The Night Gardener (15 page)

“Shine your lamp here,” he said, pointing ahead. Molly’s light found a hoofprint in the black mud. There were more prints leading through a bramble. Kip pulled himself up on his crutch and continued in the direction of the trail.

Molly cupped a hand to her mouth and sang out into the fog:

“Oh, where did you go, dear Gal-i-le-o?

Your oats are a-ready, an’ we miss you so!”

It was a simple tune she and Kip used when they were making up songs. One of them would start a verse, and then the other would finish it with a silly rhyme—the sillier the better. Kip, however, did not seem to be in a mood for singing.

“Ain’t you the gloomy one,” she said.

“Just thinkin’ is all,” Kip said as he hopped around a rock. “The old woman told me what really happened to Master Windsor’s family when he was a boy.”

“They died of fever,” Molly said, repeating what she had been told by Mistress Windsor. “Nothin’ too strange in that.”

Kip shook his head. “That old witch says it wasn’t no fever. She says they was all killed—all at once—by somethin’ wicked. And their bodies were never found.” He kept walking.

A cold wind swept through the woods, shivering the branches. Molly shivered, too. She pulled her coat tight over her dress, the bottom of which was now certainly muddy. She could have throttled that old woman for filling her brother’s head with such nonsense. “She was just tryin’ to frighten you,” she said, catching up.

“Frighten? Or warn off?”

“And now you’re tryin’ to frighten me. Shame on you both.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the welcome sight of Galileo. The horse stood in the middle of a clearing, struggling against something at his feet. “He’s caught his leg in some kinda snare,” Kip said, rushing to his side. “Bring your lamp here.” Molly knelt at her brother’s side to help him. The “snare” was actually a root that had somehow coiled itself several times around Galileo’s ankle. “His leg’s hurt, but I dinna think it’s broken.”

Kip carefully pulled the root away. The moment Galileo was free, he reared up, knocking them both backward. Molly’s lamp fell to the ground and the flame went out, leaving them in complete darkness. “Perfect,” she muttered, feeling out in front of her for the lantern. She found it and set it upright. She fished a match from her coat pocket and raised the storm glass.

Kip stilled her hand. “Don’t,” he said softly.

Molly followed his gaze toward the surrounding darkness—

Only it wasn’t dark.

She stood, eyeing the forest floor, which seemed to be glowing softly in the moonlight. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out flowers of different shapes and sizes poking up through the rocks and brush. She knelt down and touched a large blossom at her feet; the petals were silver-white.
Like slices of the moon
, she thought. “You ever heard of flowers that bloom at night?”

Kip shook his head. “I walked these woods a hundred times in the daylight and never once saw so much as a bud. Now look at ’em. They’re like something from one of your stories.” He glanced over at Galileo, who had wandered to a cluster of shimmering teardrop-shaped blossoms and was happily munching away. “I’ll bet that’s what got him so far from the house. Gal’s crazy for honeysuckle and bluebells—it’s all I can do to keep him from eatin’ up the mistress’s whole flower bed.” He stood, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Makes you wonder who planted ’em.”

“Planted
’em?” Molly said. “They’re wild.”

“They’re wild enough now, but look at how they’re sorted. All in groups. Those lily-shaped ones, the big old spiny fellows, them little hangin’ things—each of a kind.” He shook his head, adjusting his cap. “Someone had to plant ’em like that, one by one. Wouldn’t that have been a thing? To see a whole garden like this, all silver and shadow?”

Molly could now see that Kip was right: the flowers were indeed
in some sort of pattern. But it felt less like a garden than the memory of one. Weeds and time had choked it. “Even if there was someone who planted ’em, he’s long gone.” She picked up Galileo’s rope. “We should be, too, for that matter.” She took one last look at the glowing flowers, relit her lantern, and started back for the house.

The stillness of the garden remained with Molly and Kip as they wandered through the dark woods. After a few false starts, they found some of their own tracks, which they were able to follow to the edge of the trees. Galileo, for his part, was acting more mule than horse; as they neared the lawn, he became increasingly reluctant to go on. He nickered and snorted and pulled against his bit with all his might. By the time they got him to the stables and inside his stall, Molly’s new dress was covered in mud and torn in three places. “Stupid animal,” she muttered, retying his rope with a special double knot her father had taught her.

“Don’t be sore at Gal,” Kip said, holding open the door. “C’mon. I’ll walk you back to the house.”

Molly knew Kip must have been just as exhausted as she was, and it meant something that he would keep her company. The two of them walked across the lawn in quiet. As she walked, Molly’s mind kept turning back to the image of those pale flowers. Kip’s mind was apparently on the same subject. “You don’t need no fancy dress to look nice,” he said to her as they approached the drive. “Just like them flowers in the woods don’t need no vase.”

Molly put an arm on his shoulder. No gift in the world was worth
more than a kind word from Kip. She looked back up at the house, wondering if she had remembered to put out her bedroom light, and stopped short.

“Molls?” Kip said.

Molly did not answer. She remained still, eyes fixed on the front door of the house—

“It’s open,” she said.

Ever since her first night with the top hat, Molly had made a careful point of locking the Windsors’ front door before bed. She did this every night, and tonight had been no exception. And yet, here she was, staring at an open door. Wind swept in and out of the house like a tide, pushing the door back and forth as it moved.

Kip inched closer to her. “Maybe … the wind pushed it loose.”

