Molly & Pim and the Millions of Stars

by Martine Murray

  And yet, Molly did like having someone to talk things over with, and she liked it when Pim was there because he always had a way of seeing things that made her look at them from another side. He was so different from Ellen. Ellen was like a nice warm home: she was safe and sure and always the same. Pim was like a walk in the woods at dusk: full of darkness and brightness both at once, he was restless and unfitting, pouncing on ideas and lifting them out of the dark. Pim’s world was the mysterious world of owls, stars, animals, and earth. And Ellen’s world was close by and welcoming, a place you could burrow into.

  Where did Molly’s world fit alongside these? Was she betraying Ellen if she became friends with Pim?

  Her head spun. She went back to the green oil. She chopped and pummeled the weeds, her mind full of wonder and resolve. She had a job to do and some thoughts to think. It seemed that everything in her was expanding, straining to become large enough to hold all that at once, all the worlds, weeds, and wonder spinning within her.

  And now it was already the afternoon. Molly would have to hurry if she wanted to make it to Ellen’s and back again before dark.

  But where was Pim? Molly stifled a pang of worry. Had he got tired of helping her? Had something else come along that was more interesting? It couldn’t have; nothing could be more interesting. Perhaps he just didn’t want to come anymore? What if this was true? Would she be able to do this all on her own? Molly felt torn. She wanted to help Ellen, but she wanted Pim to help her. Could she have both?

  Right now she couldn’t imagine life without either of them. But she had promised herself she would be strong today. Today was not a day for her to get stuck in her own fears. She would go to Ellen’s now, and she would leave a note on the tree for Pim, just in case he did come.

  Ellen Palmer’s mother was surprised to see Molly at the door again. Not only because she wasn’t expecting a visit, but also because this time she noticed that Molly looked quite disheveled. Her hair stood out from her head, and she had slept in her dress, which was full of creases and covered in dirt and green, blotchy stains from the juices of the tree fruit. Molly clasped her mama’s sun hat in one hand, and in the other a dark bottle with a white lid. Around her wrist was a red ribbon and she wore short boots with no socks. None of this Molly had taken any notice of. Her eyes were tired and hopeful and almost glittered with an unnatural wakefulness, so that she had the look of a worn-out traveler with an important message.

  Molly was ushered into the kitchen, where Ellen’s family sat eating spaghetti Bolognese. Ellen’s father dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and said hello, and Ellen’s younger brother, Jeremy, stared at her, with his fork pointing upward. There was Ellen’s world, cozy and just right. Molly could have just sunk down and curled up there, if there wasn’t an urgent task at hand.

  Ellen’s mother offered Molly some spaghetti.

  Molly shook her head. “I have brought some special healing oil for Ellen. She has to rub it on her chest and on the soles of her feet and also where the snake bit her.”

  Ellen’s mother looked unsure, Jeremy smirked, and Ellen’s dad frowned at Jeremy.

  Molly wrinkled her nose back at Jeremy before stepping toward Ellen’s mother. “My mama has cured many ailments with this oil,” Molly said. It was true that the green oil had cured lots of illnesses, but Molly didn’t know if it had any effect on snakebites. She lifted her shoulders proudly and handed the bottle to Ellen’s mother, who still looked a little startled and confused, but she took the bottle with gratitude.

  “Thank you, Molly. Please thank your mother too. I have heard marvelous things about her cures.” She glanced at her husband.

  “I’m sure it won’t do any harm,” Ellen’s father said with a small smile. Molly could tell it was hard for him to smile. There was a very somber tone to the whole family, as if they had turned gray and old.

  “Would you like to take it in to Ellen? I’ll see if she is awake.” Ellen’s mother’s voice wavered and she looked away as she handed the bottle back to Molly.

  Inside Ellen’s room, a large floral armchair had been pulled up by the bed. Molly perched on the edge of it.

  “Back again…” Ellen seemed grateful and a bit surprised.

  “I told you I’d be back, remember? Here, Ellen, look what I have. This potion will make you better.”

  “A potion?” Ellen tried to sit up.

