Birdie's Book - Andrea Burden [8]
“Ah, there you are, Willowby. You’re hungry, eh?” said Mo. “He loves to hide in the ferns out here in the summer … a whole world of ferns around the base of this tree.” She picked him up and growled in his face, then looked at me. “But summer or winter, he’s a cranky old cat when he wants to eat. You’ll have to forgive his rude behavior for now. Come on, let’s head home.”
Mo led the way back, me and Willowby right on her heels. Mo was silent on the way, though she waited patiently for me to cross the bridge again. I decided not to mention the odd things she’d said. She was clearly a unique person, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for her to be quite so … weird.
My fingers, toes, and nose felt like ice cubes by the time we got back. Granny Mo and I settled into two comfy chairs in her living room (no TV in sight) and had dinner right in front of the fire, warming our feet while we ate. After all that walking in the cold, Mo’s tomato soup with fresh basil and burnt croutons was the most delicious meal I had ever had. Antiques crammed the fireplace mantel and window ledges in the living room. There were porcelain doodads set on every surface, and every kind of clock you can imagine was tick-tocking up and down the walls.
Once Willowby had decided I was trustworthy (his attitude no doubt related to his full belly), he curled up in my lap, purring. We were all ready for an early bedtime.
“Now don’t stay up reading too late, and turn off the lights before you go upstairs,” Mo warned as she gave me and Willowby a couple of pecks on the tops of our heads, picked up our dishes, and headed back to the kitchen. “Sweet dreams, Birdie dear!” she called as I heard her go up the stairs.
No worries about reading, since I could barely keep my eyes open. I took five minutes to just enjoy being alone, then I moved Willowby to the couch, turned off several lamps, and headed upstairs myself.
In my mother’s old room, I threw my suitcase on a chair, opened it, and changed into cozy thermals. I flopped down on the bed. I propped my laptop on a pillow, flicked it on, and checked my e-mail. There was a message from my dad that complimented me on how cool I was, going off to meet Granny Mo on my own, and updated me on Mom’s news from London, and ended with “Love you, my Redbird. Dad. P.S. Mom’s okay with what you’re doing, too. She wasn’t very happy at first, but she recognizes that this is part of your growing up and you need to know your family, especially with the move.”
“I love you, too, my one and only dad,” I replied in an e-mail. I added some stuff about the train ride and Granny Mo, but I didn’t tell him about the Glimmer Tree. Somehow it seemed too secret to be sending off into cyberspace. I glanced up from the computer. Something was distracting me. Ah, the posters. I stood on the mattress, pulled down Leif and his fake smile, rolled him up, and pushed him under the bed. He wasn’t my dream.
When I stood up, a fierce blast of cold air shot into the room. The old window overlooking Mo’s garden rattled. I grabbed a blanket off the foot of the bed to stick into the cracks on both sides of the window. I looked outside; the beauty of the night sky took my breath away. I imagined my mother as a girl, standing in this same place, looking out at the tip-top of the Glimmer Tree, way off in the strange and beautiful Ha-Ha Valley. Was that tree the last place Mom allowed herself to get lost in imagination?
The wind swept the clouds away. I watched the constellations appear, like Dad and I used to do on camping trips. There was Orion and there was Andromeda, and then … the stars began to move. Really! The stars from Orion’s belt zipped along in a trio, Andromeda played with the Northern Crown, and hundreds, maybe thousands of stars danced right there in the yard. I shut my eyes tight, and when I opened them, I looked back up to the sky. Every constellation and every star except for one sparkled back in their proper places.
A sense of foreboding creeped across my skin. I stuffed