptiness, loss, and I wanted to take back what I had done. But it was too late. I could tell that I would not be able to go back again.

  I know that in many ways it is too late now. But, MoMo, I want to try and make it better. Not just for me, but for Birdie and you and Michael. I am glad that Birdie is there.

  I’m coming home, too.

  Love,

  Emma

  I sat staring at that letter for a long time, reading it over and over. In one way, I was furious, but the more I read my mother’s words, the more my anger turned to sadness.

  My mother had given up her place in the great Arbor Lineage adventure. She had made her decision. My mother would never be a fairy godmother, would never have the magic that I could feel inside me now.

  I slowly got up and went to the table to pick up Belle. I tucked her inside Mo’s green coat and made my way slowly through the snowy garden toward Mo’s house—where Mo must have been all along.

  I stepped inside the kitchen to find Mother and Mo sitting at the kitchen table. I was so surprised that I nearly dropped Belle. They didn’t even notice the blast of cold air, because my mom was crying. I couldn’t remember ever seeing my mother cry before, and it shook me up.

  “What’s wrong?” I cried.

  “Oh, Birdie!” my mother said. She stood up and wrapped her arms around me. I could feel her sobs even through the green coat.

  “Is Dad okay?” I asked into her shoulder—it was the only reason I could think of for her crying.

  Mom held me away from her and looked me right in the eye. She shook her head and made a little sniffly-giggly sound. “Everyone’s okay,” she said. “Everyone’s okay. I love you, Birdie, my sweet pea.”

  Hearing her call me sweet pea made me cry—she hadn’t called me that since I couldn’t even remember!

  Mo got up and put her arms around both of us, and we all
sniffled away for a little while.

  It felt so good.

  “Well,” said Mo finally, pulling back. “Isn’t this grand! Now that Birdie’s here, I’ll put some more water on to boil.”

  That gave my mom a chance to pull herself together and me a chance to take off my boots and jacket and find a spot for Belle on the windowsill.

  “Go on, Emma,” said Mo to my mom. “Finish what you were saying earlier. Then we’ll hear what Birdie’s been up to.” Mo winked at me.

  “Do you want to hear this, too, Birdie?” Mom asked.

  I nodded vigorously.

  “Well, as I was telling MoMo, I don’t know when I stopped believing. Believing, well, what we believe in this family,” my mom said. “I got so far off my path, working for that company that cuts down so many forests to make paper. I pushed hard for them to initiate a reforestation plan, but I just kept getting the runaround.”

  “We all make mistakes, sweetie,” Mo told her. “That’s how we learn, right? Never too late to fix things.”

  “Hey, Mom?” I asked. “Why aren’t you in England?”

  “I thought it would be nice for me to spend New Year’s Eve here,” she said, very softly. “With you and your grandmother. And it is nice. I am actually happy. Though I wish your dad were here now. He’s probably terrified as to what we’re all up to.” She laughed and hiccupped. “But he is coming, Birdie, on the train tonight.”

  I stared at her. My mom’s auburn hair hung around her forehead and cheeks in perfect wavy tendrils; her earrings were the expensive crystal pair from Prague. But her eyes didn’t look so perfect. Traces of mascara were smudged along her bottom lids, and the whites of her eyes were red from crying.

  “Wow” was all I could say now.

  I looked closer. With my new kind of spring-seeing, I could see that my mom really was happy, like when tears have washed away a lot of sadness.

  “So your mom is quitting her job,” Mo announced, bringing us all cups of tea.

  “Huh?” I said. “What? When?” How could that have happened while I was dreaming?

  “Soon,” my mom answered. “As soon as I find an environmentally responsible company to work for. I was just telling your grandmother … on the ride here, I had a hit of sudden clarity. I had gotten so far removed from who I really am … from who we really are, we Arbor Lineage women…” She shook her head. “Anyway, I made a lot of mistakes, and things are going to change.”

  “They already have,” said Mo.

  We all sat there at the kitchen table, not needing to say a word. It was a warm, comfortable silence. I think we were each trying to comprehend what had happened.

  Then Mo, who can never stay still for very long, jumped up from the table and went to fill the red kettle with water. “More tea?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Mom and I said together.

  Mom is another one who needs to be busy. I noticed she was quietly wiping the tabletop until every spot was gone. Some things never change.

  I wanted to tell them about Aventurine. But there was so much to tell. I got up and walked over to the eyeglass window. I peered out through the pink octagon-shaped lenses at the snow. Maybe everything was rose-colored, I thought. And maybe I didn’t have to share every detail. Maybe even if I’d been on an Arbor family quest, some special magic in the world was just for me.

  Instead of talking, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Singing Stone. I raised it to my lips. Just as I began to play, the teakettle started whistling. But the song of the stone was louder and brighter. It completely drowned out the whistling with its melody even before Mo took the teakettle off the burner.

  Mo and Mom turned. Their eyes were huge, and they both had big smiles on their faces.

  “I knew it! I knew it!” shouted Mo as she turned off the stove. “Let me see it. Let me see that Singing Stone!” Mo raced over and took the stone into her hands and held it like a baby bird in a nest.

