Birdie's Book (17 page)

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 way! I picked her up and hummed “The Green Song” to her.

Everything in the greenhouse was blooming like nobody's business, as if spring had come early. Buds opened, tiny and soft baby pink, ready to burst into small hot-pink blossoms with deep-red centers any day now.

“Phlox paniculata
, the bright-eyed garden phlox,” I said out loud.

And suddenly, there in the stillness, I
knew
. I knew something had happened, something magical and real at the same time. And it was because of
me
.

I drifted into Mo's little alcove. There, on the table beside the comfy chair, was a piece of paper. I thought at first that it was a journal page from
The Book of Dreams
. I picked it up. It was a printout of an e-mail.

I know you're not supposed to read other people's letters, but I couldn't help myself. I swear the letter jumped into my hand!

I sat staring at that letter for a long time, reading it over and over. In one way, I was furious, but the more I read my mother's words, the more my anger turned to sadness.

My mother had given up her place in the great Arbor Lineage adventure. She had made her decision. My mother would never be a fairy godmother, would never have the magic that I could feel inside me now.

I slowly got up and went to the table to pick up Belle. I tucked her inside Mo's green coat and made my way slowly through the snowy garden toward Mo's house—where Mo must have been all along.

I stepped inside the kitchen to find Mother and Mo sitting at the kitchen table. I was so surprised that I nearly dropped Belle. They didn't even notice the blast of cold air, because my mom was crying. I couldn't remember ever seeing my mother cry before, and it shook me up.

“What's wrong?” I cried.

“Oh, Birdie!” my mother said. She stood up and wrapped her arms around me. I could feel her sobs even through the green coat.

“Is Dad okay?” I asked into her shoulder—it was the only reason I could think of for her crying.

Mom held me away from her and looked me right in the eye. She shook her head and made a little sniffly-giggly sound. “Everyone's okay,” she said. “Everyone's okay. I love you, Birdie, my sweet pea.”

Hearing her call me sweet pea made
me
cry—she hadn't called me that since I couldn't even remember!

Mo got up and put her arms around both of us, and we all sniffled away for a little while.

It felt so good.

“Well,” said Mo finally, pulling back. “Isn't this grand! Now that Birdie's here, I'll put some more water on to boil.”

That gave my mom a chance to pull herself together and me a chance to take off my boots and jacket and find a spot for Belle on the windowsill.

“Go on, Emma,” said Mo to my mom. “Finish what you were saying earlier. Then we'll hear what Birdie's been up to.” Mo winked at me.

“Do you want to hear this, too, Birdie?” Mom asked.

I nodded vigorously.

“Well, as I was telling MoMo, I don't know when I stopped believing. Believing, well, what we believe in this family,” my mom said. “I got so far off my path, working for that company that cuts down so many forests to make paper. I pushed hard for them to initiate a reforestation plan, but I just kept getting the runaround.”

“We all make mistakes, sweetie,” Mo told her. “That's how we learn, right? Never too late to fix things.”

“Hey, Mom?” I asked. “Why aren't you in England?”

“I thought it would be nice for me to spend New Year's Eve here,” she said, very softly. “With you and your grandmother. And it
is
nice. I am actually happy. Though I wish your dad were here now. He's probably terrified as to what we're all up to.” She laughed and hiccupped. “But he
is
coming, Birdie, on the train tonight.”

I stared at her. My mom's auburn hair hung around her forehead and cheeks in perfect wavy tendrils; her earrings were the expensive crystal pair from Prague. But her eyes didn't look so perfect. Traces of mascara were smudged along her bottom lids, and the whites of her eyes were red from crying.

“Wow” was all I could say now.

I looked closer. With my new kind of spring-seeing, I could see that my mom really was happy, like when tears have washed away a lot of sadness.

“So your mom is quitting her job,” Mo announced, bringing us all cups of tea.

“Huh?” I said. “What? When?” How could that have happened while I was dreaming?

“Soon,” my mom answered. “As soon as I find an environmentally responsible company to work for. I was just telling your grandmother … on the ride here, I had a hit of sudden clarity. I had gotten so far removed from who I really am … from who
we
really are, we Arbor Lineage women…” She shook her head. “Anyway, I made a lot of mistakes, and things are going to change.”

