Pim frowned back. He scratched his head and blinked into the sun, which had risen behind the Mama tree and given it a momentous quality. Its long, dark branches swept up toward the sky and its leaves glistened. Molly sat clinging on like a limpet, full of resistance.
In that moment, Pim looked at her as if he understood something that she didn’t. This just made Molly crosser. He couldn’t be counted on to react properly. He was not looking like someone who had just been told of imminent disaster, or like someone who realized that he stood on the brink of a great battle. Pim Wilder just looked calmly interested.
Molly frowned and looked away. She shouldn’t have relied on Pim Wilder. Her problem was catastrophic. She plucked a fruit off the branch. Now that Pim had returned, so had her appetite. The weirdest boy at school was now making things look normal and possible. It was confusing. Confusing and catastrophic and strange. She bit hungrily into the green-bean fruit.
Pim’s voice sailed up into the tree. “You know, you look like a little stray cat stuck up there.”
“I don’t care how I look. I’ve got more important things to worry about,” Molly retorted, spitting a pit in his vicinity.
Pim picked up the pit and looked at it in the palm of his hand before he pushed it into his pocket. “Maybe we should work out a plan that doesn’t mean chaining you to the tree.”
“But what else can we do?” Molly said with some irritation.
Pim rocked back on his heels as if he was astride a magnificent horse, perhaps even a unicorn. Then he swung himself up onto the platform.
“We’ll find a way to stop them, once we put our minds to it.”
Molly shook her head. Her mind was already stretched. Pim ignored her and began to think. He took Molly’s discarded fruit pit from his pocket and tapped it against the branch. It made a ticktock noise.
“You’ll interrupt the vibrations,” warned Molly.
Pim peered over the fence into the Grimshaws’ bare yard. He glanced at the letter and then sat on the platform and dangled his legs over the edge.
“The way I figure it, you’re in a bit of trouble, and vibrations aren’t going to get you out. Your mother is a tree, or to put it another way, this tree is your mother, and in three days’ time your neighbors are going to cut off her branches. We either work out how to stop them or we work out how to turn your mother back.”
Molly was momentarily impressed. What Pim Wilder said had the cool, reasoned tones of something that might be true. Yet she wasn’t sure she liked it. This was her trouble, not his. Who was he to suddenly sound knowledgeable? What would he know? He might know how to make a pulley system, but he didn’t know one thing about potions or herbs or vibrations or anything.
Molly dug her heels down and wrapped her arms around the branch. She would stick to her original plan. Her plan. She shut one eye and leaned her ear against the branch.
“Shouldn’t you be at school, Pim?” she said.
The tree rumbled. Indeed, it seemed to Molly that a deep, painful groan swelled up from its trunk and hummed down the branches. She lifted her head in surprise.
“Did you hear that?” she whispered.
“What?”
Molly frowned. If Pim hadn’t heard it, then it must have been meant just for her. It was her mama sending a warning. Perhaps her mama didn’t believe in Molly’s plan to chain herself to the tree either. Molly wriggled uncomfortably. She let go of the branch. For a moment she said nothing and neither did Pim, though he did smile at the owl picture stuck on a twig.
Pim swung himself down. “Well, I’m going to school, then.”
“Wait,” Molly said. “We turn Mama back. We do it before Saturday, and if we don’t, then I chain myself to the tree.”
Pim smiled. “You’re the boss,” he said.
Molly rolled off her branch and somersaulted down.
“And you’re really good at making pulleys. Thanks, on behalf of Maude especially, and for the buns too.”
Pim cupped his hand to his mouth and sent two long hoots over the Grimshaws’ fence, and then he picked up his bike. “The battle cry,” he explained. “Are you coming to school? You want a lift? It might not be a cool double-seater, but it goes.”
Molly sat on the rack on the back of Pim’s bike. It was much less comfortable than the yellow bike and she yelped when they went over the curb.
“Sorry,” Pim said, “I warned you.”
“You don’t have to ride like a maniac, though.”
“I do, actually, if you want to get there on time, and you should go in before me so nothing looks out of the ordinary. Otherwise, everyone at school will start wondering.”
