The Magic of Melwick Orchard

by Rebecca Caprara

“Aye aye, captain!” I shoved a forkful of eggplant into my mouth, then saluted.

  Mom was about to dole out second helpings when the phone rang.

  “I’ll get it!” I said, dropping my fork with a clang. “It might be Kira.”

  “The kid down the road?” Dad asked.

  Mom nodded. “Helen Ritter’s daughter.”

  “Remember? The girl I was hanging out with on Saturday? Actually, we hang out a lot now. She’s my friend.” The words came out so easily. It felt nice.

  “A new friend? Really? That’s wonderful,” Dad said.

  I stuck my tongue out at him. “Don’t be so surprised.” Although I understood why he was. Until recently, the don’t-need-friends policy had been in full effect. “Hello?” I said, holding the receiver to my ear.

  I recognized Dr. Ebbens’ voice right away. “Good evening, Isabel. Are your parents available?” His voice was polite but rigid.

  “Who is it, baby?” Mom asked, standing up. I’m sure she noticed my face, shot with color. She could tell something wasn’t right.

  “Dr. Ebbens,” I said shakily.

  Everything else was a blur. A second later, Mom was by my side, pulling the phone from my hands. Her voice was strained. Her words, choppy.

  “But . . . this afternoon . . . she was . . . I know. Yes . . . We’ll be right there.”

  Dad ran up the stairs, then back down. His car keys jangled. I felt like I might faint. I put my hands on my knees to steady myself. Mom dialed another number frantically.

  “Helen? Yes. Yes. No . . . We’ll see. Thank you so much.”

  I was still trying to catch my breath. Trying to make sense of everything that was happening.

  Mom’s hand was on my elbow. “Let’s go,” she said. “Now.”

  “What? Where?”

  “The Ritters’ house.”

  “I thought you said I could go to the hospital . . .”

  “Isa! Now! In the car!” Her eyes were wild. Her voice scared me. Dad was already outside. The car’s engine roared to life.

  Mom shoved my backpack into my arms, then hustled me out the door in a total stupor. The dishes were still on the table. The pot of tomato sauce was uncovered, growing cold on the counter. I didn’t even have time to pack a toothbrush or a pair of pajamas. The car lurched away from our house. Some of the lights were still on as we pulled away.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Junie spiked a fever.”

  Dad zoomed down Melwick Lane like a race-car driver. For a healthy kid like me, a fever wasn’t fun, but it wasn’t the end of the world either. But for a cancer patient like Junie, a fever could quite literally mean just that.

  “How did that happen?” I stuttered.

  “An infection. A virus. Who knows? She could’ve been exposed to something from one of the other patients or from the staff. She’s not in an isolation unit. And even then, it’s impossible to control everything.” Mom was trying to be calm, but I knew she was panicking inside. So was I.

  “All I know is that we need to get there now.” Dad sped up. I checked to make sure my seatbelt was fastened.

  “Why can’t I go with you? If Junie’s in trouble, I need to be there with her!”

  “Not now, Isabel. Don’t make this harder for us.” Dad gripped the steering wheel and pulled with a screech into Kira’s driveway.

  “We’ll call you as soon as we know what’s going on, okay?” Mom turned to look at me. Then she got out of the car and hurried up the front steps.

  “I don’t want to stay here. I want to go with you,” I stammered, but no one heard me. I stepped out of the car, completely numb.

  Mrs. Ritter met us at the door, her eyes kind and concerned. She touched my cheek. She and Mom spoke in the doorway, their voices hushed. Kira took my hand and led me inside, closing the door behind us. I felt like someone had put my brain and heart into a blender. It was not a good feeling.

  “Is everything okay?” Kira asked. Then she sneezed. She pulled a tissue from her pocket. She wiped her nose.

  Something clicked inside me. The worry that had been simmering came to a boil. I exploded. “You! You got her sick!”

  Kira backed away from me. “What are you talking about, Isa?” She sneezed again.

  “I never should have invited you to come with me to the hospital.” The words flew like poison arrows out of my mouth. “You’ve been sneezing all afternoon. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it sooner! How could I have been so stupid?”