  “Yes. Don’t be scared,” said Molly. “Mama knows about plants and how to make potions from them. She makes people better.”

  Ellen looked doubtful. She undid the bottle and sniffed at the oil. “Where do I rub it?”

  “Here. And, Ellen, it’s best if you sing while you do it.”

  “Sing? Sing what?”

  “Doesn’t matter what. Sing something cheerful and full of life. You’re a great singer and it makes you feel good, so do it. Can I go and tell your mum to bring you some spaghetti?”

  “Hang on a minute.” Ellen propped herself up. “You never give me a chance to think. You always rush into everything.”

  Molly dropped her head; she was surprised. “Do I?”

  “Yes, but sometimes your thoughts get to the finishing line before I’ve even started, and I get stuck not moving. You pull me forward. I’ll eat some spaghetti; I don’t want you getting sad too.”

  Molly grinned and stood up.

  “But I don’t know why you didn’t tell me about your mother’s potions. I would have loved to know about them,” said Ellen.

  “Maybe I was scared,” Molly said. “Maybe everyone has something they’re scared of. You are scared of snakes and crossing creeks on logs. But I’m scared that people won’t like me because…well, because my family isn’t like everyone else’s. My mama eats scrambled tofu, my dad is lost in Cuba, my brothers are far away flying hot-air balloons.” Molly still couldn’t quite say that her mama had also accidentally turned herself into a tree.

  Ellen frowned. Her lip quivered. And then she closed her eyes to think. “But, Molly, I don’t think you’re different. Or if I do, it’s exactly what I like about you. Sometimes I feel that you think I’m not interesting. I thought you were bored with me. I thought that was why you didn’t let me come to your house when your mother was away.”

  Molly’s heart pitched about within her. She felt unsteady. Was that what was making Ellen sick? Her mama always claimed that bad feelings were bad for the body. Ellen thought Molly didn’t find her interesting.

  Ellen had felt as boring as Molly had felt weird. But none of the differences mattered. Or, they did matter; they mattered because they were important and wonderful. They were all part of a magnificent plan that made the world more interesting. Molly could like Ellen with her plaits and practicalities, as well as liking Pim with his owl sounds and curious taste for adventure. It was like being able to eat different meals. Molly should have given Ellen the chance to see her unusual ways, instead of always hiding them away.

  If Ellen hadn’t been so ill, Molly would have jumped on the bed and given her a big hug and confessed that right now her mama was a tree. But that could all wait.

  “Ellen, here’s the deal. You stop being sad, and I’ll stop trying to be just like everybody else. I like you just as you are, and you like me, peculiarities and all. Everyone has their own world: you, me, Pim Wilder, everyone. We’re all like little stars, shining as hard as we can, with our own particular kind of light.”

  Ellen looked curiously at Molly. “Our own particular light,” she echoed.

  “Yeah.”

  “Little stars.” Ellen’s face broke into a mad sort of grin. She pulled herself up and reached out her arms to Molly, and Molly dived in for a hug.

  And Molly felt the warmth of everything pressed and held between them.

  Ellen’s mother almost cried with relief when Molly asked for a bowl of spaghetti for Ellen. She rushed it in to Ellen straightaway and forgot to offer Molly some. Molly was alone in the kitchen, surrounded by the smells of spaghetti Bolognese, which tr
aveled straight to her empty stomach. But, she thought, if she kept thinking all the way home about how hungry she was, her Mama tree would make some fruit that would just taste exactly like spaghetti. Not spaghetti Bolognese, as Molly’s mama was a vegetarian, but spaghetti with tomato and olives.

  This was what Molly thought about as she hurried home. She clambered down the side of the valley that led to the small black creek, now bloated with the croaking of frogs. Above it bugs buzzed and danced. Night colored the sky.

  For a moment Molly wished she had told Ellen’s mother her secret. It had pounded frantically inside her as if trying to burst out and land snug in the lap of Ellen Palmer’s mother. Instead, here she was in the dusk, all alone, shouldering something bigger than her shoulders could carry.

  From the other side of the valley there came a soft, insistent hooting.

  “Is that you, Pim?” she called out.

