Margaret and the Moth Tree (12 page)

“Maybe I'll grow up to be beautiful,” Angelica would say. “And everyone will love me.”

There are many dreams that don't mean a thing. Dreams about taking a ferry to the Arctic to meet the Prime Minister, or being chased around your kindergarten classroom by an angry dentist, for instance, probably mean very little.

But the kind of dream you keep deep inside your heart to remind yourself of what you hope and wish for, the kind of dream you whisper into your pillow every night before you fall asleep — that kind of dream can feed a whole treeful of moths, and it can mean a great deal.

As often happens with children, Hannah and Angelica grew up.

Hannah didn't change very much on the outside. What she did do was make several more good friends among the other orphans and discover that she had a large supply of kindness in her heart.

When new children arrived at the orphanage, Hannah liked nothing more than to make them feel welcome. She would walk with them to the Master's lectures, or sit with them at mealtimes, or smile at them when she passed them in the hall.

Unlike Hannah, Angelica changed a lot on the outside. For one thing, her mouth grew to make room for her teeth, which no longer looked quite so large or crooked. And when Angelica discovered that the other orphans had stopped picking on her as a result, it gave her a wonderful feeling. So while Hannah was off making new friends, Angelica was busy going through each of her features and thinking of ways she could improve them.

When Hannah and Angelica were old enough to set out on their own, Hannah moved to the very town where you first saw her and found a job in philanthropy. This allowed her to keep helping children as lonesome as she had once been, which filled her life with happiness.

But Angelica moved to a big city, where she got a job at a dressmaker's shop. As soon as she had saved enough money, she bought herself a mouthful of braces to straighten out her teeth, and expensive skin cream to smooth out her complexion, and every other product she could think of that might help her appearance. When she had saved up some more money, she went to a beauty parlor and had her mud-colored hair dyed blonde.

And when she began to notice people stopping in their tracks just to stare at her, she knew that the thing she had dreamed of every night of her life had come true.

She had grown up beautiful.

Have you put the pieces together? Can you guess what happened next to the orphan called Angelica, one day as she was on her way to work?

“Excusez-moi!” said a glamorous woman, rushing up to her on the street.

“What's your name, dah-ling?” said a man with a ponytail who was with her.

“It's Angelica,” said Angelica. “Angelica Switch.”

You see, no one pops into the world filled with fury and hate, like a rotten wormy apple. Just as every story has a villain, every villain has a story. Sometimes the rottenness seeps in slowly over many lonesome years. But other times, through the words of a cruel photographer and the sudden loss of a dream, it rushes in all at once, like water through a broken dam.

These were the memories that were flitting around in Miss Switch's mind as she watched Hannah's car drive off down the dusty road. But instead of paying them any attention, she brushed them away as if they were nothing more than bothersome cobwebs, and didn't think of them again.

CHAPTER 26
The Derangement of Toby Bobbins

When something happens that is the exact opposite of what you would expect, that is called irony.

The
Titanic
being nicknamed “Unsinkable” was ironic, because the last thing you'd expect an unsinkable ship to do is spring a leak on her first voyage at sea. Chopping off your hair and selling it to a wigmaker to buy your best friend a new baseball is ironic if your friend just sold her bat to buy you a new hairbrush.

Miss Switch being given an award for Caregiver of the Year was ironic because, as you know, Miss Switch was unfit to care for a tomato plant, much less a child.

But Miss Switch was untroubled by irony. Even when she was to be given an award for kindness, she had no problem acting as unkindly as possible. So the very next morning when Lacey bounded up the stairs yelling that Toby Bobbins had ruined the Matron's best silk dress in the laundry tubs, Switch emerged from her room feeling just as unkind as ever.

Working the tubs was one of the worst jobs a dreg could get. There were ten massive tubs deep in the bowels of the orphanage, each with a wooden step-ladder that wobbled when you went up it. On tub duty, the first thing you had to do was pour soap and bleach and chemicals into the scalding water, then try not to burn yourself as you loaded in the dirty clothes. Once this was done, you had to stand for hours in the steamy, smelly basement, stirring the tubs with a long wooden paddle to make sure everything washed evenly.

