Tree Girl (3 page)

Losing her sandals, by itself, didn’t bother her much. She usually walked barefoot anyway. It was the
strangeness.
The mystery of it all. And the mystery clung to her like pine sap to a beetle’s back.

Then came the day when she spotted some rowan leaves—a whole bunch of them—growing out of a spruce tree at the forest edge! Now
that
was strange. So strange, she couldn’t resist stepping over the bramble bushes that bordered the woods, just to get a closer look.

She blinked in surprise. The rowan branch had been spliced onto the spruce! Aye, by someone with clever hands. And a sense of humor, too.

On another morn, the sea looked as calm as a wide blue eye, staring up at the clouds. Anna spun some turns on the sand, which left a swirl of prints behind. Then she noticed some other marks on the wet sand—marks she hadn’t made herself.

On the spot where the master’s boat lay at night, she saw a rough circle. And lots of crooked lines. Could it be a face? She moved closer. Suddenly, she started to laugh. It was the face of the master himself! Aye, that it was!

She shook her head, amazed. “By the sea and stars…who did this? Not the master, that’s certain.”

She fell to her knees beside the drawing. And she traced the lines, made by something about the size of her own finger. Was it just chance? The trail of a crab, or some stones jostled at high tide? No—the likeness, right down to the scowl, was just too perfect.

As she often did these days, she glanced suspiciously at Old Burl. The tree just stood there, though, and seemed to ignore her. She narrowed
her eyes. If Burl hadn’t done it himself, he knew who had.

But who could it be? And was it the same person who’d stolen her sandals?

As if reading her thoughts, the fir tree stirred. Some branches creaked—or chuckled. Anna watched a moment longer, then turned back to the face in the sand.

She lowered her voice and did her best imitation of the master’s gruff voice. “Thunder and blast, girl! Why be ye pourin’ that sand in me skillet? Be ye lame in the head, Rowanna?”

The face seemed to scowl even more. Behind her, Old Burl chuckled again. As did Anna.

Eagle jumped down from his perch on her shoulder. He landed with a splat on the sand. Then he strutted right over to the master’s chin and started to whistle angrily.

“Watch yerself, ye gall-blasted bird!” It was hard to keep going without laughing out loud, but Anna managed somehow. “Or else I’ll feeds ye to the fish. Bet yer scrawny old tail feathers, I will!”

At this, Eagle flew into a rage. He jumped onto the drawing’s nose and started pecking hard with his tiny beak.

Anna smiled at the little warrior. She gathered him up, despite all the nips to her hand. “It’s all right now, my friend. You scared him so much, he won’t talk anymore.”

Eagle paced across her palm. He didn’t seem at all convinced.

“Here you go. A reward for your bravery.” She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out an oak leaf wrapped around a sticky slab of honeycomb. She peeled back the leaf, broke off an edge, and offered it to him. But the valiant bird wouldn’t turn away from his enemy—who could, after all, just be playing dead.

Anna took a bite of honeycomb herself. She chewed thoughtfully. “All right, then. What if I rub him out? Then you’ll know he’s really gone.”

Eagle chirped several times.

She put the bird back on her shoulder and gave him his bit of honeycomb. Then she reached over to the drawing. But just as she was about to touch it—

A sharp wind gusted. All along the forest edge, trees twisted and groaned, waving their branches. Old Master Burl’s lower branches slapped the
sand. Suddenly Anna’s sunbonnet, woven from willow shoots the spring before, flew off her head.

She leaped to catch it, but too late. The bonnet spun in the air, then sailed over the brambles and into the forest. It landed on the very tip of the spruce tree’s grafted branch.

“Thundering thumbnails!” She bounded after it, jumping over a bramble bush. At the instant she reached the bonnet, though, a new gust snatched it and carried it to an elm tree a little farther into the forest. There it rested, on a lower branch, quivering in the wind.

She swallowed. Then she glanced back over her shoulder at the cottage—and the safety of the shore. Eagle, clutching her shoulder, flapped his good wing anxiously. He tried to whistle, but his beak was fused together from his bite of honey, so he could only make a stifled squawk.