  Kira’s eyes were wide. Her head shook from side to side.

  “What is it? A cold? The flu? Do you have any idea what that could do to Junie?” I shouted at her. “How could you have been so reckless?”

  “Isa, no. I told you, I have allergies. That’s all. The pollen always does this to me. I was fine at softball practice. But it’s worse around the orchard for some reason.”

  My eyes were mean slits. “It’s all your fault!” I wanted to turn and run, but I had nowhere to go.

  “I’m not sick. I didn’t infect Junie, I swear. You saw me clean my hands that day. It must be something else. Please don’t be mad.”

  Just then, Mrs. Ritter opened the front door and stepped inside the foyer. The car horn honked as my parents drove away. She looked at Kira and me standing in the hallway. The tension between us was thick and heavy.

  “Everything all right, girls?” she asked, her face full of questions.

  I swallowed and nodded. I was afraid more nastiness might escape my mouth if I opened it again. Kira sniffled and dabbed her nose with the tissue.

  “Isa, I’ll make up the guest room. Unless you’d like to stay upstairs in Kira’s room? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind having a slumber party.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Kira croaked, her voice fragile.

  I fought back tears of my own. “The guest room is fine.” My words were cold and hard. I followed Mrs. Ritter, refusing to make eye contact with Kira. I could hear her sniffle and sneeze, as she trailed several steps behind.

  The guest room was on the main floor. It had paintings on the wall, shelves lined with books, and a big sleigh bed. Ruffled curtains adorned a wide window overlooking the northern slope of the orchard.

  “Did you eat supper already?” Mrs. Ritter asked, smoothing a quilt over the bed and arranging some fluffy pillows.

  “Yes.” The fewer words I said, the better. Every time Kira tried to get close to me, I stepped away.

  “Is there anything else I can get you, Isa?” Mrs. Ritter asked.

  “No, thank you. I just want to go to sleep,” I mumbled.

  “Already?”

  I nodded, gritting my teeth. I knew Mrs. Ritter was trying to be nice, but I needed to be alone. “I’m drained.” If happiness can fill a person up, anger can do the exact opposite. I was mad at Kira and her germs. I was angry at myself for letting her into my life. I was even more furious at my parents for leaving me behind. It was so unfair, I could scream.

  “The bathroom is down the hall, and there are leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry. Please, make yourself at home.” Mrs. Ritter put a hand on Kira’s shoulder. “Let’s give Isa some privacy.” They left the room and closed the door.

  I sank into the bed, still wearing my clothes. I probably should’ve asked to borrow a pair of pajamas. But it didn’t really matter, because as comfortable as that bed felt, I had no intention of actually staying there.

  I rolled onto my stomach, leaned over the edge of the bed, and pulled the book Ms. Perdilla had given me from my backpack. I tried to pass the time reading through the yellowed pages, but I couldn’t focus on the words or pictures. There was only one tree on my mind. I got up to turn off the lights, then I sat in a rocking chair by the window. I pulled the curtains aside and watched the stars gather in the sky. I could make out the scraggly silhouettes of our apple trees in the distance, dark as ink.

  Eventually I heard footsteps in the hallway. They paused in front of my door, then continued walking up the stairs
. The sliver of light that spilled between the door and the floor disappeared. I waited.

  Finally, when I was pretty sure Kira and her mom were fast asleep, I opened the window and slipped outside into the cool night.

  ***

  The moon cast a silvery glow over the orchard. I walked alone toward the clearing. I wasn’t scared. I felt safe with the apple trees, like when Junie and I had pretended they were sentries guarding our make-believe castle.

  I stepped over the old foundation stones, nearing the seedling. Usually the leaves rustled, or the branches shook when I approached, in a sort of greeting. This time the tree was still. It looked as tired as I felt. I didn’t think trees actually slept at night, but then again, this wasn’t an ordinary tree.

  The bark was rough and cold like concrete. I pressed my palm against it, letting my warmth soak into the dreaming tree.

  Suddenly the branches pulsed with light. I jumped back. “I didn’t mean to wake you, I just . . .” It took me a minute to gather my words. The trunk grew brighter, from flat gray to vibrant green and turquoise. “And I thought you were impressive during the day. Look at you now!”

