Molly and Pim and the Millions of Stars (5 page)

Molly woke in the night to see her mama completely entranced by her work, bent over
the small wooden desk with a determined frown on her face. She lifted the dark bottles
and vials and droppers, fell to her knees to rummage through the baskets of dried
plants and seeds and roots, and flipped vigorously through her books on the uses
of herbs and weeds.

Molly sighed and rolled over. The activity of her mama's thinking was like a strange
insistent wind rustling through the dark night, seeping into her body and making
her turn and twist and anticipate something. What is about to happen, and why do
I feel it's big? she wondered.

It's just what happens, she reassured herself, when Mama starts making potions. You
wake up in the night and you get feelings. Feelings that creep and skitter within
you like a frightened mouse darting for the corners and holes, feelings that never
quite announce themselves either.

And with that thought, Molly fell back to sleep.

CHAPTER 7

Borage Tea

When Molly woke up, her mama was still working. She moved slowly now. She rubbed
at her eyes and leaned, swaying and blinking, into the light. She looked as if she
might fall asleep and fold down in a small, dishevelled pile on the floor.

‘Mama, did you stay up all night? You need to go and sleep.' Molly stuck her hands
on her hips.

Her mama smiled faintly and sank down into the chair.

‘All I need is a cup of borage tea. We've got a tree to plant today.' She picked
up a jar and pointed
to the acorn in a brown liquid inside it.

It was Saturday. The house was bathed in the scents of lemon and rosemary oil, which
had burned all through the night. Maude lay in her basket, one large black ear cocked
in case there was movement. Claudine had taken advantage of Mama's empty bed and
lay curled up and sunken into the yellow doona. The sky outside looked bright and
promising, and all was quiet at the Grimshaws'.

Possibly everything could be all right after all, thought Molly. But possibly everything
will go wrong too, she thought as well. It was her habit to think one thing and then
the exact opposite. What would it be like to be Ellen Palmer this morning? Or what
would it be like to be Pim Wilder? She knew what Ellen would be doing, but what about
Pim? She couldn't imagine what he did when he wasn't at school. Look at things through
telescopes? Map the stars? Make papier-mâché angels? Molly knew that Ellen would
be on her way to pony club. With her camel-coloured
jodhpurs and her hair in neat
plaits. Ellen wouldn't have to worry that her mama had stayed up all night long.

‘No,' said Molly, accidentally out loud.

‘No?' repeated her Mama vaguely. ‘Oh, you're right, the hole. I'll dig it now.' She
stood up, rubbing at her back and reaching for her straw hat.

‘I'll dig the hole,' Molly offered politely.

‘No, you make the borage tea.'

Molly was relieved, but she felt a little guilty for not sharing in her mama's eagerness
to plant the tree. She glanced warily at the acorn in its potion. It looked as if
it had sunk to the bottom of a dirty pond. Molly couldn't see anything magical about
it. She sniffed the wet, earthy, sharp smell, which was exactly as you would expect
rotting leaves in winter to smell. It was probably just a normal old acorn, Molly
scoffed to herself.

She rummaged through the washing basket, found her favourite red dress, put it on
and ran outside with Maude to get some borage.
Borage was growing everywhere in the
garden, even where it was not meant to be. It had large, squishy, slightly prickly
leaves and tiny blue flowers. Molly picked a bunch, plucking off the flowers and
eating them as she went. She shooed the chickens and picked up the Gentleman, who
was most handsome with his white feathers and glorious red comb. She swished at the
harlequin beetles that were eating the cherry tomatoes and picked some basil, because
her mama often liked basil and borage together.

Molly ran inside and boiled the water and steeped the herbs in the teapot. Then she
took the pot and a cup outside to where her mama was digging the hole.

Her mama stood up and rubbed her back and tore off her gloves. The wide brim of her
straw hat sagged, but Molly could see her cheeks were red.

‘It seems such a big hole for an acorn, but the roots will need lots of room to grow
quickly. Ah, tea…Thank you.'

‘Borage and basil,' Molly declared.

