“A few days? Are you kidding me?” Her words were like an ax swinging through a forest, splintering me. I was a felled tree, helpless and in pain. “There has to be another way.” Every inch of my body stung, inside and out. If only my last seed had worked!
Dad spoke quietly: “We wouldn’t do this unless we’d exhausted every other option. We’re going to rent a small apartment in Carolton, the next town over. It’s less expensive than anything we could find here, and we can’t go too far from the hospital. We need to continue Junie’s care at Delorna until she recovers. After that, Uncle Lewis said we could stay with him while we figure things out.”
“Uncle Lewis lives in Cincinnati. That’s hundreds of miles from here.” My heart squeezed into something tight and hard. “I can’t start over again.” My voice was raw. “There are only a few months left in the school year. I have projects. And friends! Actual real friends.”
“We’re not moving to Cincinnati just yet. Carolton isn’t far. Besides, it’s just a temporary solution, until we get on our feet.”
“Temporary is exactly the problem!” I shouted. “What about softball? You said . . .”
“Isa, about that.” Dad cleared his throat. “I spoke to Coach Naron.”
“Okay, okay!” I burst. I couldn’t handle any more lies. They were like tiny grenades, ticking and fizzing, then exploding, one by one. I wanted to toss the rest away before they destroyed me from the inside out. “I might not be the starting pitcher. There! I said it. But I tried. Really hard. I did. Even if I just sit on the bench, I need to be there. You promised you would too!” I growled angrily. “I shouldn’t have to lie for you to notice me.”
“Lie?” Dad said.
“That night by the millpond. I told you I was starting, but Coach Naron hadn’t even chosen the lineup. I knew it was wrong. It just came out, and then you seemed so happy and proud. I wanted to make it true. I thought I could.”
“Isabel—”
I threw my hands in the air. “I know. I messed up. Ground me if you want. But please, let me play in that game!”
“You can play. I explained our situation to Coach Naron. She said you were doing a great job. Really hustling.”
I lifted my eyes. “She said I was doing a great job?”
“She did.” He gave me a crooked smile. “Which is why she’ll be so sad to lose such a strong player.” He moved closer. “Listen, I never, ever want you to feel like you need to lie to get my attention. Or Mom’s.”
I interrupted him. “Wait, I don’t get it. Why is Coach going to lose me?”
“Sweetheart, because we’re moving.”
“But you said I could play . . .”
“You can. And you will. Except you’ll be playing for the other team. Carolton Minnows, remember?” He reached out to muss my hair. “More like piranhas, especially with you on the mound.”
“What? No way!” I pushed his hand away. “I can’t play for the opposing team. I won’t!”
He looked tired. “Fine. Then you won’t play at all, Isa. It’s your choice.”
But it wasn’t. It wasn’t Chooseday at all.
“Dad!”
“Enough. I’m not debating this with you right now.”
“Mom!” I turned, looking for an ally. Her face was in her hands. I was on my own. I sprinted for the door, but Dad blocked my path.
“Don’t you run away!” he bellowed, his patience dissolving faster than a fallen shoefruit.
“I’m not running away. That’s the last thing I want! Didn’t you hear anything I said? All I want is to stay here.” I stamped the floor with my foot. “You’re always making us leave. Making us say good-bye and pulling us up like weeds as soon as we start growing roots someplace.”
“I know you’re upset.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s the understatement of the century.” I tried to nudge my way through the door. “I need some fresh air. Please.” I felt dizzy and light-headed.
He sighed and stepped aside. “Fine. But stay on our property. Don’t wander too far. It’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” I whipped around. “Why? Because of Mrs. Tolson’s chickens?”
“Did you forget we were victims of a robbery?” Mom’s face emerged from her hands. “There’s a thief on the loose in Bridgebury. Your grandfather’s watch still hasn’t shown up.”
I moaned. “The watch wasn’t stolen,” I said. “It was borrowed.”
“Borrowed?”
No point keeping secrets. We were selling the land and all that came with it. My tree would be discovered soon enough. I couldn’t protect it, or myself, any longer.