  Two more hoots sounded. Molly ran up the hill. Dilapidated sneakers and a khaki cap poked out from behind a bush. Pim had his hands cupped to his mouth and was making a whistling, hooting noise.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  “Being a powerful owl. Did I convince you?”

  “No. Well, almost,” Molly admitted. “Did you get my note? Where were you today?” She was glad to see him.

  “Busy. I had stuff to do.”

  Molly battled with a fleeting moment of jealousy. How could Pim have anything more important than their mission to turn her mama back? Molly started to climb the hill toward her house. She didn’t care about Pim’s owl sound at all.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  “Home. I’ve only got tonight left. The Grimshaws are coming tomorrow with the chain saw,” Molly said, just in case he had forgotten there was something more serious than owl sounds or other stuff to consider.

  Pim caught up to her. “I know. I told my mum I was going to stay at a friend’s place tonight. I’m sleeping in the tree with you.”

  Molly’s cheeks reddened. He’d said “a friend’s place”? She and Pim Wilder, friends? Yes, it was true. She and Pim had become friends.

  As she pondered this, a large black car came powering toward them. They had to jump off the road to get out of its way, but not before Molly caught sight of Ernest Grimshaw at the wheel and Prudence Grimshaw, stiff as a peg, beside him.

  “Did you see that?” Molly shivered. “It was the Grimshaws.”

  Pim watched the car as it sped away. He shrugged. “Driving like that, they are probably just compensating for their small minds. Come on, let’s go before it gets dark.”

  Above them was the glowing sky. Before them the road home. Molly smiled to herself. Now that Pim was there, everything was thrilling again. Everything was possible. The Grimshaws were defeatable. They weren’t as big as they thought they were.

  Sometimes, she told herself, you can’t figure things out, you just have to live them out.

  As soon as they were back at Molly’s garden, Molly and Pim climbed the Mama tree. The leaves rustled soothingly. The sky was dark and pink, and everything felt soft and full, as if the day’s brightness had all been drunk and was now settling, sifting down, spreading.

  Pim reached up and picked some fruit. Then he nodded at a rolled-up piece of paper that was lying on top of Molly’s nest bed.

  “Well, we can always go with plan B,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Have a look. It’s what I was working on yesterday. I brought it here earlier and then found your note, so I went down to the creek to meet you.”

  Molly began to unroll the piece of paper. Pim hadn’t forgotten their mission after all. She grinned and stood up, holding the paper against the trunk. It was a drawing of a tree, and around it were words that seemed to represent thoughts that had grown out of the tree.

  It made Molly feel very serious. She felt she was getting closer. She grabbed the flashlight. “Come on, I think we need to get down to look at it properly,” she said.

  They unrolled the paper and laid it on the grass, pinning its corners down with stones. Maude sat on it. Molly called her off and squatted beside her to give her some love.

  Pim shone the flashlight on it. The drawing lay before Molly like a strange, mystical map. Her heart leaped toward it.

  What made it so entrancing? Was it that Pim had done it? Was it that he had done it for her? She read part of it again.

  It seems sometimes to have wounds, which it grows around or over or despite them. (Like we do.)

  Molly looked up at Pim. Did her mama have wounds too? Did she know that Molly was wishing for a mother like Ellen Palmer’s instead of her own? Was she hurt? Was that why she wasn’t coming back? Molly’s body twitched. She took in a sharp breath. Pim gave a curious smile. Molly ignored it. Now that her mama was gone, she wanted her back exactly as she was. That’s it, thought Molly.

  As if Pim had heard her, he said, “I think that the kind of magic we need is going to come from being close to things, I mean trees, animals, earth, sky. We’re all made of dirt or flesh and blood or sap and air and spirit and stuff. We are all sort of the same.”

  “So?”

  “So we should be able to connect one to the other.”

  “But how does that change Mama back?” Molly felt desperate. What was her mama feeling inside that tree? Were her branches heavy? Was the sun hot on her leaves? Was she sad and worried and desperate too? Did she know it was only a matter of hours before her branches would be cut off? Molly couldn’t let that happen. But she couldn’t meld things together in her mind. Tree, sky, magic…Where was her mama in all of this?

