Molly & Pim and the Millions of Stars

by Martine Murray

  Her mama gazed at her intently: a little thought danced across her eyes. She smiled and, leaning forward, she put her hands on Molly’s cheeks.

  Here it comes, thought Molly.

  “You know, Molly,” she said. “There’s a lot of brave people out there in the world—fighting wars, risking their lives, making speeches—but there’s another sort of courage. What you did took real courage. You showed your heart to everyone. You didn’t care what anyone thought. If you hadn’t had that courage, I would still be a tree. Now, that’s a kind of magic you didn’t know you had.”

  Her mama laughed. Her hands fell to her knees and she bounced the seesaw high.

  Molly was still confused. “But, Mama, I didn’t even know what I was doing.”

  Her mama slapped the seesaw triumphantly. “Exactly. You followed the wisdom of your heart. And you gave me the last bit of strength I needed.”

  “And, Mama, all the time I wanted to be just like Ellen, but now I’m glad I’m just like me. I can be Ellen’s friend and Pim’s friend, and I can be me.”

  Molly liked the way this felt. It was as if a great weight had fallen from her, and she bounced the seesaw as high as she could and felt she might float up into the evening sky. Her mama laughed too, and all the laughing tumbled out, careless and free, filling the air with its own sort of weather.

  The evening was deep and low and quietly hovering on the edge of night. Cockatoos shrieked now and then in the pines. Everything seemed to brim and swell and to stand poised, ready to turn, or change. Molly felt ready. For what, she wasn’t sure, but it seemed something had opened inside her.

  There was a strange order of life, and she could feel it around them right now.

  “Pim looks like an interesting boy,” said her mama.

  “Yes, he is. Come and I’ll show you the picture he drew.” Molly jumped off the seesaw and her mama followed. The drawing was still pinned to the ground with stones. They bent over it and read out the things Pim had written about trees, and Molly’s mama nodded and seemed impressed that Pim was so very thoughtful about things that weren’t quite certain and measurable.

  Finally, Molly’s mama groaned and unbent her knees and windmilled her arms in the air and said she had to walk, after having been a tree for so long. The worst thing about being a tree, she explained, was that you couldn’t walk or run or leap, and these were all the things she was aching to do.

  So they went with Maude, running and walking and leaping up the hill. They stood on the top of it in their favorite spot, next to the two gum trees, which always seemed like two old men, watching and sharing the occasional observation on the game. From there the town was a huddle of roofs and trees and streetlights, and on the other side of the hill lay the train tracks and the cricket oval, all bare and shorn like a bald spot.

  Above them was the darkening sky and the large white moon. One bright star shone in the sky, but all the others, the millions of others, weren’t there yet.

  Molly thought about all the stars, getting ready to shine, waiting for the dark. They needed the dark. She slipped her hand into her mama’s. The air was cool; the low sun shone through the long, dried summer grass and made it look as if their hill was covered in fine golden straws.

  “Mama, even though it is the most terrible thing to have your mama turn into a tree, now that it’s over, I think I am almost glad it happened.”

  “Why is that?” Molly’s mama asked.

  “Because now I have been the child of a tree. Imagine. But also, now I know how it feels to have a terrible problem, which is something nearly everyone knows some time or another.”

  Molly stood tall and she imagined herself for a moment on a horse, looking down at the world, ready to save it, ready to let her heart pound, ready to shine out in whatever darkness came at her.

  “But no one can do anything good without a little bit of help,” she went on, thinking mostly of Pim. And Ellen. Ellen had attacked Mr. Grimshaw with a bunch of roses. Molly laughed to herself. She was looking forward to going back to school with her two friends. Pim would keep things interesting, and Ellen would keep things real.

  “You know what?” Molly said to her mama. “I’m starting my own notebook on plants, just in case you go disappearing again, or I do. There’s stuff I’m going to want to know.”

  As they walked back, the stars began to break through, like shining pinholes of light in the dark above them, but Molly was too busy thinking about Pim and Ellen to notice the millions of tiny stars.

  Mama collects amaranth whenever she sees it growing. It has another name, which I like better: love-lies-bleeding. Sounds like a poem about lost love. But it’s only a very nutritious weed. Mama steams it and serves it with olive oil and lemon juice for dinner, which is okay, but the Aztecs used to mix the seeds with cactus juice, honey, and even sometimes human blood and then offer it to the gods. Women used to use the red flowers to make rouge for their cheeks and dance around the fire.