  The gleaming leaves turned from blue to pinkish orange. “Are you blushing?” I teased. “You wear your heart on your leaves. We have a lot in common, I think.” I breathed deeply. “My sister . . .” I said, feeling like I needed to explain why I’d come. I leaned my forehead against the trunk. Worries and sadness welled up, spilled out. My sobs sent a tremor through the orchard. The apple trees shuddered. Maybe they felt my pain.

  I didn’t need to say anything more. The seedling understood. A strong branch lowered and I climbed up, holding it tightly. It lifted me off the ground. More limbs curved loosely around me, weaving themselves into a sort of nest. It was as big and deep as a bathtub. I lay down. The huge leaves flattened across my back, covering me like a blanket. I said a silent thank you, then rested my head and fell into a deep sleep, comforted by the tree’s embrace.

  Hours later, the tree rustled, waking me gently. I rubbed my eyes. The sky was pink with dawn. I sat up and felt the branches stretch and move. The birds in the orchard began to sing their morning songs. I felt like one of them, waking up in a cozy nest amid the treetops. Nothing I’d dreamt could’ve rivaled that moment. The branches shifted, and I hopped down to the ground safely. I wanted to stay in the orchard, but I knew I needed to get back. The tree could carry me away from the world and my worries, but only for so long.

  As I turned to leave, I looked back over my shoulder. My heart sank a little because there were no buds growing. Not yet, at least.

  Chapter 26

  Before Kira and her mom woke up, I snuck back into the house through the window, grateful that the guest room was on the first floor. I found a new toothbrush and a change of clean clothes on the bathroom counter, along with a sticky note on the mirror with a smiley face. I appreciated the toothbrush and note, but I didn’t put on the outfit. I was still mad at Kira. I didn’t want her germy clothes anywhere near me. I took a shower, soaking in the warm water, hoping it might wash away all the crummy feelings souring me like a pickle.

  When I entered the kitchen, Mrs. Ritter was making breakfast. There was a glass of orange juice waiting for me on the table. “How did you sleep, dear?”

  “Pretty well.” Remarkably, it was the truth.

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  I sipped the juice. “Did my parents call?” I was desperate for news of Junie.

  Mrs. Ritter stopped stirring a pot of oatmeal. “Nothing yet,” she said. “You know what they say: no news is good news.”

  Even though every cell in my body wanted it to be true, I didn’t believe her. Kira came downstairs a few minutes later, looking groggy. Her normally silky hair was matted and wild, as if she’d been tossing and turning all night. We ate our breakfasts in silence. Every time she sneezed, I fought the urge to send her a mean look.

  “Why don’t you take some of this, Pookie?” Mrs. Ritter set a bottle of nasal spray on the table for Kira. “Allergy season is rough on her,” she said to me. “And apparently pollen counts are off the charts this year.”

  Kira took the medicine. A few minutes later, she stopped sniffling. Maybe she didn’t have a cold after all. My heart kept insisting that it wasn’t fair to blame her for everything. My stubborn brain wasn’t so quick to give up its grudge.

  After breakfast, Kira and I walked to the end of the driveway and waited for the bus.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong, Isa.” Kira’s voice was cautious.

  I kicked a rock. If she made Junie sick, I didn’t think I could ever forgive her.

  “I know you’re going through a lot. I just wish you’d talk to me. I know you left the house last night. I know you went to the tree.”

  My eyes flicked up, wondering if she was threatening to tattle on me.

  “I won’t say anything to my mom. Or anyone. I’ll keep your secret, you know I will. I promised you.” Now she kicked a rock. “Sometimes I think you like that tree more than your own friends.”

  She didn’t understand: the tree was my friend.

  When the bus arrived, I found a seat in the back. I radiated enough nastiness that Kira didn’t dare sit next to me. I knew I was being unfair. But I couldn’t help myself.

  ***

  The morning was torture. I felt guilty for taking Dad’s watch, and guilty for treating Kira so cruelly. Most of all, I worried about Junie.

  In the middle of science class, Principal Tam knocked on the door. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “Is Isabel Fitzwilken here?”

