The Mulberry Tree

by Allison Rushby

  She hadn’t been able to understand it at the time, but now it was clear to her why her father had been kind to Bob. She remembered how he’d told her Bob had built his own prison. The tree had done that, too, in a way. It was the wronged party, but it had imprisoned itself in its own hate.

  In that moment, Immy understood so well how powerless her father had been feeling lately. Because she was powerless in this moment, too. Now she knew the truth, but there was nothing she could do to make things better. For Bridget. For Elizabeth. For the tree.

  For any of them.

  Immy drew her desk chair close to the window and sat on it, her knees hugged in to her chest. She watched the tree sicken and dim by the hour, feeling utterly powerless.

  She couldn’t give those girls their lives back.

  She couldn’t help the tree.

  Immy sat and stared wistfully over toward the village green for a long time. She thought about the tree and its long life, which seemed to be coming to an end. Perhaps it was simply the tree’s time to go? Nothing could live forever, and it seemed old and tired compared to that other mulberry tree — the one on the village green itself — which was so alive and full of fruit. And that was when all the pieces of the puzzle came together for her.

  Her knees dropped and she sat up in her seat.

  Of course!

  No, she couldn’t change the past and she couldn’t give those girls their lives back, but there was one small thing she could do. One act of kindness. And maybe that’s how things could start to get better. How everyone could start to heal.

  Immy got up and padded silently across the room and out into the hallway, from where she made her way downstairs, skipping over every squeak she knew the house was capable of making.

  In the living room, she could hear the hedgehogs rustling about in their special cage. But there was no time to stop and greet them. Immy tiptoed into the dining room, went over to the cupboard, and grabbed her dad’s phone. Then she sat down at the table and searched for something. It didn’t take long to find exactly what she was looking for, and when she had the information she needed, she replaced the phone. Thinking for a moment, she decided not to go out the French doors in case her parents heard her. Instead, she crept out the front door, leaving it unlocked behind her.

  Immy rounded the corner of the house and stayed close to the hedge. She paused about halfway to the shed and glanced up at her parents’ room. The lights remained off. They hadn’t heard her leave the house. She swiveled to look at what she could see of Jean’s house, which was also still and dark.

  So far, so good.

  Quickly and quietly, she ran over and opened the shed door with only the smallest of squeaks from the hinges. It wasn’t difficult to find what she needed. The shed was almost empty save for the few gardening bits and pieces that had been left behind, and there was a little glass window that the moon shone through. Immy spied what she’d come for, and she picked the pruning shears with their long wooden handles up off the table and left the shed once more.

  She ran to the side gate, which led to the village green, being careful to stick to the shadows.

  All was peaceful in the still of the night.

  By the light of the moon, Immy pulled up the latch that held the gate shut and silently closed it behind her again.

  It was only a short run over to the tree on the green. She stopped before she reached it and stared up at it, just like she’d done the first time she saw it, though she hadn’t known then what it was.

  Who it was.

  The daughter tree was much, much larger than the tree that had been in Bridget’s back garden, though nothing compared with its mother.

  It didn’t remember, of course. It had been young when it was taken. And because of this, it had embraced its new life. Grown. Flourished. Shared its fruit generously with the village, just as its mother used to do long ago. Immy took the last few steps to reach out and stroke the tree’s trunk.

  “Hello,” she said, the bark rough under her palm. “I don’t know if you remember, but you used to live somewhere else. And I don’t want to hurt you, but the thing is, I need to give you a little snip. Is that all right?”

  The tree remained very, very still, as if considering Immy’s offer.

  “The thing is”— she looked up at the tree, right up to the very top branches, almost expecting to see a face —“I’m going to take you home. Home to your mother.”

  Immy took a large clipping with the pruning shears, apologizing to the tree as she did so. Then she ran home again, rounding the corner of the cottage in a heartbeat, excited to show the mulberry tree what she had in her hands.

