The Girl and the Grove

by Eric Smith

  “Well, no, but—”

  “There’s this old, historic mansion on the land,” Leila started, sighing. “It’s gorgeous, and just needs a little TLC. Just because it’s abandoned doesn’t mean it isn’t worth taking care of. There have got to be people out there that would appreciate it, if only they knew it was there.

  “And then there is this grove of trees, Jon,” Leila continued. “Oh, this grove. Once you push out past the gardens, which if they were maintained and fixed up would be gorgeous, there’s a hidden nook that is just beautiful. Old trees, ancient, thicker than anything else in that entire park. How can anyone justify cutting down what feels like an old-growth forest in the middle of a city park? It’s maddening.”

  “Look, Leila—”

  “And mice!” Leila exclaimed, pulling out anything she could that didn’t make her have to say something about the magic that was actually there. “There’s some kind of endangered field mouse out there. That should make it against the law, Jon. Never mind just saving the place because it’s beautiful.”

  Jon stared at the flier. For someone who loved to tell jokes, he was unusually quiet. His mouth was in a thin line, and he nodded slowly as Leila spoke.

  “What is it?” Leila asked. “Jon?”

  “Look, I . . .” Jon sighed. “Leila, you know I’m on a few boards around town, leftover from my law days. And one of them is the city’s Center for Horticulture, the people that are planning to build something over there. And I’m not sure how good it’s going to look if my . . .” he looked up at her and sighed. “If my daughter is out there protesting what they’re trying to do. It’d be cute, maybe, if you were, like, seven and trying to save some trees. But you’re almost an adult. And you’re on the Internet with these things and . . .”

  He buried his head in his hands.

  “I’m not going to ask you to not do it, but I need you to help me understand the why of it,” he said, slightly muffled by his hands.

  “So, if you’re on the board,” Leila started, sitting up a bit more, her mind spinning, “can you stop all this?”

  “You still haven’t given me a why,” Jon said, looking back up and staring at Leila.

  “Jon, you need to go there to understand,” Leila said, shaking her head. “The grove, oh, it’s so beautiful. And the old gardens. The ancient home. The mice! People need to know about it.”

  “Yes, but why? What’s there that’s—”

  “You don’t just throw stuff like that away because it’s been abandoned!” Leila yelled.

  “Leila,” he sighed, sounded exhausted. “This is the willow tree all over again.”

  It felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Jon said, shaking his head, his eyes gone wide.

  “No, no, you’re probably right,” Leila snapped, standing up and grabbing her backpack. “I’m just some broken girl comparing herself to other things. Oh, this house is abandoned. I’m also abandoned. I’m just like this house. Let me make things difficult for Jon. People aren’t paying attention to these mice, I’m so ignored like a small woodland creature. Oh, this tree is going to get torn down because it’s a little broken. Maybe I’ll get thrown away too. Look at how emotionally damaged I am. I’m just like this fucking tree.”

  “Leila, come on, I didn’t—”

  “No, you said it, and you’re right.” Leila swung the backpack over her shoulder. “My reasons are my own, Jon.” Leila stormed for the front door.

  “Yeah, well, your reasons aren’t going to be good enough,” Jon said, sounding a little more heated. Leila stopped and turned around.

  “Listen.” Jon stood up and pushed the chair out, the wood squeaking angrily against the floor. “If you want to save your grove and this old house, come back with something other than ideas about the place being pretty and supposedly having these endangered mice, and, Leila, I will help you. I want to. I want your causes to be mine. The amphitheater isn’t, I don’t know, evil or nefarious here. It’s being built with good intentions. It’ll bring people to the park. It’ll help the whole park system make money, which can help fund other projects. Maintaining older sections of the park, repairing historic structures, things like that. And it’s been in the works for a long time. But maybe they can build it someplace else.

