Birdie's Book - Andrea Burden [0]
Contents
Part One: Seeds
1. The Long-Lost Grandmother
2. The Garden
3. The Singing Stone
Part Two: Shoots
4. Aventurine
5. The Underwater Journey
6. The Willowood Fairies
7. The Book of Dreams
8. The Redbird Wind
9. The Shadow Land
10. “The Green Song”
Part Three: Roots and Flowers
11. The New Year
Epilogue
The train sped along, the wheels on the tracks whispering a humming rhythm … Shh-shh, shh-shh, shh-shh, shh-shh … as if they were telling all of us passengers to go to sleep, go to sleep. But I didn’t want to fall asleep, because it was my first time on that train from New York to New Jersey. It was also going to be the first time I would ever meet my grandmother—my mom’s mom.
It was New Year’s week, and when Mom was called off to London, I had a dream that I met the grandmother I’d only heard about and who was now so close by. My father had always liked my grandmother, and he was sad that something had happened between her and Mom. Having lost his own mother, he was all for enjoying family while they were alive and kicking. Still, Dad had always told me that he respected my mom’s privacy on a very sensitive issue.
That’s why I was totally surprised when my dad had said yes when I asked him if I could go. But he said that it was high time for this feud to be over, and what better way to end it than by holding out an olive branch (that would be me)—even if the wrong person was holding the branch (that would be him). Dad added that this was the perfect chance for me to go meet my grandmother, just her and me, for a few days, and that he would talk to my mom and take full responsibility. He actually seemed to be looking forward to it!
“I’d come, but I’d just be in the way,” said Dad. “Like a second fiddle. And just between you and me, I don’t think Mo has got an ounce of craziness in her veins. And I know she’s dying to meet you.” My dad always called my grandmother by her nickname, Mo, and it’s what I always called her in my mind.
So that’s how I ended up on the train. Now, in between the anticipation and the train’s lullaby, I had a jitter in my stomach, jumping like a bug on a leaf.
Shh-shh, shh-shh … Shh-shh, shh-shh … Bump! My head hit the window, waking me with a jolt. I’d fallen asleep after all. I looked down to check on my daisy, Belle, and saw that somehow her little clay pot had cracked.
Oh, I almost forgot somebody is reading this. I’m nobody special, just Sarah Cramer Bright (nicknamed Birdie), from California (which I like to call Califa). But I’m not from Califa anymore, I guess, because over Christmas I was painfully uprooted and moved to New York City.
But maybe I’m getting too personal. So before I go on, I must ask you to do something important: Please, please, please promise me that you will keep everything I say private. I don’t like telling people really deep stuff about myself that is absolutely, positively not for public use. So please don’t share this with anybody else, except maybe your very best, most trusted friend, okay? Because I guarantee you—not everyone will understand.
So, assuming we have a privacy pact, I’ll tell you again that I am Sarah Cramer Bright, nicknamed Birdie by my dad (in honor of my red hair, which reminds him of his favorite California redbird). My mom says that my red hair and green eyes have been passed down from my great-great-grandmother Dora, who was Irish. I am told that my eyes twinkle bright emerald when I’m excited, but turn to dead moss green when I’m worried.
I took my feet off the suitcase that has been in my mom’s family for years. My mom had specifically instructed me not to bring it. She always insisted on far more upscale luggage, like the matched Louis Vuitton set that she took with her to London the day before I left. There are people in my mom’s world who actually judge her based on the quality and quantity of her bags! Not people I’d choose to be around!
Since my own trip was just a three-day jaunt to my grandmother’s, the only other thing I brought was Belle, now in her