The Night Gardener (33 page)

Molly grabbed hold of him, pulling him to her. “It makes you a regular person. No more, no less.” She felt his arms clasp tight around her ribs. She pressed her face into his messy red hair. They held each other for a long moment, arms tight, faces buried. It was a different sort of embrace. There was no coddling: it was strength upon strength—Kip held her up as she held him up.

“I think I figured it out.” She sniffed, looking up at the stars. “Hester asked me what the difference between a story and a lie was. At the time, I told her that a story helps folks. ‘Helps ’em do what?’ she asked. Well, I think I know the answer. A story helps folks face the world, even when it frightens ’em. And a lie does the opposite. It helps you hide.”

She felt Kip’s arms loosen. “S’pose that’s all the tree does, really?” He pulled back to look at her. “It helps you lie to yourself and pretend the world ain’t there.” He reached for the medicine, which was resting on the log beside him. He gave a wistful smile, perhaps for a moment imagining himself whole, and then tossed the tin into the fire.

Sparks flew up into the darkness as the tin began to crackle and hiss. His dream, burning into nothing. Molly stared at him, watching as he stoically stirred the charred remains with his crutch. “Kip, you’re the bravest person I ever met.”

Kip wiped his nose and stared into the fire. “You know what I wish for?”

“No.” Molly shook her head. “No more wishes.”

He turned toward her. “I wish that Ma an’ Da could see us right now.”

“Oh!” Molly laughed, wiping her eyes. “They’d be horrified.”

“Nay.” Kip shook his head, smiling. “They’d be
so proud
. Especially of you.” Molly looked away, not wanting to cry again. “And do you know what they’d say to us?”

Molly pressed her lips together. “Tell me.”

“They’d say, ‘Kip, Molls: we love you dearly, and we want you both to live a good, full life’”—he stared out at the woods—“‘but there’s a whole family at that house that needs saving.’”

Molly looked at him. In the warm glow, she could almost see the lines of her father’s profile. Even more, she knew Kip was right. Escaping the Night Gardener meant deserting the Windsors. She thought of Constance, her skin pale, body wasting away. She thought of the graves. She thought of Penny.

Kip caught her eye. “Those folks are in trouble, Molls. Someone needs to go back to warn ’em before it’s too late. And we’re all they got.” He nodded toward the wagon. “Well … us and Galileo.”

Molly took a deep breath. She longed with everything in her to leave this valley and never return. But she knew that running solved nothing: they had to go back. She squeezed his hand tight. “Let’s hope that’s enough.”

ip and his sister decided to wait until daybreak before returning to Windsor Manor. They had only ever seen the Gardener appear at night, and they hoped that the light would protect them. After a few fitful hours by the fire, they awoke with the first rays of dawn and set out on the wagon. They rode into the valley without speaking—silence to match the silence. Kip clutched the reins, going over the plan they had discussed the night prior. He would collect their things from the stables and—if he could be found—give Doctor Crouch a proper burial. Molly, meanwhile, would go into the house and make one final attempt at convincing Master Windsor to leave with his family. It wasn’t much of a plan, but at least they could say they tried.

The job seemed simple enough, but when they rounded the final bend and Kip saw the house, he felt his entire body tense. “You sure it’s smart to go back there?” he said.

“I’m sure it’s not.” Molly reached down and squeezed his hand. “But there’s what’s
smart
and what’s
right
. And Ma an’ Da would want us to do what’s right.”

“Hold your breath,” Kip said, and they rolled over the bridge. He eyed the river beneath them. He remembered his first time crossing this rotting bridge, the unnameable dread he had felt upon seeing the manor and grounds. It seemed like years ago, when, in fact, it had been only a little over a month. When they reached the other side, he stopped the cart.

“What’re you doin’?” Molly said as he climbed down from the bench.

“There’s somethin’ I want to look at.” An idea was coming to him. Maybe there was a chance to do more than just warn the family. He slid Courage out from beneath his seat and fit it under his arm. “I won’t be long.”

“You’d better not be,” she said, taking the reins. He saw her nervously glance toward the river. “You be careful near that water.”

Kip smiled. “You be careful near that tree.” He eyed the sun over the sourwoods. “Mornin’s half over. If we want the family out by sundown, you’d best get movin’.”

Molly nodded, snapped the reins, and continued toward the house. Kip watched her shrink into the distance: a tangle of wild hair atop a slender frame. She looked so different now, less like his big sister and more like a grown person—not a stranger, exactly, but like someone he knew only in passing, someone with thoughts and joys and pains that were hidden to him. His gaze shifted to the tree. It rose up like a tower in the harsh morning light, offering welcome shade on a hot day. And, scattered around it, a bed of
comfortable leaves to lie upon. He shook his head, thinking about what was waiting beneath those leaves. “Watch your step, Molls,” he said under his breath.

Kip turned around, resting his weight on his crutch. When Da gave it to him, the crosspiece had been taller than Kip’s head. Now it was an effort to keep the crutch from slipping out from under his arm. Still, it was his Courage, and he felt better simply for having it with him. He looked at the bridge that separated the island from the main road—maybe this bridge was the key to stopping the tree?