  Pomegranates are not my favorite fruit. If I had a choice, I would prefer a mango. According to one tradition, each pomegranate contains 613 seeds, the exact number of good deeds a person should do in their life.

  Why does the Gentleman shout cock-a-doodle-doo at dawn? Apparently because he is a male and wants to let any other roosters know that if they try anything, like taking one of his hens or coming into his coop, he is up for a fight. In this way he is a bit like Ernest Grimshaw. It’s a shame they didn’t get to know each other.

  I have drawn Prudence Grimshaw as a castor oil plant because it is a thin plant like she is. If you have ever tasted castor oil, you will never want to do it again, and if you have had anything to do with Prudence Grimshaw, you will probably never want to again. However, castor oil is very good for repelling moles from your garden, if you happen to have moles in your garden. If you are old, rub it on your wrinkles. Apparently, it works wonders.

  I have drawn Ernest Grimshaw as a mandrake because mandrake is bulbous and dark and menacing. According to legend, when the mandrake root is dug up, it screams and kills all who hear it. And here is an old and nasty magic recipe.

  Take a mandrake root out of the ground during a full moon. Cut off the ends of the root and bury it at night in a churchyard in a dead man’s grave. For thirty days, water it with cow’s milk in which three bats have been drowned. When the thirty-first day arrives, take out the root in the middle of the night and dry it in an oven heated with branches of verbena, then carry it with you everywhere to work your magic.

  I love acorns. I have always loved them. Because they come from oak trees and because they wear hats. No other seeds that I know of wear hats. People used to keep acorns in their pockets for good luck, for a long life, and to ward off loneliness. It is said that an acorn on your windowsill will prevent lightning strikes. Ellen and I play this game of fortune-telling. You can try it too. Take some acorn hats. Name one for you and one for your sweetheart, if you have one (which we don’t, but we make up names just in case). Float them in a bucket of water. If they float together, it all looks good for your future, but if they drift apart, well…it may not last.

  Borage is an herb of gladness. Watch how the bees love it. Plus, it has merry little blue flowers, which I eat. If Ellen was a plant, she would be borage, because the flowers almost sing. It is said that if you steep borage in wine, it will drive away all sadness, but that may depend on how deep the sadness lies.

  When you suffer a shock—if your mama turns into a tree, for example—have a cup of lemon balm tea. You can mix it with licorice and ginger. Lemon balm is also good for your immune system. So if you get a cold, drink it up.

  Lavender and I get along quite well. I like its color and its smell. Last summer I picked it and mixed it with rice to make scented eye pillows. In ancient times, washerwomen, called lavenders, dried clothes by spreading them on lavender bushes. Great idea. I intend to dry all my clothes this way and waft lavender wherever I go. Lavender repels insects and soothes bites. (Try rubbing
the oil on your mosquito bites.)

  Sow thistle is a very common weed. According to medieval legend, cows like to eat it to help milk production. Aborigines were very fond of it, as were hungry explorers, which is what I may end up becoming. So it’s a useful plant to know, wherever you are in the world, just in case you are hungry and have run out of chocolate-and-cashew balls.

  Birds here aren’t the sweetest singers. They prefer to screech loudly. It’s annoying sometimes, especially the cockatoos, because they wake you up with their screaming. It’s because they are defending their food from other birds. Many plants are bird-pollinated: banksias, grevilleas, bottlebrushes, grass trees, paperbarks, hakeas, and hundreds of eucalypts. Lots of feuds at the flowers mean that pollen-dusted birds are forever coming and going. Magpies are especially aggressive.

  The word “chamomile” comes from a Greek word that means “ground apple.” Chamomile is supposed to have a magical ability to attract money. Gamblers used to wash their hands in chamomile tea before they played cards or threw the dice. I think it’s probably more often used to make a tea that has a soothing and calming effect on people who are too stirred up. Ernest Grimshaw could have done with some. It’s best to steep the chamomile flowers for ten minutes before drinking.

  There is a legend of a man in America, Johnny Appleseed, whose dream was to plant apple trees all over the land so that no one would go hungry. He walked barefoot, slept outdoors, kept apple seeds in his pocket, and wore a tin hat, which he also cooked in. Think of him next time you have an apple. I do. I try to keep apple seeds in my pocket too. Some say that if you eat them, they will protect you from illness.