“Hush now,” she told the bird. “I don’t want to go in there, either. But really, we’re still so close to the beach.”

Anna turned back to the forest. She peered at the bonnet, sitting on the elm, dappled with sunlight. It was only fifteen or twenty steps away.

Again she glanced at the shore. Then back to the bonnet.

“Took me two months’ work to weave that hat,” she grumbled. Her fist clenched, squeezing the remains of the honeycomb. “And no silly old wind is going to take it from me now.”

She sucked in her breath and stepped into the forest.

S
UDDENLY
—
A WHOLE NEW WORLD
. Now Anna’s feet didn’t sink into sand: They bounced in a bed of fallen leaves. The briny smell of the sea faded into a zesty mix of resins, blossoms, and rich, wet soil. And the sounds of sloshing waves and screeching gulls died away, shushed by the whispers of branches.

But Anna barely noticed. Her bonnet was now just an arm’s length away!

She reached for it—just as a new gust of wind shook the elm. Rotting ravens! The bonnet flew right over her outstretched hands, struck a leaning hawthorn trunk, and bounced into the air again. Almost as if the trees were playing catch! Then her hat arched over the backs of a doe and her spotted fawn, who watched with unblinking brown eyes. Finally, it landed on a huge beech tree that stood even deeper in the forest.

Before Anna could move, one of the beech tree’s lower branches lifted up and spanked the doe—right
on the flank. But the deer didn’t bolt. She just tossed her head, nuzzling the branch as she would an old friend. Anna watched, amazed. Then both doe and fawn trotted off lazily into the forest.

Strange, indeed. But she was in no mood to wonder. She wanted her hat! She dashed through a patch of sweet-smelling ferns, straight to the beech tree.

Up she peered, into the branches. They shone silver in the morning light, with bark as smooth as wave-washed stones. And they held her bonnet! The sparrow on her shoulder squawked bravely. She dropped her honeycomb on the ground, reached for a branch, and pulled herself up.

Higher she climbed, just as she’d done so often with Old Burl. In a few minutes, she drew close to her prize. She leaned out from the trunk, bracing herself with one hand, stretching for her bonnet with the other. She reached farther…and farther…

Got it! Eagle gave a triumphant chirp.

She put on the hat, pulled it down tight on her head, and climbed back down. She jumped from the bottom branch, landing in some moss between
the burly roots. With satisfaction, she tapped the bonnet’s brim.

Anna turned to go back to the beach. But something made her pause. She gazed all around. What a place this was!

She stood at the very edge of a glade—a hidden meadow of ferns, tall grasses, and spring bluebells. Light shafted through the boughs of the encircling trees. Bees darted from blossom to blossom, while a small butterfly floated like a yellow cloud above the grass.

She stroked her chin. Sea and stars, this world felt so different from her own shoreline world. And also different from what she’d expected. Could bloodthirsty ghouls really live here?

She looked at the great beech itself. The trunk was so wide! Why, it would take five or six people with outstretched arms to reach all the way around. The silvery bark seemed as shiny as the inside of a mussel shell. And then, at the base of the trunk, she spied something else. A black spot—an opening.

She crept closer. Here was a cavern! Big enough for one person, maybe two. She nudged Eagle with the side of her head. “See there? A secret tunnel!”

The bird peered into the darkness of the cavern, shaking his head from side to side.

“Come. Let’s have a look.”

Eagle whistled in protest.

“Come on, now. Mayhaps there’s a secret room in there! With treasure and jewels and things.” She stroked his crooked wing. “No one’s going to hurt us. And besides, I’ve got you to protect me.”

The sparrow’s tiny chest puffed out a little.

And so she ducked into the cavern. It was quiet, very quiet. She heard the echoes of her own breathing, her own heartbeat, inside the wooden walls. In time, she could see thick, black ridges running up the inner trunk. Like vertical roots, or the veins in someone’s arm.

She sighed and leaned against the cavern wall. The wood felt warm against her back. And it almost seemed to form itself to her shape, as if she was the water and it was the cup. She liked being held that way. Cozy, it was. Almost as cozy as a mother’s arms.