“Who took the watch, baby? You can tell us,” Mom said.
My lower lip quivered. My toes tapped. “I did.” As soon as I admitted it, I felt better.
“You?” Dad stepped backward. “Why?”
The rest was surprisingly easy. That’s the funny thing about the truth: once it starts trickling out, you can’t stop it. Before you know it, it busts right through the wall of lies you constructed, the way water breaks down a dam. “I took it and planted it under a special tree. I hoped jewelry would sprout and we would make a lot of money. Then Junie could get her medicine and everything would be fixed.”
I watched for signs of anger or forgiveness or . . . something. My parents wore paper-doll-flat expressions.
“It’s true!” I said. “I’ll show you right now. I’ll take you to the tree. As long as you promise not to hurt it. I can’t explain how it works, but Ms. Perdilla says . . .” I studied their faces. Still blank. When I realized they didn’t believe me, flusterations bubbled up. “Are you listening to me?” I reached for my dad’s hand and tugged him toward the front door. “Come with me. I’ll show you!”
“What are you talking about?” he rumbled, pulling back.
My cheeks blazed. “First I planted a shoe. Two shoes, actually. When the tree was just a sapling. It sounds crazy, but there was this squirrel and he actually encouraged me to do it, and then . . .”
“That’s enough!” Mom shouted. “Sneaking around. Stealing. Telling outlandish lies! Nathan, her behavior has gotten out of control.”
“Don’t look at me, Nel.”
My parents turned on each other, yelling about me, not at me. I went from the center of their attention to invisible again.
They didn’t even notice me leave.
Chapter 34
The orchard accepted me with gnarled, outstretched arms. The leaves hushed the sounds of fighting. The wind carried the angry voices from my ears, even though they echoed in my head. I touched the rough bark of the apple trees with my palms. I liked the crooked angles of their branches. They weren’t as graceful as willows, or as statuesque as oaks, but they were beautiful and wise in their own way. Even if they were stubborn and awfully scraggly.
I tried to picture them blossoming again. The rolling hills, a sea of pale pink waves. Each tiny flower holding the promise of a harvest come autumn. Bushels and bushels of those mythical apples that seemed to linger in people’s memories long after they’d taken the last bite. Muriel’s pies with crisscrossed crusts. Fresh cider. Tarts. Sauces. Strudels. People lined up all the way to Drabbington Avenue to have a taste.
The leaves and wind whispered to each other, like they, too, were imagining and remembering. I wished I had the time and strength to take care of them all, the way I had cared for the chance seedling. Aerating the soil, watering, pruning, nurturing. I’d planned to study the books Ms. Perdilla had given me and crack the Melwick mystery once and for all.
Now I wouldn’t even get the chance to try.
I walked and walked, dazed and broken, letting the long grasses tickle my open palms. I ducked beneath a leafy branch and blinked.
Scoops of sherbet-colored clouds crowded the sky. Puffs of dandelion seed were suspended in the air. I stepped into the clearing. The air was cool and fresh. I lifted a hand to my forehead, shading my eyes. A small smile tugged at my reluctant cheeks.
The tree looked healthy, fuller and brighter than ever.
“Hey!”
I jumped at the sound.
Kira waved from across the clearing, where she was sitting on the swing. She got up and jogged over to me. “What happened? You look like a wreck.”
I sighed and sat down beneath the seedling, resting my back against the strong trunk.
“Is Junie okay?” She sat next to me.
“She’s fine. It’s something else.” The words were sticky. It was difficult to get them out. To admit they were real. “We’re moving.” I hung my head and felt tears roll down my cheeks. They dripped into the grass, seeped through the ground. “Your mom found a buyer. It’s happening soon. My parents need the money.”
Kira’s face blanched. “No, Isa. We can’t give up so easily.”
“What are we supposed to do?”
“I’ll talk to my mom about delaying the sale. Maybe you can still fix things.”
“How?” I sniffled.
She reached into her pocket and fished out a fresh tissue. She handed it to me. “Follow Junie’s advice.”