  But when she rounded the corner, she saw that the mulberry tree had declined even further, weary with its lot. There was no time to lose. Immy ran over to it.

  “Look, tree, look! I have something for you!” she held up what was in her hands. “Watch! Watch me!” She went over to pat the ground with her feet until she found the dip in the grass.

  There it was.

  She got down on her hands and knees and made a small hole with the shears. She began to dig out a little earth with the handle. According to what she’d looked up on the internet, it would be simple. All she needed to do was . . .

  “There!” She stuck the cutting into the ground and then shaped the displaced earth back around it. As she did so, she had another idea. Scrambling to her feet, she ran across the garden, stumbling in her haste, and pulled the hedgehogs’ playpen back with her. When it was close, she lifted one end so that the cutting was safely under it and then dragged the playpen a little farther, until the cutting was in the middle. Then she put the shears back in the shed and brought the watering can back with her. It still had some water in it, and she watered the cutting with this.

  It was only when she focused back in on the larger tree that she saw it had pulled itself into more of an upright position. “Come on, come and look!” Immy grinned, beckoning it over. As she watched, two of its largest branches slowly stretched over — unsure, uncertain. As it rustled above her, Immy stared in wonder. Was she still dreaming? She honestly didn’t know.

  The tree bent down closer, as if inspecting the cutting. And then, slowly but surely, one thin, blackened finger reached out and touched it.

  The moment the tree made contact, it startled, all of its branches standing to attention, suddenly very alive indeed. It was as if the tree had woken up inside itself. As if it had been given a new lease on life. A reason to live.

  Immy smiled as she looked on. One thing she was certain of: if she was still dreaming, it was by far the best dream she’d ever had.

  “Happy birthday, sleepyhead.” Immy’s dad sat down on the edge of her bed. “Time to get up. It’s eight thirty!”

  Immy’s eyes opened a crack. Light streamed into the room from the open window. It was morning. It was the morning of her eleventh birthday. She opened her eyes wide.

  “Hey, I’m still here!” she said to her dad as she pushed herself up onto her elbows.

  He gave her a funny look. “Where else would you be?”

  Immy frowned. “You know, gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  She blinked. “As in, disappeared.”

  He laughed, got up, and headed for the door. “I think you’re still dreaming. Come on, come downstairs and open up your presents. Then we’d best start getting ready for the party.”

  “Okay.” Immy swung her legs out of the bed and stood up, yawning and stretching.

  As her dad thumped down the stairs, she crossed the room to see how the mulberry tree and its daughter were doing. She was hoping the older tree might look even healthier this morning. But when she got to the window, she was met with a completely unexpected sight.

  “Oh!” Immy pushed the window open as far as it would go and leaned out.

  The tree! The tree was like the tree of old — green and rich and full of fruit. But this wasn’t all she saw. She checked once. Twice. And it was true �
� her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. “Oh, tree!” she cried out. “Tree! You’re all better!”

  She whirled about and, racing from the room, took the stairs two at a time.

  She rounded the corner into the dining room and kept going, passing straight by her mother and father.

  “Um, happy birthday!” her mother called out as she passed by and bolted out the French doors.

  Immy ran straight to the tree, not stopping until both hands were on its thick trunk, moving up and down, feeling for what she hadn’t been able to see from her room.

  It really was true.

  The knots.

  The knots were gone.

  Immy opened her presents and ate breakfast on autopilot, trying to work out exactly what was going on. The tree was healthy, the knots in its trunk had disappeared, and her dad hadn’t seemed to know what she was talking about when she mentioned that she hadn’t been taken in the night. Her parents had, however, been surprised to see the cutting with the hedgehogs’ playpen around it.

  “What’s that about?” her mother asked.

  “Oh, I thought the mulberry tree needed a friend,” Immy said, buttering her toast. She remembered something she’d read on her dad’s phone. “Apparently it’s good for them to have other trees nearby. For the fruit or something.”