She nodded, taking his hand. “Maybe so.” They were both whispering.

It could have been a trick of the light, but it looked like something was moving just inside the door frame. Something dark. Something tall. Something she did not want to be there.

A sharp gust of wind swept across the lawn, and the door swung wide. Molly caught her breath. A figure stepped onto the stoop. Dry leaves swirled all around him. His face and hands were pale in the moonlight. He was wearing a long black cloak and a black hat that looked horribly, horribly familiar. Molly swallowed, barely able to form the words.

“The night man,” she whispered. “He’s back.”

olly grabbed Kip and pulled him to the ground. She pressed her body flat against the grass, hiding herself behind one of the small hills. Not a hundred feet away was the man her brother had seen in the fog. The man she had heard stalking the hallways. The man she had told herself a hundred times over didn’t exist.

Molly listened to his footsteps, slow and heavy on the gravel drive. She closed both eyes—her mind reeling. Where had he come from? What did he
want
?

The footsteps stopped somewhere near the front of the house. Molly peered over the top of the hill, but her view was blocked by fog and shadow. She dropped back down. “I canna see him,” she whispered to Kip. “You stay here.”

Molly crept between the hills, her stomach flat against the ground. She tried not to think about whether the man could see her through the fog—it was all she could do to keep her head down and keep moving. She had less than fifty feet to go, but it felt much, much farther.

Molly finally reached the old well beside the drive. From there
she thought she might be able to watch the man unobserved. She sat up and poked her head around the edge of the well. The man was working at the foot of the big tree. His clothes were tattered and worn, but his skin was as white as soap. Looking at his hands, Molly couldn’t help but think of the blossoms she and Kip had found in the woods. The man’s gaunt face was half-hidden behind a long, unkempt beard. The wells of his eyes were darker than pitch—like a shadow’s shadow.

The man carried with him a collection of old gardening tools. Molly saw a rake and shovel as well as pruning shears and a hand spade.

“What’s he doin’?” said a voice in her ear.

Molly spun around to find Kip crouched beside her. “I told you to stay put!” she hissed.

“And let you get snatched up?” He shook his head. “Scoot over.”

A scolding would have to wait. Molly inched to one side to make room for him behind the well. “Keep your voice down,” she said and clamped her fist around his collar—just in case he got the idea to sneak any closer. Together, they peered at the house.

The man was kneeling before the giant tree, holding a rusted pair of shears. He carefully trimmed back any moss and ivy that had encroached around its base. “Are those your tools?” Molly whispered.

Kip shook his head no.

Molly watched as the man leaned close to the tree, tenderly running his fingers along the bark, whispering softly. As he spoke, Molly thought she could hear voices echoing and hissing in the wind—she
did not understand what the voices said, but they sounded beautiful. And sad.

The man finished his words and stepped back from the tree. He picked up a large metal watering can. Molly felt a surge of panic. “He’s comin’ to the well!”

“No he ain’t,” Kip whispered. “See how he’s holdin’ the can—it’s already filled to the brim.” Molly looked again and saw that her brother was right. The man brought the can to the tree. He moved carefully, as though he were carrying something much more precious than water. He gently tipped the can, wetting the roots and soil around the tree. It could have been a trick of the moonlight, but the water looked unnatural as it fell—reflecting a silvery light all its own.

The man shook the can, expelling every last drop. He stood again and held his hand out over the ground. A gust of wind blew past Molly and circled around the man, scattering the leaves at his feet. He took his old shovel and thrust the blade into the exposed ground. He dug into the earth, heaping scoops of dark soil onto the grass beside him.

Molly felt Kip nudge her arm. “That’s right where I filled the hole before—the one Penny fell into.” He scooted closer. “But why do you think he’s diggin’ another one?”

The man looked up, seemingly alarmed.

Molly dropped behind the well, pulling Kip down with her. The night man had looked straight at her. Had he heard them? Had he
seen
them? A cold wind was now wuthering around her. The house groaned. The tree creaked. Leaves shuffled. She could almost see the
icy currents sliding between the hills like living things, feeling every twig, every pebble, every blade of grass—searching for prey.

A shiver licked up her spine as the wind moved over her body, grasping at her legs, her arms, the back of her neck, as if trying to identify her. Molly clenched her eyes shut, holding her brother tight, trying not to breathe.
If I don’t breathe
, she thought,
he might not find me
.

Suddenly the wind died. Leaves fell softly to the grass, and all was silent but for one sound—

The slow
crunch
of footsteps on gravel.

The night man was heading straight toward the well. Molly gripped Kip even tighter. She didn’t dare turn her head, didn’t dare look at the man who was twenty, now ten, now five feet away. Molly felt a chill that might have been his shadow, and the footsteps stopped right beside her. From the corner of her eye, she could see the night man standing next to her, nearly on top of her, facing away toward the woods. Molly stared at his boots. They were caked in mud, worn with decay, and did not match. Molly knew those boots. They were the boots whose tracks she cleaned from the halls every morning—each time telling herself they meant nothing. But, of course, they did mean something. Something wicked.

The man whispered into the air, his fingers moving slightly like he was reading the currents with his hands. Molly knew that the wind would tell him where she was. Tell him that all he needed to do was turn around, and he would find them. She closed her eyes and uttered
a silent prayer.
Don’t turn around
, she thought.
Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t—