“A wish from the heart? Easier said than done,” I said. “I’m pretty sure my heart is permanently busted.” I thought about the yew tree, which Ms. Perdilla said had the power to both heal and kill. “What if I accidentally make things worse?”
Kira looked at me with her kind brown eyes. “During the cookie harvest when I was freaking out, you told me you trusted this tree. Do you still feel that way?”
I closed my eyes. I nodded. “Yes.”
“Then plant the pin. Take a chance. Make your wish.”
Above me, the tree bowed and swayed. Was it nodding? Its bark rippled and twisted behind my back, nudging me lightly.
“Okay, okay.” I admired its powers of persuasion. “Any ideas?”
Kira shook her head. “You know the extent of my creative genius. I maxed out on food poisoning, remember? Besides, it has to come from your heart. No one else’s.”
Unfortunately, I felt flat out of inspiration. I stood up and shoved my hands into my jean pockets. Something jabbed my finger. “Ouch!” I yelped. A small bead of blood appeared on my thumb.
“Oh my gosh! Are you hurt?”
I pulled the wishing pin from my pocket.
“I can’t believe that apple brooch pricked you! Here!” Kira handed me another tissue.
“It’s nothing serious,” I said, blotting the blood. “Wait, did you say apple?”
“Uh, yeah. Why?”
I held the brooch up to the light. “It’s a butterfly, not an apple.”
Kira took the pin from me and frowned. “Nope. I’ve seen about a hundred butterflies this afternoon, and none of them look like this.” She rotated the pin. “Yup. I’m pretty sure this is an apple.” She polished the rhinestones with the edge of her sleeve. They shined. Bright ruby red. “See? An apple. Cut right down the middle.”
“Naw, those are wings.” I peered over her shoulder. “They’re just bent a little.” I tilted my head. “It’s missing one antenna, but . . .”
“That’s the apple’s stem, not an antenna, silly.” She handed it back to me.
I turned the pin over and inspected it closer. I remembered my father’s pitching pep talk about trusting your teammate. She can see things you can’t, he’d said. He was right. And so was Kira. I had seen it wrong, all along. My mind whirred. A well of fresh hope sprang up inside of me.
I flung my arms around Kira, letting that squg say all the things that words could not. Because best friends, like trees and sisters, speak all kinds of languages. And many of them don’t require words.
Chapter 35
A peace offering filled my nostrils the next morning. Cinnamon and nutmeg. My nose sent a signal to my stomach, which sent a message to my eyes. Open. Wake up.
Mom stood over me, a plate of warm, fragrant sticky buns in her hands. Her eyes were puffy and tired. But not wild. And not blank. She sat down and ran her fingers through my frizzy hair. She placed the plate on the bedside table and a kiss squarely on my forehead.
“You were right, Isabel. We should have been more open with you. We wanted to protect you, that’s all. I’m sorry if that hurt you.” She reached over and opened the window behind my bed, letting sunshine and fresh air spill inside. She took a deep breath. “This hasn’t been easy for any of us. There’s no instruction manual for this kind of thing.” She handed me a sticky bun.
I couldn’t resist. I sat up, accepting the bun. And her apology. A grudge was a pointless thing to hold on to. Kira had taught me that.
“Do you know why I like baking so much?” she asked.
I took a bite of the sticky bun. “Because you get to eat what you make? And it tastes so darn delicious?”
She laughed and kissed me again. “That certainly helps. But it’s more than that. I like the recipes. They’re predictable and reliable. They tell me how much sugar, how much flour, how much butter to use. I know that if I follow the rules, the result will be good.” She licked cinnamon glaze from her fingertip. “Life isn’t like that. I wish it was.” She sounded like herself, her real self. The mother I remembered from before. She pressed her hand to my heart, as if she was trying to mend what was broken inside.
“I’ve missed you, Mom.”
“I know. I’ve missed me too. Mostly I’ve missed you, Isabel. You and Junie and Dad. Us.”
Us. Two letters, small but so big.
“I didn’t mean to make you and Dad fight.”