  Pim was shaking his head, as if something had lodged in it and he wanted to get it loose.

  He began to pace.

  “It’s all about connection. Magic. Life. Forces of nature. We have to find a way to hook into the forces of nature to make that connection with her,” he muttered, as if he was thinking out loud.

  “I danced.” Molly almost shouted this, and it came out unevenly, because she cut herself short, realizing it had been a private thing.

  Was dancing a force of nature? Molly wasn’t sure. Seals danced. Bees did too. And it had counted for something, because the hat had come to her. A connection had been made. “I danced with Mama,” she said. There, it was out. “And afterward her hat flew off the tree and came to me.”

  Now it was Pim who gazed admiringly.

  “You danced with her? Why didn’t you tell me? That’s amazing. You did it, then. You knew all along. That’s why you’re wearing that big, funny hat!”

  Molly frowned and touched protectively at the hat’s floppy brim. She spoke with some deliberation. “It wasn’t that I knew it. It was more that I felt it.”

  “A feeling, not a knowing,” Pim said. He began to pace again. And then his finger wiggled in the air, drawing something down from it. But before he could make any calculation, before he could say anything, Molly leaped up.

  “Shhh.” She held her hands still. “It feels…it feels…”

  What did Molly feel? She needed quiet. She knew it was important and that it was more than Pim could work out, more than his wild thinking could uncover. But there was too much. She couldn’t look at the drawing. She couldn’t look at the Mama tree.

  Molly knelt down on the grass again. Claudine appeared from beneath the lilac bush; she stood still and looked at Molly with a challenging stare, her eyes glowing in the dark. The garden seemed large and still and waiting: every tree listening with the tips of its leaves, every sprig of flower leaning toward her, expectantly. But was it waiting, or was it telling her what to do?

  Molly put her hand on her heart and listened. Every current within her rushed toward it and swelled beneath it, wanting….

  “Every time I needed something, the Mama tree gave it to me,” she said. That was it. From the very first vibration Molly felt when she’d needed to know, her mama was there. And when she had been scared of the dark, the tree had lit up and draw
n her toward it. And when she had been tired, the branches had made themselves like arms to hold her. Yes, that was how it was.

  It came to her now in a flood. She’d leaned into the tree and felt faint with hunger, and the tree had grown fruit. And when she’d threatened to chain herself to it, it had grumbled, to help her change her mind. And then, of course, there had been the dancing at night, the speak-to-me dance, the wild, true, force-of-nature dance that had released the hat to her, as if her mama had thrown it off to say, “Well done! Well done, my darling.”

  Pim was watching her. “It’s true, Molly. It’s wondrous and true, I’m sure.”

  Saturday arrived with the same bristling fervor as the Saturday before, when Molly’s mama had accidentally drunk the acorn potion and turned into a tree. But instead of lying with her eyes shut against it all at the base of the tree, Molly slept soundly in the branches.

  She was woken by Maude’s loud and frantic yelps. She sat up, dazed. It had been quite a night, and she took a moment to reassemble everything in her mind. She looked over to Pim. He was stirring in the branches.

  Molly yawned and climbed to her feet. Her dress seemed to be standing up with her, in angles of creases and dirt. She tried to run her fingers through her hair, but it was too tangled. She grabbed the sun hat and pulled it on over the knots, and then lowered Maude down in the pulley system. Molly climbed along the branch toward Pim and pulled on his toe. Pim hardly had a moment to open his eyes before the sound of a loud roar hurtled through the air.

  It was the chain saw. Ernest Grimshaw was warming it up. Pim and Molly stared at each other in horror.

  Moments later Ernest and Prudence Grimshaw arrived in the garden, wearing matching canvas hats and army-green rubber boots. Ernest Grimshaw wrenched the chain saw in the air and gave it a threatening rev. His eyes rolled slowly around the garden, and his stomach bulged beneath a black collared shirt. He suddenly yanked at the hawthorn bush and pulled its branches sideways, as if looking for something suspicious hiding there.