Her mama smiled, but she seemed too tired to be impressed. They both sat there and
watched a willie wagtail dance in the mottled shade under the lilly pilly tree.

Molly poured the tea. Maude nuzzled up to Mama, who lazily gave her a pat.

Mama sipped her tea, peeping over the teacup at Molly. ‘The hole is almost deep enough
and I think we might see something happen as soon as we plant the acorn,' she said
as she put down the cup.

Everything felt so sleepy and lazy and sunny that it seemed impossible for it all
to change as violently as it did in the very next instant.

Molly's mama took another mouthful. She gulped. Her eyes widened. She stared in horror
at what she held in her hand.

It was the jar of acorn potion.

Molly stared too. Something terrible was happening. ‘Mama?' she breathed.

But it seemed that her mama couldn't talk. Her
eyes closed and she wobbled, but instead
of falling over she began to turn a dark muddy colour. Her body welled up and up
and grew tall and her arms shot outwards, as rigid as a scarecrow's. A loud creaking
and splitting sound came from her body, and her eyes were wide as if something had
tugged suddenly at her eyelids. She stared at Molly with a look of great yearning.
Then her eyes swept shut and she seemed to be sucked inwards as her breath blew out
of her in a violent blast.

Maude began to run in circles.

Molly froze. Her mama's body turned to a trunk. Her skin turned to bark. Her arms
became branches. And her face vanished in the crown of leaves that spread across
the summer sky. All that remained was her straw hat, which hung perilously from a
branch high up in the tree, its thin red ribbon flying gaily in the wind.

Molly's heart was very loud inside her. Her eyes were stuck wide open, and her legs
began to tremble. She crouched down and put her hands on
the warm grass. Then she
crawled towards the tree that was her mama and put her head against it.

She squeezed her eyes very tightly shut and told herself she mustn't cry.

CHAPTER 8

Chocolate-and-Cashew Balls

Even for the bravest of the brave, it is a terrible shock to watch your mama turn
into a tree. Molly crouched down and rocked herself gently. She drew herself into
a ball, like a bug, and squeezed herself hard, trying not to let anything go in or
come out. Her thoughts raced round and round.

Her mama was gone.

Her mama was a tree.

It was a sunny Saturday morning, and half the town was already up and bustling about
and the hum of activity crept up from the valley. But
Molly stayed curled up by the
tree. Maude lay beside her, and Claudine had leapt off the fence to see what had
happened.

Slowly, Molly opened her eyes a little bit. Then she closed them again. She could
only bear to let the bright sunny world in bit by bit. For although everyone else's
world was exactly as it had always been, hers was in turmoil, and she wasn't sure
how she could manage it. Finally she spoke, because she felt it might be best for
someone to say something.

‘Oh, Maudie, tell me this is a terrible dream.'

But Maude could not tell her that. She could only beat her tail anxiously on the
ground.

‘Well, at least I'm not alone. At least there's
you, Maude. And Claudine, I guess.'
And she sighed—Claudine was a very poor replacement for what she had lost.

Lost? Had she lost her mama? Was that what had happened? Molly sat up and rubbed
at her eyes. She pinched her arm. Yes, she was definitely awake. She gazed up at
the tree.

It was a beautiful tree, tall and spreading and not quite one type or another. Its
leaves, in fact, were not all the same type at all. Some resembled an oak's leaves,
others had a reddish tone and some were dark green and small. As she stared up into
the canopy it seemed that all the leaves shook at once and the sun fell through them
like diamonds.

‘Mama?' she whispered. ‘Is that you?'

The straw hat twirled on the end of its branch.

Molly felt something. At least she thought she did. What was it, though? Could it
be a vibration? She moved closer to the tree and rested her cheek against its trunk.

‘Mama, is that you in there?'

There was almost a murmur within the trunk, Molly was certain.

‘Maudie,' she declared, ‘this tree is Mama, and she is alive. All we have to do is
to work out how to change her back!'

Maude pricked her ears and sat at Molly's feet, awaiting instruction, while Claudine
walked stealthily around the trunk of the tree, uttering a few startled miaows.