“Not just everyone at school, the authorities too,” said Molly with a shudder as she thought of her chocolate balls crammed in the fridge. “And they’ll take me to an orphanage and whip me if I’m bad.”
“And you’ll probably die of pneumonia too and be buried in a shallow grave and—”
“Not funny,” grouched Molly.
But Molly’s absence hadn’t gone unnoticed. It turned out she was quite late, and when she entered the classroom, things were already under way.
Miss Todd threw her arms in the air. She was holding a pair of scissors in one hand. Her red hair was bundled in an extravagant bun as usual, and her dress, which was a bold lilac-and-purple floral, hugged her large, round body with the air of drama that Miss Todd liked.
“Molly, dear, I was just about to call your mother to find out if you were unwell too.”
Ester Morhigg stood beside Miss Todd and stared at Molly.
“We’re making get-well cards,” Miss Todd explained, taking Molly protectively by the shoulders. “Have you been unwell?”
“No,” said Molly. “My mama was unwell and I had to take care of her.” She tried to keep her explanation as close to truthful as possible. Her mama thought that the truth was important, and somehow the things her mama thought mattered more now than they had before. Before, when her mama talked about things such as truth and kindness, Molly had never paid much attention.
Before Miss Todd could inquire further about her mama’s health, and before Molly would have to entangle herself further in her small dance with the quiet untruth, Molly asked who they were making get-well cards for.
“Why, for Ellen Palmer! She’s gravely ill. Would you like to make a card too?”
Molly gazed around the class to make sure this was true. Ellen was not there.
Miss Todd’s words “gravely ill” boomed in Molly’s head. What did they mean? Was Ellen, her best friend, lying on her bed with her eyes closed, deathly pale? Molly took a piece of colored paper and headed for a desk. And why had life suddenly steered so far off course? First her own mama and now Ellen, her best friend.
“Why is your hair so messy? Looks like a bird’s nest,” said Ester Morhigg. “Look at my card; I drew a horse. Ellen likes horses.” She shoved her card in front of Molly’s face. The horse was running across a field of green.
“I didn’t know Ellen liked horses that much,” Molly said softly. Perhaps she didn’t know Ellen as well as she thought. Perhaps Ester Morhigg knew her better. Ellen was gravely ill and Molly hadn’t even known. Her heart wobbled with an unfamiliar weight.
Molly stared at her blank card. She picked up her scissors. Her hand shook. A large tear rolled down her nose and dropped onto Ester’s horse card. Miss Todd let out a gasp and flew to Molly’s side. Molly stared in horror at the damp blob on the card. It was as if she had leaked. She wiped her eye and bit at her lip, determined no more would escape. She had promised herself never to cry, and she wasn’t going to give in now.
“Molly, what’s the matter? Is it your mum?” Miss Todd patted her back.
Molly nodded, and then she shook her head, and then she felt so confused she had to close her eyes and hold her breath and make everything stop. Then she stared at Miss Todd’s big, wide eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m all right. I’m just tired, and I haven’t got any lunch,
and I’m worried for Ellen.”
All these things were true, but perhaps the truest of all of this was that she was worried for her mama, and this was the one thing she couldn’t say.
Miss Todd nodded. “You poor lamb. Come on. I’m going to take you to the cafeteria right now. Is your mother still in bed?”
Molly wished her mama was in bed. She just nodded, happy to be glided out of the classroom and to land in the cafeteria, where she ordered a sausage roll with sauce. After that, Molly felt she could face the rest of the day at school. But as soon as the bell rang, she ran all the way to the bridge, where she found Pim waiting for her, just as they had arranged. He was leaning over the rails, staring into the creek.
“I’m not going home right away,” Molly said dramatically. “Ellen Palmer is gravely ill, so I have to go and visit her.”
“Ellen Palmer? Gravely ill? Who said that?” Pim scoffed as he tossed his bag on his shoulder.
“Miss Todd.”
“Miss Todd? But Miss Todd exaggerates everything. She thinks you’re potentially dying if you cough.” Pim threw a stone in the creek. It landed with an undramatic plop.
