Birdie's Book - Andrea Burden [11]
Unseen droplets of water echoed as I gazed at aisles of plants that reached to the right and left. Orchids and bromeliads hung from ceiling wires. There were long tables of hothouse tomatoes and special areas for baby tea plants. Ten full-sized orange trees stood together. Behind the orange trees was a small room.
“What’s that room for?” I asked, pointing.
“That’s where I live a lot of the spring and summer,” said Mo. “There’s a little kitchen, a cot, my favorite reading chair, and all my favorite books. Go take a look.”
As she cut a few white lilies and arranged them in a vase, I wandered into the alcove, rolling up my sleeves in the warmth. The books were all about organic farming and composting, herbs and teas and exotic spices (nothing about fairies). On a table beside the chair upholstered with a giant-leaf-patterned fabric sat a real bird’s nest with an egg inside.
I gently lifted the egg out and saw it was not an egg at all, but a smooth, grayish-blue stone that fit perfectly in the palm of my hand. Half of it was missing, leaving a jagged edge along the side. I turned the stone over in my hand and found a drawing in black on the other side. Even though it was only half an image, it was clear it was a maze.
I brushed the carving with one finger. A tingle spread through my body. I hummed the little melody that came to my mind. Beyond the rhythm I could feel a whole tune coming from inside me.
From her lily-arranging table, Mo started to hum along with me. It was as if we had both known this song our whole lives. Suddenly the tune petered out in my head. It must have petered out in Mo’s head, too, because she stopped humming at the same time.
“That song comes from the Singing Stone,” said Mo.
“This?” I asked, holding up the broken stone.
Mo glanced over and nodded. “Exactly.”
I waited quietly to hear more. This trip was turning out to be anything but your typical weekend over-the-river-and-through-the-woods-to-Grandmother’s-house-we-go.
“Used to be a seed, actually, that stone,” Mo said, her eyes on the lilies in the vase. “It was a special acorn that fell from a tree in a place called Aventurine.”
I turned it over in my hand. A petrified seed, I thought. “The name of your old violin?” I asked.
Mo seemed pleased that I had noticed. “Yes,” she said with a little smile. She stood back to admire her lilies. “You can see that the stone is broken in half,” Mo went on. “I’ve been getting the feeling that soon it will be whole again.”
“Do I have something to do with that feeling you’re getting?” I asked, staring at the half-stone and feeling light-headed and slightly queasy. Was I ready for the answer? I had read Harry Potter along with all my friends, but that was a book. This was my life!
Suddenly Mo was at the doorway of the little room. “Yes, my Birdie, my very special granddaughter, you do,” she answered.
My gaze shot up to meet hers, and I stood straighter when I saw the pride there.
“You know you’ve come here for a reason, don’t you?” she asked. “And it wasn’t just to meet me.” Mo motioned to me, and I followed her, the stone cradled in my hand. She led me to a long work counter that was covered with odd mechanical devices and what looked like dried tea leaves.
“I don’t suppose you have a tea potion that might fix the rot on that tree?” I said.
Mo let out a little chuckle. “Oh, if it were only that easy!” she said.
“So why am I here, Granny Mo?” I asked, looking at the stone again.
“To heal that wound you found yesterday in the Glimmer Tree. The rotting,” she said. She started sweeping dried tea leaves into neat little mounds with a piece of white paper. “And to find the other half of the Singing Stone, and to help put our family back together.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?” I whispered. Suddenly I felt more worried