  Ms. Perdilla stopped writing on the board. “Yes. She’s right over there.”

  I froze.

  “Could you come with me, please?” Principal Tam asked, smoothing her blouse.

  Everyone stared at me. Under his breath, Casey said, “Ooooh, you’re totally busted.”

  My classmates probably all thought I was in trouble for being late to school the other day. But Principal Tam’s voice was too gentle, her eyes too soft. If she’d come to punish me for tardiness, she wouldn’t have looked or sounded like that. Ms. Perdilla gave me an encouraging nod, like she was trying to tell me everything would be okay. I had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t.

  I rose from my seat and walked with slow, stiff steps toward the door. I refused to look over at Kira, but I could feel her eyes on me.

  Principal Tam closed the classroom door behind us and led me down the hallway.

  “I’m sorry I was late to school yesterday,” I said in the quietest voice imaginable, hoping that was the reason I’d been summoned.

  “Isabel, your mother called,” she said. I stopped and stared at the floor, my vision blurry with tears. Principal Tam reached out and gave my hand a little squeeze. “She’s on hold. You can speak with her in my office.”

  I tugged my hand away and ran as fast as my legs could take me.

  The secretary hardly blinked when I tore through the office door. All she said was, “She’s on line one!”

  I lifted the phone to my ear and pushed the flashing red button. A second later, Principal Tam stuck her head inside the office. She was winded from chasing me down the hall.

  “Do you want me to stay with you?” she asked. I shook my head, blinking back tears. “Of course. If you need anything, I’ll be right outside.” She shut the door with a soft click.

  “Isa?” my mother said over the phone. “Is that you, baby?” The phone connection was poor. It kept crackling. “Are you there?”

  I made a tiny hiccupping noise, fending off waves of crushing fear.

  “Baby, I’m so sorry to pull you out of class like this. It’s your sister . . .”

  Principal Tam’s office began to shrink. The walls closed in around me. There wasn’t enough air. I was light-headed. I clutched the telephone with both hands, because I needed to hold on to something.

  “It was a long night, baby,” Mom said. Tears spilled down my cheeks. They splashed all over
Principal Tam’s big oak desk. The phone line crackled again. “Dad and I wanted to call you right away, to let you know.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

  My mother’s voice rose up above the static. “Junie’s doing better. The doctors were able to get the fever under control. It was an infection in her port. As soon as Edith noticed her temperature rising, they started antibiotics. I can’t even imagine what might’ve happened if she hadn’t been in such good hands.”

  My mother’s words threw the windows of Principal Tam’s office wide open. Air rushed in. The room expanded. The walls retreated. My lungs filled. If Junie was okay, I was okay. My family was okay.

  “Can you come get me?” I said, breathing so loudly into the phone that I sounded like Darth Vader. “Please? I want to be with you.”

  “Dad’s leaving soon. He’ll pick you up around lunchtime. Think you can make it that long?”

  “Uh huh.” If Junie could make it through surgeries and blood tests and scans and chemotherapy and infections, I could certainly survive another hour or so at school. “Mom, I’m glad you called me. I’m so . . .”

  “I know, baby. Me too.” I could hear other voices in the background. “I’ve got to go. Dr. Ebbens is here. Dad will be there soon, all right?”

  I wiped my nose with my sleeve. I didn’t even care if it got smeared with snot. “Okay.”

  The line went quiet and I thought she’d hung up. Then I heard Mom’s voice, clear as a bell. “I know I haven’t said it enough lately, Isa, but I love you so much.” Her words made me cry all over again. At least this time, they were happy tears.

  Chapter 27

  Junie was tangled in tubes. She was hard to hug, but easy to love.

  “I was so worried about you,” I said, holding her hand. “How do you feel?”

  She blinked up at me. “Overwilmed.”

  “Aren’t we all,” Mom said, rubbing her temples.

  “What’s that?” Dad asked, putting down his cell phone. He’d been talking to someone from the insurance company about authorizations and payment plans and other confusing stuff.

  “Junie invented a new word. Overwilmed.” I explained, “Because we’re overwhelmed. And totally over stupid Wilms. Get it?”