“Even so, I have to go. Ellen is my best friend. Will you come to my house later?” Molly still wanted Pim to help. She needed him. She had even felt happy to see him leaning there lazily on the bridge with his hands dangling and his long legs crossed.
Pim shrugged and nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you in an hour.” He turned to go and then he stopped. “If Ellen’s your best friend, why didn’t you tell her about your mum turning into a tree?”
Molly gaped. Pim wasn’t afraid to say anything, even if it wasn’t his business. How would he ever understand all the reasons she couldn’t tell Ellen? He didn’t understand Ellen like she did.
Molly frowned and lifted her nose proudly. “Ellen’s quite sensitive. It would upset her. I didn’t want her to worry about me.” Molly turned away and she walked as fast as she could. It was true, Ellen would worry. But what she hadn’t said was that Ellen would be terrified of something as unearthly as this. She might not even believe it. But Molly wasn’t going to give Pim a chance to venture an opinion. She didn’t want to hear it, whatever it was.
Ellen’s mother had short brown hair, large shoulders, and sturdy shoes. She smiled easily and laughed in happy bursts, her voice always with a firm sound to it. But when she opened the door to Molly, she looked quite a different sort of woman. She wasn’t as upright, and instead of sturdy shoes she wore slippers and blue pajama pants, and everything about her seemed crumpled. But she gathered herself and stood straight, and she burst out, “Oh, Molly, we’re so worried.” She drew Molly toward her and ushered her into the kitchen. Ellen’s crumpled mother poured Molly a black-currant cordial, and she perched on a kitchen stool, seeming too tired to stand.
“May I see Ellen?” said Molly. “I haven’t been at school, so I only just heard she was sick. What’s wrong with her?”
“Well, that’s the problem, Molly. No one knows exactly. It all started with the snakebite.”
Molly gasped. Of all people, Ellen was the least likely person to get bitten by a snake. She refused to walk in long grass or to climb over woodpiles or even to swim sometimes in the creek, all because of the possibility of snakes. “Was it a brown?” Brown snakes were deadly, but so were tiger snakes.
“It was a brown,” Ellen’s mother said. “It was in the shower. We don’t know how it got in there. But we took her to the hospital quickly enough. She should have recovered, but she hasn’t….”
Ellen’s mum stopped and tilted her head, as if the weight of it all was leaning on her and she might topple over. She sighed and looked out the window at the garden with its brisk arrangement of lawn, fence, and tree.
“Now there are complications. Ellen is very weak and she can’t seem to eat much. But I’m sure she will be happy you’re here. She has been upset that she hasn’t seen you.”
Molly dropped her gaze. She was ashamed. What sort of best friend takes so long to visit? But she couldn’t explain. She bit her lip to keep it all in.
Ellen’s mother led Molly into the bedroom, which was dim, as the curtains were drawn. Ellen’s mother changed as she entered the room. She spoke to Ellen in firm, reassuring tones, as if there was very little wrong. She sat at Ellen’s side, told her Molly was there, and patted and kissed her before getting up to leave them alone.
Ellen lay on her back. Her hair was not in plaits but fell around her head as if it had spilled. She turned to see Molly. It seemed a great effort for her to do that, but her face brightened immediately.
“Hi, Ellen.” Molly knelt down next to her.
“I’m pretty sick,” said Ellen.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier.”
Ellen struggled to sit up a bit.
“I can’t believe you got bitten by a snake,” said Molly. “Did it hurt a lot? It must have. But why are you still sick? Why can’t you eat?”
Ellen blinked as if this rapid fire of questions was more than she had the energy or will to consider. Then she lay back to stare at the ceiling and sighed.
“Because I don’t feel like it.” She blinked again. “I’m too tired to eat or walk or anything.”
“Well, you have to eat. Even if you don’t want to. Just see it like math, something you have to do.”
Ellen dismissed this wisdom with a slight frown. “Has your mama come back from Cuba yet?” Ellen said, and Molly was glad to see her face gather itself to express something, even if it was worry.
“Not yet. I didn’t go back to school till today.”