  Her dad snorted. “Well, I don’t think the tree needs any help in the fruit department. More mulberry jam? We only have another twenty jars left to eat. We really should give some away today.” He pushed a jar of jam across the table.

  Immy stared at it in disbelief.

  “Twenty jars? And they all came from the tree?”

  “Have you honestly blacked out our jam-making weekend? I know it took us the whole two days, but it wasn’t that awful, was it?”

  “I, er . . .” They’d spent a whole weekend making jam? Out of mulberries from the tree?

  “Yes, yes, it’s amazing that we finally made something edible, I know. It’s funny, but maybe I’m blacking things out, too. I hadn’t even noticed you’d brought that cutting home and planted it.”

  “Mmm . . .” Immy said. She had a million other questions, but she couldn’t help stuffing her mouth full of toast.

  The jam was the best she’d ever tasted. Sweet and bursting with flavor.

  After breakfast, they started to get ready for the party.

  Everyone was going to arrive at ten thirty — all ten or so guests who had RSVP’d. But it was when a catering truck pulled up at the front of the house that Immy realized the guest numbers might have changed. The catering man and Immy’s parents started to unload trays of finger sandwiches and miniature quiches and scones. Immy stood in the hallway and watched, agog.

  “Um, how many people are coming?” she asked her dad, who was passing by with yet another tray of food.

  “About fifty. You know that! We went through the list last night.”

  Immy’s heart began to race. “Oh, um, yeah. Of course. I . . . forgot.”

  The day became stranger still as the guests began to arrive. Immy quickly worked out that there was no longer one single class of her year level at school but two. And there were a lot more girls. As she greeted them in the middle of the party’s purple bunting and streamers, she had to pretend she knew them all, because they all seemed to know her.

  Even stranger, quite a few of them had the same shade of strawberry blond hair.

  Yet another one of these strawberry blond people came up to Immy now as she stood next to Riley. “Happy birthday, Immy!” the girl said. “This is for you.” She passed her a present.

  “Thanks, um . . . I mean, thanks so much!”

  But the girl had already run off.

  “Who was that?” Immy asked Riley.

  Riley gave her a strange look. “Molly. She’s in our class. And in the allotment club, remember?”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Immy replied, as if she’d known this all along.

  Riley was still looking at her. “You’re really bad with names, aren’t you?”

  Immy nodded. Especially with people I’ve never met before, she thought. Riley still beside her, a thought crossed her mind. “Hey, remember the time we went to the library?” she said, testing out her theory.

  “Which time? We go every week at school.”

  “No, the other library.”

  “What other library? I’ve only ever been to the school library with you.”

  Immy paused to think. So she’d been right. She put a blank look on her face. “Sorry, I was thinking about someone else. Come on, let’s get something to drink.” She dragged him off.

  When Erin finally arrived, Immy was relieved to see another face she actually knew. She came over and gave Immy a hug.

  “Happy birthday!” she said, handing her a wrapped present. “Oh!” She jumped out of the way as a mulberry fell from above, almost hitting her white dress. She laughed. “Smart move on the purple dress, Immy.”

  Immy looked down at her dress, which had been a birthday present from her parents. “Trust me, I didn’t plan it,” she told Erin. But had her parents? Maybe. Maybe they had, because she was starting to see what might have happened here.

  “Hi!” Someone else ran over, a wide smile on her face, and presented her with a gift. “Happy birthday, Immy!”

  For a moment, Immy thought it was some kind of joke. Zara? Zara was being nice to her?

  She didn’t have time to question Zara’s actions for long, however, because Immy’s mother came over, interrupting them.

  “Immy,” she said, “Jean’s just come in. Would you mind making sure she finds a chair?”

  “Sure,” Immy said, leaving Zara and Erin chatting away happily together.

  She glanced over to see Jean in the distance, making her way through the little wooden gate, along with another older woman whom she didn’t know. A girl Immy didn’t recognize followed close behind them.