  All over the world there are customs of hanging things (wreaths, ribbons, rags, etc.) on trees as a way of making a connection between people and trees. Every year Mama and I write a wish and tie it to the mulberry tree. It’s our own personal wishing tree. Pim also has a wishing tree. His is a mountain ash.

  Now we need to talk about herbs for courage. Yarrow is used for the wounded warrior and wounded healer as well as people who are struggling with overwhelming problems, like I was when Mama turned herself into a tree. I like to see myself as a warrior and a healer all at once. Best to be brave and wise; otherwise, courage can become just foolish and you end up being a show-off.

  You can’t rely on herbal remedies for snakebites, though I have read that the soaked bark of acacia or blackwood can be used to bathe the wound. Put a firm pressure bandage over the bite and then lie down and stay still while someone else calls the ambulance. But, even better, try not to get bitten in the first place. Sing out loud and stomp when walking in long grass on sunny days. It’s more enjoyable too.

  Mallow is an often-overlooked weed. The ancient Romans considered it a delicacy. The Roman poet Horace wrote, “I graze on olives, chicory and simple mallow.” He must have been hungry if that is all he ate. I hope he got some bread and jam as well. We eat mallow leaves raw in salad or cook them like spinach in a pie with cheese. Herbalists use it for sore throats. It’s also good for soothing spider bites, bee stings, and burns.

  Like a long grass, wild and heartening, swaying in the wind.

  Eat your porridge. Oats are good for you. And good fuel for the day ahead and, most of all, for the adventures that lie waiting for you….

  Comfrey was once also called knitbone, bruisewort, and boneset. It was used by ancient Greek doctors like Herodotus, Dioscorides, and Galen because of its ability to speed the healing of broken bones. Try placing a comfrey leaf in your suitcase to make sure it isn’t stolen. Or if you are a more practical type, put it in your compost and it will help break it down.

  You can sneak fat hen into any spinach pie and no one will know the difference. And it’s much more nutritious than spinach and has been eaten since prehistoric times. (Fat hen seeds were found in the stomach of the preserved man found in a Danish peat bog.) Fat hen can grow almost anywhere, even out of cow poo, which is why it has the nicknames dungweed and muckweed.

  Powerful owls eat ringtail possums and roosting birds and sometimes a passing rabbit. They catch them with their feet. I would not like to be a small mammal passing beneath an owl. The thing I like about powerful owls is that they mate for thirty years. I am not sure if love comes into this pact or not, but it is nice to imagine it does. It makes up a bit for all the poor possums.

  It takes the weather and makes food of it. It swallows the sun and rain, drags them inside, turns them into growth.

  Tree stands through our whole lives. It holds the passing of time in the widening of its trunk, the lengthening of its branches.

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

  It seems patient, old. True. Constant.

  I drew Pim as arnica because arnica makes a good salve for bumps, bruises, and sprains. Mix it with witch hazel and comfrey. I think arnica has a quiet but striking sort of grandeur too, and not in a usual way either.

  It was believed that if you placed rosemary under your pillow, it would prevent nightmares, and if you planted it in the garden, it would keep witches away from your home. If rosemary grew in the garden, it meant the woman of the house was in charge. Men were annoyed about this and some were known to pull out all the rosemary plants to show they ruled. I bet there is no rosemary growing at the Grimshaws’. Rosemary is warming and it helps you concentrate and solve problems. If combined with borage, it makes a great tonic to give courage. Potatoes are so much better with rosemary. Eat it with your potatoes and go out to battle.

  At the end of the day, the end of the battle, the end of the journey, what we all need is a good bath. Calendula is a good herb to throw in your bath. It’s soothing and healing. Mix it with sage, lavender, lemon balm, yarrow, basil, fennel, and chamomile. Close your eyes, soak it up, and be glad for everything you have.

  When people look at stars, they often search for meaning. Stars encourage it. Because they shine mysteriously and brilliantly.

  Astrology began when people made attempts to predict seasonal changes and weather patterns using the stars in the sky. Then they began to use them to forecast disaster and war. I’m pretty sure at some stage most people stopped believing in the stars, but I think it’s best to throw your dreams into the night sky and then follow them anyway.

  I would like to acknowledge the wonderful work of my editor, Jane Pearson. Thank you!

  What’s next on

  your reading list?

  Discover your next

  great read!

  * * *

  Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.

  Sign up now.