Ellen stared incomprehensibly at Molly. She closed her eyes for a moment. “Why didn’t you want me to help? Did you think I would be too scared?”
“No, of course not. It was just…I was just managing fine on my own. And…” Molly stopped. She was going to say that since Ellen hadn’t really taken the threat of the Grimshaws seriously, that had made her think Ellen wouldn’t take any of it seriously, but Ellen was sick and she didn’t need to be worried by Molly’s feelings.
“And, Ellen, you’re my best friend, and I can’t get on with life till you’re better. I’m going to make you something, and you have to promise me you will use it and get well.”
“Okay.” Ellen smiled, and looked for a moment like her old self. Molly stood up. She squeezed Ellen’s hand and left the room.
Molly was convinced that all Ellen needed was a little bit of courage, and surely she had that. Ellen could sing loudly and beautifully in front of anyone, while dancing too. That took something. Was it courage? Maybe confidence. Ellen had that. She had her own kind of strength.
Molly’s mama made an oil, a green oil, that was meant to cure everything. She could give it to Ellen, as long as she could find the recipe and make it. Was the main ingredient the sap of spurge weed? As Molly walked home, she began to look out for it.
—
When she arrived at her house, she had a large bunch of spurge and her fingers were sticky with sap. Pim was waiting at the tree, sitting there with his back against the trunk.
“What’s that for?” he called out.
“We have to make some green oil for Ellen. She really is gravely ill. Miss Todd wasn’t exaggerating. She got a snakebite from a brown, and it has made her weak.” Molly threw the pile of spurge at Pim’s feet and washed her hands at the garden tap.
Pim picked a piece up and sniffed at it.
“Molly,” he said. “How is everything in your life so strange and urgent? And to do with plants and life and death?”
Molly frowned. She began to pluck rather violently at the spurge leaves. Strange was exactly what she didn’t want her life to be. But if it was interesting, maybe strange wasn’t so bad.
“I thought you wanted to help,” she said.
“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? I like it when strange stuff happens. Especially when it’s big. When something’s at stake.”
He shrugged, and Molly stopped
plucking quite so crossly at the spurge. She hadn’t expected this. For one thing, Pim was a boy, and for another, he hardly knew her, or Ellen either. And he always seemed such a tough boy. She handed him a couple of stalks.
“You need to get the leaves off, and then we’ll get the sap out,” she said.
“But what about your mum? We’re running out of time. Shouldn’t we be working on that?”
Molly nodded. She hadn’t forgotten, but picking the spurge had reminded her of times she used to gather herbs with her mama, and the stirring of these old feelings for plants had opened a part of her mind that she had been keeping closed. She had a feeling this was important; it was going to help her get closer to understanding the Mama tree. Perhaps it was like turning her mind over with a hoe and loosening it enough that seeds might begin to grow.
“Once this is done, we’ll go inside and I’ll show you Mama’s notebooks. See if you can find any clues in them. They won’t be what you expect, though.”
Molly paused and screwed up her nose. “Thanks again for helping me, Pim. That pulley you built, well, it’s so much nicer for me when it’s dark to have Maudie up there with me. I hate the dark.” What she meant to say was that more than anything it was having him there with her, even right then, that made all the difference. But it was easier to thank a boy for a thing than for a way of being. And Pim already seemed awkward, as he bent his head and mumbled something about it being okay.
They sat outside under the Mama tree, plucking at the spurge and squeezing the sap into a jar, while the tree bent its branches to shade them in the warm summer afternoon.
Molly took Pim inside the house and handed him Mama’s red notebook. It was a solemn occasion; Molly had only ever invited Ellen inside before. Pim stood with his back against the old woodstove in the middle of the room. He held the book reverently as he gazed around. Molly loved the house on late-summer afternoons, when the sun was low and came in with a deep golden light and made the dust motes sparkle. The scattered cushions and book-lined shelves now seemed welcoming, even inviting. Pim’s gaze wandered over the shelves. He picked up a carved wooden elephant, examined it, and then placed it back on the shelf again.
Molly & Pim and the Millions of Stars Page 6