“They already have,” said Mo.

We all sat there at the kitchen table, not needing to say a word. It was a warm, comfortable silence. I think we were each trying to comprehend what had happened.

Then Mo, who can never stay still for very long, jumped up from the table and went to fill the red kettle with water. “More tea?” she asked.

“Sure,” Mom and I said together.

Mom is another one who needs to be busy. I
noticed she was quietly wiping the tabletop until every spot was gone. Some things never change.

I wanted to tell them about Aventurine. But there was so much to tell. I got up and walked over to the eyeglass window. I peered out through the pink octagon-shaped lenses at the snow. Maybe everything
was
rose-colored, I thought. And maybe I didn't have to share every detail. Maybe even if I'd been on an Arbor family quest, some special magic in the world was just for me.

Instead of talking, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Singing Stone. I raised it to my lips. Just as I began to play, the teakettle started whistling. But the song of the stone was louder and brighter. It completely drowned out the whistling with its melody even before Mo took the teakettle off the burner.

Mo and Mom turned. Their eyes were huge, and they both had big smiles on their faces.

“I knew it! I knew it!” shouted Mo as she turned off the stove. “Let me see it. Let me see that Singing Stone!” Mo raced over and took the stone into her hands and held it like a baby bird in a nest.

“Oh, Birdie, I'm so proud of you!” my mom said then, coming over to wrap me in her arms. Her embrace felt as warm as Dad's hugs, as comforting
as I remembered her hugs being when I was little. Did I actually have two parents now, two real parents? I wanted to just stay there, having my mom hold me, for the longest time.

Mo was still shaking her head in amazement, holding the stone. When she passed it back to me, there were tears in her eyes.

“Come on, let's move in by the fire,” she said.

“Better yet,” Mom piped up, “can the tea wait a few minutes? Before it gets too dark, let's the three of us go for a walk under the moosewood trees!”

“Grand idea!” Mo exclaimed.

“Grand idea!” I agreed, teasing Mo by mimicking her voice as I said it.

“Oh, and who's so smart now that she's been to Aventurine?” Mo teased back, raising her eyebrows. “We'll never hear the end of how she saved the family talisman!” Then she leaned over and kissed me gently on the cheek. She quickly pulled away to get her coat, because I knew she didn't want me to see the tears in
her
eyes.

We bundled up and headed out the front door. The
acer
s that grew right through the front porch were all decorated with silvery stars.

“We're having a New Year's Eve celebration tonight!” said Mo, walking down the steps between
the starry sugar maples. “Thought I'd decorate a bit.”

“What?
A party?” I asked. What exactly
had
happened while I was off dreaming in Aventurine? Then a thought hit me.

“Are we telling Dad about the Singing Stone?” I asked.

Mom, Granny Mo, and I looked at each other.

“No,” we all said at once.

Then Mom added, “We can talk about it, though. Maybe there's a way to tell him. Usually the men in the family are left out. Maybe they should know, even if they can't actually be a part of it—fairy godmothers could probably use some understanding support, wouldn't you say, MoMo?”

Mo nodded thoughtfully. “We'll see.”

Now we were on the driveway that was lined with the striped maples
(Acer pennsylvanicum)
that looked like majestic sentries. I remembered Mo saying that this had been Emma's “moose walk” when she was little.

“And, of course, Hank is joining us tonight,” added Mo. “And I'll be playing a little music.”

I smiled but didn't say a word, since we were standing beneath the trees. Mom had started spinning around, her arms outstretched. I started spinning, too. And pretty soon, there were three of us,
spinning around like dizzy, magical moose wings.

When Mom and Granny Mo headed back, I decided to stay a few more minutes. I wanted a moment to myself before all the New Year celebrating started. As they were walking away, their voices carried.

“What is life without family?” I heard my mom saying. “And what is life without green magic? About time I figured that out, huh?”

“Aren't you proud?” asked Granny Mo. “Aren't you proud of your Birdie?”

“I am proud,” said my mom. “Very, very proud.”

I took the Singing Stone from my pocket and stood there, holding it in my hand. The air shimmered as snow began to fall. And for a moment, just a moment, I was sure I saw a flower petal or two falling among those snowflakes, floating and waltzing around me.

