Birdie's Book - Andrea Burden [44]
“The Singing Stone!” I shouted to the frozen waterfall, to the trees, to the boulders, to the snow-laden clouds. I tucked the stone deep into the pocket of my jeans and gave a quick glance around, just in case there was a shimmering tail or a girl with an orange stick hiding someplace in the frosty area. A winter sparrow darted out of a tree, startling me for a moment. Then I smiled as it flew off into the sky.
I thought of shimmying down the ice-glazed boulders, but instead, I ran, jumping from boulder to boulder. I had to get to the Glimmer Tree! I felt like a gazelle, leaping in a graceful streak toward the evergreens. Well, not quite a gazelle, I realized, laughing out loud when I slipped and slid on my bottom, ba-BUM, down three boulders (ouch!) and landed at the snowy base of an evergreen.
I planted a big kiss on the evergreen’s trunk.
Then I was up, brushing snow off my seat, and running again. I raced through the willows, along the ravine, and tromped like Mo right across the bridge. I rounded each corner and switchback of the maze, excited, leaping over icy patches on the ground.
There she stood, at the center, in all her golden brown majesty.
“Ms. Quercus! Quercus Robur!” I whispered. I held up the Singing Stone to show her. (You never know what the Glimmer Tree might be able to see or sense!) I’m pretty sure that I heard a soft sigh of relief coming from deep within the tree.
I reached my arms around her trunk, hugging her tight. I was so grateful for the Glimmer Tree, so grateful for my frightening and magical and wonderful trip to Aventurine. So amazed that I—plain old Birdie Bright—was going to be a fairy godmother, and that I was from a whole line of fairy godmothers!
I walked to the side of the tree that was rotting and felt for the soft spot. I felt up and down and around and around where it had been. It was gone, all of it. The Glimmer Tree was healed!
I closed my eyes as I laid my cheek against the tree’s beautiful, rugged bark where the rotting part had been. I felt tears begin to rise in me, from my heart up through my veins, and I wasn’t sure why. Just then, a blob of snow fell on my nose.
I looked up into the tree. “Willowby!” I exclaimed.
“Mrrrrow,” said Willowby in a friendly way. He crouched as if he were going to jump, and I held out my arms, wondering if I could catch him. Then he seemed to change his mind (I must have looked worried) and shimmied down the trunk instead. On the ground, he purred at me and wound about my legs the way cats do when they feel like they own you.
“Thank you, Willowby,” I said in a proper voice. “Come on, let’s go home now.”
I stopped all along the way, checking out the plants. I swear I could see spring beneath the winter snow! Where Mo had pointed out summer squash and Fourth of July cucumbers, I saw them in my mind and couldn’t wait to come back in the summer when they’d really be there. We passed the Christmas roses (Helleborus niger), and I thought of the girl whose tears had made white flowers sprout. There were the rose hips that looked like orange and red Christmas ornaments against the deep evergreen.
How lucky that I could have all of this whenever I visited! Mo was so close now, just a train ride away. Suddenly I realized this was even better than Califa! I had Mo’s garden and my own garden of Aventurine now. Plus, I had Mo!
As we got to the back porch, I stopped and made a U-turn. “Wait a sec,” I told Willowby. “Let’s go see if Granny Mo is still in the greenhouse.”
Willowby had clearly had enough, because he dashed through his cat door on the porch.
Me? I raced back to the Victorian greenhouse.
“Mo! Mo?” I called as I walked through the steamy double doors into the stillness.
She wasn’t there, but Belle was, sitting on the table beside the baby tea plants. She looked so beautiful! Granny Mo had transplanted her into a solid terra-cotta pot. My daisy now had two brand-new blooms, just like that, plus four little buds on the