  “But let me be clear on all this,” Jon said, walking towards her in the hallway. “This is going to happen. The permits are there, plans are being made. They’re going to lay the foundation in the next week or so, which means you’ve really only got days. And no one has been able to find proof those mice live there. Otherwise it wouldn’t be happening.”

  Days.

  Leila held her feet firmly to the ground, fighting the feeling that she might stumble over from the revelation. She put on a face, looked at Jon and shook her head, resisting the urge to burst into tears. Days. Days to ask questions. Days to hope that Karayea recovered from the chemical-filled spray paint. Days to get answers to her questions and save the grove, and possibly, save Philadelphia.

  “What do I need to do?” Leila asked, pushing the anger down and away.

  “You need to find something that’ll prevent them from building. If the fact that it’s a historic landmark didn’t help, then it needs to be something else. Something bigger than that.”

  “Landon, this park ranger I met over there,” Leila said. “He’s the one who knows about the endangered mice. I can bring him in, he can talk to your board or however all that works. It’s illegal to take away the habitat of an endangered species, everyone knows that.”

  “See, that’s your angle.” Jon nodded, his eyes widening. “But you need to get proof of these critters. They haven’t found those mice, Leila. If you did, somehow, that could stop, or least put off the building and construction. They will have to investigate it.”

  “Got it,” Leila said, nodding.

  “If I wasn’t on their board, I’d write about this myself, or tip someone off.” Jon sighed. “But I could lose my job with the papers, the magazines. It’s a big conflict of interest. I can at least point you in the right direction, though, and voice my concerns to the staff at the Center for Horticulture.”

  A bit of silence hung in the air between the two of them as Leila looked at Jon and the front door, awkwardly wanting to leave while wanting to make up.

  “Jon, look, I’m—” she started.

  “Don’t,” Jon said, shaking his head and holding a hand up. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I want to help. I’m just frustrated, is all. Walking on eggshells around these things is difficult.”

  “Fair enough,” Leila smiled.

  “Go save the world,” Jon said, waving Leila off. “Or at least part of it.”

  Leila opened the front door. The trees that lined the street were a shade of deep red, and patches of the grass that had pushed its way up through the sidewalk cracks had already started to brown.

  Save the world?

  He had no idea.

  LEILA: Hey, so, you know my father, Jon?

  LEILA: He knows some of the people involved in the park situation.

  LEILA: And your bird place!

  LEILA: He can help but we need to get all this evidence.

  LEILA: I’m basically talking to myself right now aren’t I?

  LANDON: . . .

  LEILA: I can see you debating on typing something.

  LEILA: I see the dots!

  LEILA: I know you want to say hi to me. I’m cute.

  LEILA: Landon.

  LEILA: Fine.

  XIX

  “Really? Nothing?” Sarika asked, as she polished one of the wooden tables in Adam’s. She looked up at Leila and tossed the rag. “Sorry, can’t help myself. I’m not even on the clock right now.”

  “It’s fine. And yeah, I don’t get
it,” Leila said. “After all we went through with the grove and the dryads. We had some real moments, you know? He’s skipping the protest and won’t return any of my texts.”

  “You could always fall back on Shawn, if you know what I mean,” Sarika said with a grin. Leila snatched up the table rag and threw it at her. “Oh, gross!”

  “That’s what you get,” Leila said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve got all the fliers hung up here and in the local shops, and I told the rest of the group about what Jon said. It’s just going to be hard to find these mice without Landon, you know? I mean, how do you find an endangered mouse? It couldn’t have been an endangered squirrel? A sparrow?”

  “An endangered mole, perhaps?” Sarika continued, sitting down at the table “Maybe an ant? How about a salamander?”

  “Psh, at least those we can maybe find under rocks and logs.” Leila sighed.

  “Whatever,” Sarika said, standing up. “Let’s just go make him help us.”

  “Come on, we can’t—”

  “He’s not supposed to have that owl as, like, a pet, right?” Sarika asked, her hands on her hips. “I say we head over to where he’s interning, and tell him if he doesn’t help us dig around in the grove, we’ll report it.”