Toby, who had been working the tubs for a good four hours that morning, had become so tired and dizzy from the smell of bleach that he'd fallen asleep at his post and forgotten to stir the delicate clothes.

When Switch stepped into the laundry room and saw her expensive dress reduced to a dripping pile of tatters, she was secretly delighted. This may seem like a very odd reaction, as Switch dearly loved owning pretty and expensive things. But the more important truth about Switch was this: she loved cruelty more.

Switch was an artist when it came to punishment, and as her glittering eyes took in the sight of chubby Toby Bobbins and the ruined silk dress, she knew that he was just the inspiration she needed.

“So,” she said sweetly to the red-faced Toby. “You've had yourself a nice little nap, I hear. You're probably feeling very refreshed.”

Toby gave a very small nod.

“I don't see that you'll be needing to sleep anymore, will you?” Switch said.

“Not right now, Miss Switch,” said Toby meekly.

“Not ever,” smiled the Switch.

And from that moment on, Toby was forbidden to sleep.

Switch shut him in a cupboard in the basement, and the Pets were set on a nightly schedule to take turns keeping him awake by poking at him with a long stick whenever he closed his eyes.

This went on for two nights in a row. And on the morning of the third day, the day of Switch's award ceremony, when Margaret and Judy brought Toby his breakfast mush, they found him sitting on the floor with an aluminum pot on his head, singing quietly.

“What do you do with a drunken sailor, just as the sun was ri-sing,” warbled Toby. He stared at Judy, cross-eyed. “Captain!”

“Oh, no!” Judy gasped in horror. “He's gone off the edge!”

“Hey, non-nonny!” sang Toby. “Nifty nonny puffs!”

And then, without taking even a bite of his breakfast, he closed his eyes, fell flat on the floor and started snoring. No amount of poking and kicking and pinching from the Pets could wake him again.

News of the breakdown reached Switch, who interrupted her beauty preparations to pay a special visit to Toby's cupboard. When she saw how successful her punishment had been, she was absolutely delighted. Laughing as if the whole thing were a marvelous joke, she waved a hand at Margaret and Judy to have them carry Toby up to his bed.

That laugh of Switch's and that casual wave of her hand were so unfeeling that Margaret couldn't stand it. She had never been so angry in her entire life.

Anger was one of the many things Great-aunt Linda hadn't approved of, along with idle hands and poor table manners. But anger is a perfectly natural emotion, and sometimes it can tell you very important things.

As Margaret carried Toby up the stairs, she saw the pitiful way his tongue lolled out of his open mouth. She heard the distant peals of Switch's laughter. And her anger told her she had to do something.

As every other dreg trudged down to the basement to begin a massive laundry scrubbing for Switch's big day, Margaret slipped away. And when she was sure no one was looking, she ran out into the bright afternoon, heading for the moth tree.

CHAPTER 27
The Waking of the Moths

If you have lived any significant amount of time in this world, you will have noticed that different things come naturally to different types of creatures.

It is in the nature of a spotted woodpecker, for example, to munch on grubs and worms and to enjoy it immensely, just as it is in the nature of grubs and worms to be munched on by spotted woodpeckers and not to enjoy the experience quite so much. It is in the nature of small infants to cry and make a ruckus whenever they are hungry or moist, just as it is in the nature of airplane passengers to cry and make a ruckus whenever they are seated next to small infants. These are simply the rules of nature.

There are also some things that do not come naturally. It is not in the nature of small girls, for example, to hear the tiniest and quietest of noises. And it is not in the nature of moths to awaken in broad daylight and tinker in the affairs of humans.

But there are always exceptions to the rules.

When Margaret came scrambling through the thorny tunnel, the moths of the tree were fast asleep, and try as she might, she couldn't rouse them.

“Flit!” she cried, as she caught sight of the sleeping moth. “Rimblewisp! Everyone, wake up!” But not a single moth stirred.

Finally, she caught sight of Pip's familiar gray wings.

“Pip!” she cried, shaking the branch where he slept. “Wake up! Oh, wake up!”

Pip twitched, and mumbled, “Hmm?”