“Of course you didn’t.” She dusted powdered sugar from my chin. “You actually helped us.”
“I did?”
“Sometimes people need to argue. It’s healthy. You forced us to talk about a lot of things we’ve been avoiding lately.”
“So you’re not mad?”
“No. But promise us there will be no more lying. Or sneaking. Or stealing.”
“Borrowing,” I corrected.
She raised an eyebrow. I decided not to push it.
“We’ve all made mistakes these past few months. How long has it been?”
“I sort of stopped counting, but . . .” I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. I quickly did the math. “Six months, one week, three days, eleven hours, twenty-four minutes.”
“That’s a long time to be cooking without a recipe.”
I nodded, sinking my teeth into the last bite of sweet dough.
“We’ve got a plan now,” she said. “And we’re in this together.”
Dad stepped into my room, probably lured inside by the scent. “Special-occasion sticky buns, huh?”
“I thought the spices might make the house smell more appealing when the bank appraiser comes today,” Mom said, although in my heart, I knew she had made them just for me.
“Powerful potpourri, indeed.” He wrapped an arm around Mom’s shoulders.
She smiled. “I’ll let you two chat. I need to clean up the kitchen.”
I pulled the blankets around me and pouted. How could the bank put a price tag on our house and orchard? There was so much more to a home than walls and ceilings and acres of land.
“Isa?”
I peered out from my blanket cocoon.
“You’ve got a bus to catch, and I have an interview over in Carolton. But I think there’s just enough time for a quick morning catch. What do you say?” It was his own version of a peace offering. “It’ll help us clear our heads. Things are going to happen pretty quickly with this move.”
“Ugh. I don’t want to move. I need more time,” I croaked. Plus, the tree needed more time. I glanced at my clock. I’d only planted the wishing pin twelve hours and fifty-four minutes ago.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I really am. Tick-tock,” he said glumly, tapping the spot on his wrist where his own watch should have been. He left the room. The stairs whined as he descended.
I lay there for another minute, gathering my courage. I stared up at the cracks in my plaster ceiling. Today the pattern looked
just like roots. I had an idea.
I sprang out of bed and threw on some clothes, then skidded across the hall and down the stairs. I laced up my sneakers, grabbed my softball glove and dashed through the mudroom. The screen door clapped as I exited.
“Dad! Dad?” Maybe if I showed him how magnificent the seedling was, I could change his mind about selling the house.
I ran across the backyard. Past the shed. Up the hill.
My father was frozen. Still as stone.
“Dad?” I ran to him and tugged his shirt. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t say a word. He looked down. I followed his gaze.
His open palm cradled a single blossom with five petals.
“A flower? Dad, what’s going on?”
He lifted his arm and pointed. Just beyond the fence, the horizon was pink, erupting with apple blossoms. Every single tree was covered with hundreds of them.
Neither of us said a word. Dad lowered his arm and took my hand.
We walked toward the trees in a daze. The entire hillside was blushing with color, brimming with perfume. A blizzard of pink petals filled the air and half-drunken bees buzzed with pure joy.
“The trees . . . they’re awake. Alive. Thriving. All of them.” He inhaled the sweet fragrance, even better than sticky buns fresh from the oven. “I never thought it was possible. It’s . . .”
“A miracle?”
“A wish come true,” he stammered.
Yes, it was.
We walked deeper into the orchard, hand in hand. Exchanging squeezes in sets of three. I wondered how he would react to a giant tree with swirling bark and crystal leaves. My explanation yesterday hadn’t exactly gone over well, but sometimes seeing is believing.
We ducked beneath the last row of apple branches, crowded with flowers. I held his hand extra tight. We stepped into the clearing. I looked left. I looked right.
The seedling was gone.
I ran to the spot where it had stood, horrified I might find a stump, severed and bleeding silvery sap. The only trace of the tree was a circular patch of grass, shorter and more vibrantly green than the rest of the meadow. My whole body ached. I hadn’t even been able to say good-bye. I fell to my knees and pressed my hands to the ground.
The Magic of Melwick Orchard Page 22