  “What! No way. I’m fine with just talking to him, but I’m not gonna threaten his owl. Not Milford. That’s messed up.”

  “Hey, ends justifying the means and all that stuff, right?” Sarika shrugged. “What’s more important? His feelings and a one-winged bird, or learning the history of your family, rescuing your apparent mother, and saving a patch of woods that supposedly helps sustain the entire city of millions of people?”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “But it kinda is.”

  “But it isn’t.”

  “But it is.”

  Leila sighed and shook her head, pulling her phone out. She turned the screen on, stared at the last few texts with Landon, and immediately put it back in her pocket.

  “We go, but only to talk to him,” Leila said. “No threats like that unless . . . we have to, okay?”

  “Deal,” Sarika said, nodding. She grabbed her satchel off the table and swung it around her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  THREAD: PROTESTING IN FAIRMOUNT PARK (UPDATE)

  SUBFORUM: PHILADELPHIA

  PROTESTING IN FAIRMOUNT PARK (UPDATE)

  Posted by A Dash of Paprika

  AUGUST 26th, 2017 | 10:02AM

  Hey everyone! So far we’ve got an absolute legion of you on board for the big protest, and we couldn’t be happier.

  But! We’re adjusting the message a little bit.

  Turns out protesting the fact that they want to tear down something that’s gorgeous and beautiful isn’t quite enough, nor do they care about the history. But they are going to care about the endangered animals in the park.

  Supposedly there’s a critically endangered field mouse living in that area. We’re going to head out to collect evidence and will circle back. If anyone wants to support or help out with that, give a shout, please!

  RE: PROTESTING IN FAIRMOUNT PARK (UPDATE)

  Posted by WithouttheY

  AUGUST 26th, 2017 | 10:09AM

  You are too good for this world. Too pure.

  RE: PROTESTING IN FAIRMOUNT PARK (UPDATE)

  Posted by LeRandelle

  AUGUST 27th, 2016 | 10:17AM

  What kind of mouse, specifically? I might know someone at one of the local museums who is obsessed with small mammals. It’s weird. But I guess that’s her job.

  RE: PROTESTING IN FAIRMOUNT PARK (UPDATE)

  Posted by WithouttheY

  AUGUST 27th, 2016 | 10:39AM

  Southeastern Pennsylvania common field mouse, I believe. The common in the title is pretty unfortunate, considering they really aren’t common anymore.

  RE: PROTESTING IN FAIRMOUNT PARK (UPDATE)

  Posted by LeRandelle

  AUGUST 27th, 2016 | 11:09AM

  Got it, I’ll have her look into it and send you a DM.

  XX

  “Hello?” Leila poked around one of the massive bird habitats inside the Raptor Trust, looking for anyone working at the place. “Sarika, you see anything?”

  “No!” Sarika shouted from somewhere unseen. “It’s creepy, can we get outta here? Look at all the trees.”

  “Yeah, sure, in a minute,” Leila said. Sarika was right. It was creepy. All around the Trust the trees had shed their leaves unnaturally fast, and leaves that had turned brown and crunchy far too quickly covered the ground.

  What the dryads had said was happening. Whatever was in that spray paint had hurt them, and they needed to find Landon, fast.

  Leila walked around the edge of the large cage in the Trust. Just a little over a week ago, a large golden-tailed eagle had sat inside the enclosure, its proud face looking about quickly and curiously, taking in everything with its sharp, wide eyes. And now? Empty, as though nothing had ever been inside in the first place. Even the water and feeders were gone. Just that large branch remained, wrapped with the same bright-yellow tape she’d spotted outside the grove and around the building.

  The yellow tape was everywhere, marking the large, central building and circling the smaller enclosures. Bright red Xs marked some of the trees that surrounded the buildings, but only a handful of them. Who selected what trees were to be torn down, and what could remain?