“Pipperflit!” Margaret shouted.

“Margaret?” Pip murmured, looking blearily up at her. “You're early. Why don't you come back later …”

And he laid his head back down on the branch.

“Pip! Don't go back to sleep,” Margaret said quickly. “Listen to me. I know what's been happening to the Nimblers! It's Switch!”

“The Switch …” muttered Pip.

“Yes, she's been turning them sour by tormenting us dregs!”

“Wait,” said Pip with a shake of his head. “Did you say Nimblers?”

“Yes!” said Margaret. “We need to get rid of Miss Switch, and then the Nimblers will go back to the way they used to be. Remember, Pip? Licorice and berries and honey? But I need your help, you and all the moths. Help me wake them up!”

“You can count on me, Margaret,” Pip said with a yawn, nodding his head. “Down with the dungwaddler!” But then he looked around at the sleeping moths, flicking his wings uncertainly. “Only … moths don't wake up in the daytime.”

“Pip,” said Margaret, an idea forming in her mind. “Look at it like a game. The very greatest game you've ever played. A game to bring back the good Nimblers.”

At this, Pip perked up. His wings began to twitch. Then he flew up into the air.

“
Games afoot!
” he cried. “Everyone up! All moths up for the Greatest Game!”

The tree began to stir, and the moths to grumble.

“What's going on?”

“Go back to sleep, Pip. We'll play tonight.”

“The Greatest Game! The Greatest Game of all!” Pip cried. “It's happening right now! And the prize is a whopping great load of Nimblers — the most tastiest Nimblers you could possibly chase down! Enough for everyone!”

Now the tree began to rustle, as the moths began murmuring all at once.

“What's he saying?”

“Nimblers?”

“The Greatest Game!”

“Everyone!” Margaret called out over the noise, staring up at the crowd of tiny faces. “This will be a game you'll never forget for the rest of your lives, and you only get to play it once. If you win, it will be just as Pip said.”

The hum in the tree grew into a quiet roar.

And then, high up in the branches, a single voice cried, “For Nimblers!”

“All right, Whatsit!” called Flit.

“Now listen carefully!” Margaret said. “Here's what we're going to do.”

CHAPTER 28
The Rallying of the Dregs

In preparation for the awards ceremony, Miss Switch had tripled her usual beauty regime. She had powdered and primped. She had creamed and curled. She had tucked and trimmed.

She had spent hours picking an outfit that was the perfect combination of modesty and grace, and her final selection was now lying neatly on her bed. As the hour of her triumph drew near, she sat at her vanity table wearing a wrinkle-reducing face cream and practicing her acceptance speech in her head.

But as Switch was smiling smugly at her reflection, a very different kind of preparation was underway outdoors.

Just outside the orphanage, crouched quietly next to the side door, Margaret was waiting. When a small gray moth came flying toward her a moment later, she rose.

“The dregs are in the underground,” said Pip, coming to land on her shoulder.

“The basement, you mean?” said Margaret.

“That's the one. That wonky-nosed Pet is guarding them.”

“And the others?” Margaret asked.

“Sneaking snacks,” said Pip.

Margaret nodded. Switch had ordered the dregs to rewash every piece of clothing and linen in the house so that everything would be extra clean for the photographer. And since none of the Pets wanted the job of keeping an eye on them in the steamy room, guard duty had fallen on the dreggish Pet, Agatha Spink.

“I think I know what to do,” said Margaret.

Treading softly, she crept through the door into the orphanage. Pip flew ahead to check on the Pets, who were now at the long carved table in the dining room.

“All clear!” he called.

Margaret darted into the kitchen and, rummaging in the pantry, quickly gathered up two large handfuls of cookies. Then before the Pets even knew she had been there, she was gone.

Keeping out of sight, she made her way to the basement stairs. When she reached the bottom, she found a pouting, fidgeting Agatha Spink, leaning unhappily against the doorway of the laundry room.

Unfortunately, things had not much improved for Agatha since her efforts to win over Miss Switch. She still spent her days wishing she fitted in. She still spent her nights afraid of being tossed out in the cold. Through it all, she had grown to be the most miserable of all the orphans.