Kip had seen what the Gardener was capable of and had no intention of fighting him. But if he could somehow make the bridge collapse, then at least other people wouldn’t be able to cross over. Maybe the tree would die on its own, from a lack of fresh victims? It was at least worth a try.

Kip moved onto the bridge, keeping one hand on the thick rope, looking for weak spots in the wood. It was an ancient structure, and he felt continual surprise that it hadn’t fallen into the river ages ago. He hoped this meant that it wouldn’t take much to chop it down. The boards were slick with dew and mildew, and he nearly slipped a few times as he hopped from plank to plank. He stopped a few feet from the main road, where he thought the bridge might be weakest. He set down his crutch and gingerly got to his knees. The sound of rushing water filled his ears as he leaned over the edge, peering at the beams beneath. Thick black tendrils consumed the undercarriage; the roots extended all the way from the island and ended just before the road.

“So
that’s
why this bridge ain’t fallen down yet,” he muttered, almost impressed. “The tree don’t want it to.”

Kip stared at the roots, something else sticking in his mind. He remembered their flight in the wagon: the Night Gardener had chased them to the end of the bridge and then stopped at this very spot, as if pulled backward by some outside force. He remembered that night he was spared in the garden, when the same thing happened. “Of course!” he said, sitting up. “He can only go as far as the roots!”

“Who
can?” said a voice in his ear.

Kip turned around to see Alistair standing a little bit behind him. The sound of the river must have covered his approach. His face was as pale as ever, but there was a red puffiness around his eyes that made it look as if he’d been crying. He was holding Kip’s crutch in two hands like a broad sword.

Kip slowly pulled himself to his feet. “Good mornin’,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

“I’d hardly call it morning. It’s nearly lunch.” Alistair waved the crutch like a magic wand. “Where were
you
?”

It took everything in Kip not to grab for the crutch. If Alistair knew he was bothered, then things would only get worse. He clenched his fist tight, trying not to let his irritation show. “We went for a drive.”

“A drive?” Alistair’s expression soured. “My mother’s sick, and you go off on a
drive
?” He wagged the crutch like an accusing finger. “I can tell you’re lying. You’ve done something rotten. The doctor’s
missing—Father’s having a right row. I’m going to tell him it’s you two that frightened him off.”

“He was frightened, all right. But it wasn’t us that done it.” Kip looked behind Alistair. In the middle of the lawn he could see the shape of the fallen stable door—but no sign of the doctor beneath it.

“You do know something! I’ll have you sacked.”

Kip could not hide the smile that crept up on his mouth. “Won’t do much good—’cause we quit.”

Alistair stepped back like he’d been struck. “You
what?”

“Molly’s in there right now, tellin’ your father. We’re runnin’ away. And if you was half as smart as you pretend to be, you’d do the same.”

Alistair put the crutch over his shoulder, gripping it like a mallet. “And why is that?”

Kip bit his lip. “I know you think that tree’s a good thing, but it ain’t.”

Alistair’s face tensed. “You don’t know anything about the tree.”

Kip hopped closer. “I know it put your father in debt with those men from town. I know it made your ma sick.” He could not resist himself. “I know it made you fat.”

Alistair narrowed his eyes. He raised the crutch above Kip’s head. For a moment, Kip thought he was going to strike him, but then Alistair swung his arm out to the side, letting the crutch dangle over the edge of the bridge. “Say that again.”

Kip hopped closer, feeling a clutch of panic. “Please, don’t. I‘m sorry—”

Alistair opened his hand, and the crutch fell from his grasp. “Oops.”

Kip heard a splash in the river below. His heart plunged with it. He stumbled past Alistair, who was laughing, and peered over the edge. Courage was gone.

Alistair moved behind him. “Good luck
runnin’ away
now.” He said the words with a mocking brogue.

Kip teetered to one side, his stomach reeling. That crutch was the only thing he still had from his da and now it was gone. He closed his eyes, forcing back tears. He could not let Alistair see him cry. He breathed slowly through clenched teeth. “That was a horrible thing you done.”

Alistair crossed his arms. “Are you going to hit me? Tell me you hate me?”

Kip gripped the edge of the bridge, his body trembling with rage and shame. “I don’t hate you.” He pulled himself upright and hopped toward Alistair on his one good leg. “I feel sorry for you.”

Alistair responded as though he’d been struck. “Why do people keep saying that?” he said quietly.

Kip hopped closer still. “’Cause it’s true.” The pain was excruciating, but he kept his gaze steady. He wasn’t looking just at Alistair but at every boy who had ever taunted and chased him—and he was determined not to let them win. “Your ma’s inside that house, halfway to dead, and that’s a painful thing. But worse: she’ll go to her grave thinkin’ she’s mother to a selfish, mean-headed bully who never did a kind thing for no one… and she’ll be right.”

What little color remained had drained from Alistair’s face. His jaw was set and trembling. Kip thought Alistair might shove him or swear or even throw him off the bridge. But he didn’t care. He turned around and, wincing with every step, headed out to the lawn. Alistair did not come after him.

When Kip reached the stables, he glanced back toward the bridge. Alistair was still there, watching him.