  “Landon!” Leila yelled, walking past the large enclosure toward the open fields nearby where she knew he sometimes flew Milford. “Landon, come on, if you’re here we need you. I, uh, I need you.”

  “I heard that!” Sarika shouted, laughing.

  Leila shook her head and kept walking toward the trees that bordered the field a little beyond the Trust. A handful of these, too, were marked with Xs, and yellow tape surrounded the small shed near the path that led towards the field where Landon had fished out her jacket. The trees were shedding their leaves, and the field was pocketed with brown patches of dead grass. Leila walked towards the shed. The door was slightly ajar, and a padlock hung from an open latch.

  She opened it up.

  Inside, a pile of leather-working tools sat scattered all over a small table, and scraps of fabric hung all over the floor and coated the walls. Scissors, needles, thread, pieces of metal and odd baubles and hinges sat everywhere: in baskets, in jars, on the ground. It looked like the lab of some kind of steampunk mad scientist from one of those fantasy novels full of brass and clocks that Sarika devoured back in the group home, with titles like Updraft or Timekeeper.

  She picked up an object made of black leather and metal spokes, with little hinges connecting them and long pieces of thread dangling from it. She opened and closed it. The device flexed and moved.

  It was a wing.

  Landon didn’t just store warm jackets in here. This was where he worked on his odd creations for Milford. She put the wing down and hurried out the door, shutting it behind her and looping the open padlock through the handle. She left it unlocked, but the latch would stop the door from swinging.

  She kept walking towards the field Landon had used to help Milford fly, pushing her way down the narrow trail that led to the open expanse of grass. Here, too, more trees had been marked. Shrubs and brush had already been cut away to widen the path leading from the field to the Trust, no doubt to make room for whatever vehicles or tools would need to come through. Long patches of grass were marked with blasts of white paint, and Leila wondered what was going to go there. Roads? A parking lot? The building?

  Leila stopped. She heard . . . something.

  She listened.

  A voice, whispering on the wind. She closed her eyes, giving it her full attention.

  Hello daughter.

  “Karayea,” Leila said softly, her eyes shut, the breeze rustling about her and tickling her
ears and neck. “We’re trying to find a way to help—”

  You may be too late, my sapling.

  Leila’s heart raced.

  “Is someone there? Who is there?”

  Someone was. They have rained their waters upon on our soil. It hurts. The land suffers with us.

  “Rain? I don’t understand—”

  The boy and the bird. He will know.

  “Karayea,” Leila shook her head, and opened her eyes, trying not to feel silly as she spoke to nothing in front of her. “Are there mice in the grove near you?”

  All creatures are welcome in our branches, the shelled and the furred—

  “Right, but specifically, small, brown mice?”

  Yes.

  “Are they endangered? At risk or anything?”

  I’m afraid I do not understand.

  Leila growled with frustration. Concepts like animals being endangered, at risk or under conservation and protection, of course those were foreign to Karayea and the other dryads. Why wouldn’t they be? But she was right about the boy with the bird. If anyone would know, Landon certainly would. He did know. He’d said as much.

  “Hang in there,” Leila said, speaking into the wind. “We’re coming. I’ve got a plan.”

  Do try, and do hurry. But if you don’t make it—

  “Karayea, don’t—”

  If you don’t make it, know that I am proud of how you’ve grown and what you’ve become. How you have bloomed. My sapling.

  Tears started to well in Leila’s eyes.

  I love you, my daughter.

  With a cold gust of wind, Karayea’s voice and the presence that Leila felt around her whooshed away, leaving Leila feeling chilled, her eyes wet with tears. Those were the words she’d wanted to hear her entire life.

  She shook her head and pushed into the fields just ahead. As they came into view through the clearing at the end of the path, the green muddled with bits of brown, she spotted a backpack sitting near the entrance and a figure kneeling down in the grass, fussing over something. She squinted as the figure looked up from whatever it was doing.

  It was Landon.