  “Oh, Birdie, I’m so proud of you!” my mom said then, coming over to wrap me in her arms. Her embrace felt as warm as Dad’s hugs, as comforting as I remembered her hugs being when I was little. Did I actually have two parents now, two real parents? I wanted to just stay there, having my mom hold me, for the longest time.

  Mo was still shaking her head in amazement, holding the stone. When she passed it back to me, there were tears in her eyes.

  “Come on, let’s move in by the fire,” she said.

  “Better yet,” Mom piped up, “can the tea wait a few minutes? Before it gets too dark, let’s the three of us go for a walk under the moosewood trees!”

  “Grand idea!” Mo exclaimed.

  “Grand idea!” I agreed, teasing Mo by mimicking her voice as I said it.

  “Oh, and who’s so smart now that she’s been to Aventurine?” Mo teased back, raising her eyebrows. “We’ll never hear the end of how she saved the family talisman!” Then she leaned over and kissed me gently on the cheek. She quickly pulled away to get her coat, because I knew she didn’t want me to see the tears in her eyes.

  We bundled up and headed out the front door. The acers that grew right through the front porch were all decorated with silvery stars.

  “We’re having a New Year’s Eve celebration tonight!” said Mo, walking down the steps between the starry sugar maples. “Thought I’d decorate a bit.”

  “What? A party?” I asked. What exactly had happened while I was off dreaming in Aventurine? Then a thought hit me.

  “Are we telling Dad about the Singing Stone?” I asked.

  Mom, Granny Mo, and I looked at each other.

  “No,” we all said at once.

  Then Mom added, “We can talk about it, though. Maybe there’s a way to tell him. Usually the men in the family are left out. Maybe they should know, even if they can’t actually be a part of it—fairy godmothers could probably use some understanding support, wouldn’t you say, MoMo?”

  Mo nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll see.”

  Now we were on the driveway that was lined with the striped maples (Acer pennsylvanicum) that looked like majestic sentries. I remembered Mo saying that this had been Emma’s “moose walk” when she was little.

  “And, of course, Hank is joining us tonight,” added Mo. “And I’ll be playing a little music.”

  I smiled but didn’t say a word, since we were standing beneath the trees. Mom had started spinning around, her arms outstretched. I started spinning, too. And pretty soon, there were three of us, spinning around like dizzy, magical moose wings.

  When Mom and Granny Mo headed back, I decided to stay a few more minutes. I wanted a moment to myself before all the New Year celebrating started. As they were walking away, their voices carried.

  “What is life without family?” I heard my mom saying. “And what is life without green magic? About time I figured that out, huh?”

  “Aren’t you proud?” asked Granny Mo. “Aren’t you proud of your Birdie?”

  “I am proud,” said my mom. “Very, very proud.”

  I took the Singing Stone from my pocket and stood there, holding it in my hand. The air shimmered as snow began to fall. And for a moment, just a moment, I was sure I saw a flower petal or two falling among those snowflakes, floating and waltzing around me.

  On the morning of my first day at the Girls’ International School of Manhattan, my mom was waiting for me in the kitchen with a cup of Granny Mo’s gumbo-limbo tea and a bowl of cereal. She’d be taking me to school before she went to work at her new job in her new Manhattan office. She looked perfect, going off to help save threatened forest ecosystems. She’d still be traveling now and then, but I could tell it would feel different. Her sense of purpose matched her job, she told me, and it showed.

  I had lately decided she was a Potentilla reptans, a creeping cinquefoil. Mo told me the Irish name for it is Cúig Mhéar Mhuire. It has beautiful yellow flowers and can grow practically anywhere—roadsides, wasteland—beautiful and strong as steel.

  My school un
iform was a fashion failure compared to my mom’s elegant suit or the fairy clothes of my first trip to Aventurine. Still, it was classic: a navy blue skirt with dark leggings and thick-soled boots. I’d accessorized as best I could with the green peacoat and twelve-foot-long striped scarf that Mo had given me.

  Mom and I walked from our apartment through the park across the street to get to my school. I had to admit that the little park had seemed dead and gray when I’d first arrived in New York City. But I had a different viewpoint now. Plus, Dad told me that sometimes in January there would be a quick thaw for a day or two in New York. And guess what? Today was the day. It was still chilly, but a springy chilly, not a wintry chilly. The sky was robin’s-egg blue, patches of grass peeked out from the snow, and a few persevering leaves still dangled from the tree branches.

  People bustled around us as Mom and I walked silently, playing our old game—the listening game. We tried to hear the wind blow and the birds sing over the sound of cars and voices.

  We soon saw a sea of girls in navy blue uniforms, wrapped in coats and scarves and jackets, gathering on steps and around the buses. So we were there. Some of the girls glanced or waved at the boys who were congregating across the street and down two buildings at the Boys’ International School.

  I was a little nervous, which was weird, considering all I’d been through so recently. But this was the real world, and I was glad when my mom kissed me at the school steps and promised to come pick me up at four o’clock so we could talk about my day over a cup of cocoa.

  As I entered the magnificent old marble-floored hallway, I passed a shelf with potted plants, terrariums, dried seedpods, and framed botanical drawings leaning against the wall. A poster hanging above said OUR GREEN EARTH. I stopped to check it out. Right below was a sign-up list for students interested in forming a green squad to help out the local environment. I picked up the pen and wrote my name first on the list.