On the morning of my first day at the Girls' International School of Manhattan, my mom was waiting for me in the kitchen with a cup of Granny Mo's gumbo-limbo tea and a bowl of cereal. She'd be taking me to school before she went to work at her new job in her new Manhattan office. She looked perfect, going off to help save threatened forest ecosystems. She'd still be traveling now and then, but I could tell it would feel different. Her sense of purpose matched her job, she told me, and it showed.

I had lately decided she was a
Potentilla reptans
, a creeping cinquefoil. Mo told me the Irish name for it is Cúig Mhéar Mhuire. It has beautiful yellow flowers and can grow practically anywhere—roadsides, wasteland—beautiful and strong as steel.

My school uniform was a fashion failure
compared to my mom's elegant suit or the fairy clothes of my first trip to Aventurine. Still, it was classic: a navy blue skirt with dark leggings and thick-soled boots. I'd accessorized as best I could with the green peacoat and twelve-foot-long striped scarf that Mo had given me.

Mom and I walked from our apartment through the park across the street to get to my school. I had to admit that the little park had seemed dead and gray when I'd first arrived in New York City. But I had a different viewpoint now. Plus, Dad told me that sometimes in January there would be a quick thaw for a day or two in New York. And guess what? Today was the day. It was still chilly, but a springy chilly, not a wintry chilly. The sky was robin's-egg blue, patches of grass peeked out from the snow, and a few persevering leaves still dangled from the tree branches.

People bustled around us as Mom and I walked silently, playing our old game—the listening game. We tried to hear the wind blow and the birds sing over the sound of cars and voices.

We soon saw a sea of girls in navy blue uniforms, wrapped in coats and scarves and jackets, gathering on steps and around the buses. So we were there. Some of the girls glanced or waved at the boys
who were congregating across the street and down two buildings at the Boys' International School.

I was a little nervous, which was weird, considering all I'd been through so recently. But this was the real world, and I was glad when my mom kissed me at the school steps and promised to come pick me up at four o'clock so we could talk about my day over a cup of cocoa.

As I entered the magnificent old marble-floored hallway, I passed a shelf with potted plants, terrariums, dried seedpods, and framed botanical drawings leaning against the wall. A poster hanging above said OUR GREEN EARTH. I stopped to check it out. Right below was a sign-up list for students interested in forming a green squad to help out the local environment. I picked up the pen and wrote my name first on the list.

Then I noticed a gerbera daisy in a pot in the far corner. (TRIBE:
MUTISIEAE
, GENUS:
GERBERA
, read the
sign beside it.) It reminded me of Belle, although she was a
simplex
, not a
gerbera
, of course. The daisy was starting to droop, so I reached into my backpack and pulled out my bottled water.

“There you go, little lady,” I said as I gave her a nice long drink. Almost instantly, the daisy's thirsty leaves perked up. “You'd probably like to hear a song as well, but I'm new here and don't want to look too strange,” I whispered.

I headed to my homeroom, which I could find because of the personal orientation I'd had just a few days earlier. Happily, my homeroom was the classroom of the Latin teacher, Ms. Jones. I hung my green coat and scarf in the cloakroom and then took a seat near the back. I noticed a girl a few rows ahead of me with long blond hair in braids twisted on top of her head. From the back, she looked just like Kerka!

But she couldn't be. Right?

Then the girl turned around, and my jaw just about hit the floor. “Kerka?” I asked.

“Birdie?” she said. I noticed she had an accent here in the real world.

“How—I am so glad you're here!” I exclaimed.

“Me too! It is a wonderful surprise!” Kerka was beaming, as I must have been.

“Welcome to a new semester, a new year,” Ms.
Jones announced. “
We
have two new students who've joined us, and I'd like to start off by asking them to tell us a bit about themselves.” She nodded first to Kerka.

As my friend stepped to the front of the room to introduce herself, I felt for the Singing Stone in my pocket. It was smooth all around the edges, and I moved my fingers gently across the etching. I knew the Glimmer Tree branches and every turn of that maze by heart.

I gave Kerka a great big smile. It was going to be a very good year.