  “Hi, Jean,” Immy said when she reached her.

  “Happy birthday, Immy!” Jean said, handing her a small present. “What a lovely day for your party. Now, I hope it’s all right, but I’ve brought a friend with me from the next village over, as she was visiting this morning.”

  “Sure,” Immy said.

  “This is Elizabeth.”

  Immy’s head jerked back in surprise. She focused carefully on the woman standing before her. Of course. Of course it was Elizabeth. She might be much older, but those incredibly bright green eyes — they were exactly the same. Exactly! Immy should have known her the moment she’d seen her.

  “Hello, Immy,” Elizabeth said. “A happy birthday to you. You know my grandniece, Caitlyn, of course, from your class.” Caitlyn was a living combination of Bridget and Elizabeth. Here their genes were, standing right in front of her.

  Immy took a step back in fright as the girl, who had been busy closing the gate, approached her. As she took her in, she blinked. Blinked again.

  Because the girl who was walking toward her was Caitlyn but not Caitlyn.

  This girl had almost the same features as the Caitlyn she knew, but instead of deep brown eyes, she had the same vivid green as Elizabeth. Instead of dark hair, hers was the strawberry blond of Bridget’s. Finally, Immy understood. With the return of the girls, their distinctive features had also reappeared in the village.

  These weren’t the only differences — the biggest change of all was the fact that instead of a scowl, Caitlyn wore a smile. Never having lived with the constant anger of the tree, she was a happier, sunnier person.

  “Happy birthday, Immy!” Caitlyn said, grinning at her and passing her a huge, badly wrapped bundle. “You’ve got to open it now. Not just because it looks hideous but because I’ve been dying to give it to you. Go on!”

  Immy couldn’t stop staring at the change in her. What she’d noticed at school — those red highlights in her hair, the lightening of her eyes — were the tree’s doing. It had been righting its wrongs. It had been changing the past. That’s what had been dra
ining it. Making it sick and tired.

  She thought back over the past week or so. About how Caitlyn had whispered “I’m sorry” and Immy hadn’t believed she could have heard her correctly. At the change in her hair. Her eyes. At how she’d sought out Immy in the school library but felt too sick to say anything. To explain.

  It was just as Erin had said that day when she’d looked on.

  It’s almost like she’s a different person.

  She was.

  “Immy! Come on!” Caitlyn urged her on.

  It took everything inside Immy to be able to concentrate on the simple task of unwrapping the present, her fingers all feeling like thumbs.

  It was a doormat, of all things. A doormat with a large picture of a hedgehog on it.

  “I thought it looked just like Scramble!” Caitlyn said with a laugh.

  All Immy could do was nod and smile.

  “I’ll be back in a minute, okay? I’m just going to go and say hello to Erin and Zara,” Caitlyn told her, running off.

  “And I’m going to have a short sit down on that seat right there,” Jean said. “It’s been a very busy morning.”

  Which left Elizabeth and Immy standing by themselves, contemplating the party.

  And the tree.

  The happy, fruit-filled tree, offering shade and protection to all below it.

  Overwhelmed by what had happened, Immy stared around in disbelief, the doormat hanging limply in her hands.

  The jam. The guest list. All the girls she’d never met before. The nonexistent trip to the library with Riley. It was honestly like it had all never happened. The tree had never taken those girls. It hadn’t stolen Bridget or Elizabeth. It hadn’t cast its dark anger over the village for hundreds of years. Because it hadn’t done these things, the village was entirely different for it. There were girls at the school. Bridget and Elizabeth had lived long lives and had had families. Caitlyn was Elizabeth’s grandniece, and she wasn’t bitter or mean.

  Immy looked around the garden. At Caitlyn’s dad giving her dad tips on how to care for the hedges, at Zara’s dad helping to pour drinks, at Riley talking to Jean and Mrs. Garland.