A sudden cry made her jump. It came from just outside the tree! She turned toward the entrance—just as a bear cub bounded into the glade. His brown
fur, covered with burrs and clumps of mud, looked as messy as Eagle’s feathers. And his lanky legs, oversized paws, and floppy ears made Anna want to laugh.

Just then another bear, with sand-colored fur, bounded over. Without even slowing down, he plowed right into the first bear and knocked him flat. Though smaller and more scrawny, the sandy bear seemed to burst with mischief.

The two cubs started wrestling. Over and over each other they tumbled, flattening the grass of the meadow. The brown one landed on top, but the sandy one twisted away. Then the smaller bear pounced, only to be hurled into a patch of ferns. Back he came again, quicker than a darting minnow. Legs, paws, and furry necks wrapped around each other. Shrieks and growls echoed through the woods.

At last, they broke apart. The brown bear collapsed in some ferns, panting, while the other kept bouncing around, nudging his friend with his nose. The sandy cub clearly wanted to play some more. But the other wouldn’t budge.

Anna watched them snuffle and grunt at each other. Oh, what fun to be a bear! Then the sandy
cub reared back on his hind legs and made a new sound—rippling, almost like a laugh.

She gasped. It was the same laugh she’d heard before!

The cub suddenly froze, then turned toward the great beech tree. For the first time, Anna caught sight of his eyes—wild eyes, fiercely wild. They were green, like her own, but darker. They seemed as deep as the forest itself. And they glowed—aye, like a pair of magical moons.

Ears flapping, the bear loped toward the tree. Anna’s heart pounded. He was coming straight at her! She shrank deeper into the cavern, holding Eagle’s beak closed.

“Quiet, Eagle,” she whispered. “Not a sound.”

Just before the cavern entrance, the bear stopped. He crouched low and sniffed among the twisted roots. Seconds later, he raised his head. Something was sticking to his tongue. The honeycomb! With a delighted growl, he started to swallow it—when Eagle suddenly broke loose from Anna’s grip and whistled angrily.

The bear jumped backward. He spat out the honeycomb. Then, with a snarl, he shambled closer to the cavern.

All at once he thrust his head into the opening. He was nose to nose with Anna! They both shrieked in terror, and their voices rang inside the hollow.

The cub whirled around and dashed off into the forest. His companion in the ferns bounded along behind. And Anna herself ran off—but the opposite way, back to the shore.

Now the glade was empty again, the ferns and spring bluebells lit by slanting rays. Only a small slice of honeycomb, left on the mossy ground, hinted that something strange had just happened.

I
N THE DAYS AFTER THEIR ENCOUNTER
in the glade, Anna often wondered about the strange, green-eyed bear.

“He’d play with me, Burl! I’m sure he would.” She stood in the shadow of the tree one morning, not long after the master had left for the day’s fishing. Her toes tapped against the mossy roots. “And mayhaps…he’d be my friend.”

The scraggly old fir shrugged. Some needles fell and sprinkled her hair.

“We could run together. Hide from each other. Aye, and climb some trees!”

More needles.

She looked down at the blackened skillet in her hand, which she’d brought outside to wash in the sea. It still smelled of that morning’s breakfast: smoked herring and seaweed cakes. She grinned, knowing that was a breakfast the bear might have loved—though he’d probably rather just have
some fresh berries. Aye, big ripe ones from somewhere in the forest.

Her mouth turned down.
Somewhere in the forest.
Finding the bear would mean going back there again. Deeper than before, probably. And playing with him would mean going deeper still. Right into the arms of the ghouls!

She shook her head and leaned against Old Burl. “I guess it just isn’t easy to find a friend.” Her jaw quivered. “Or a mother.”

She looked up into the branches. “What really happened to her, Burl? And to me? And where was I born? Did she bring me to the forest for some reason? Or did I just drop to the ground one day, like one of your needles?”

Anna sighed. Nobody could tell her those things. Nobody…but the High Willow. And she couldn’t go there to find out. Not with all those ghouls in the way.

She patted the fir’s trunk, then walked down to the water’s edge. A cool breeze lifted off the water and tousled her hair. Eagle hopped on the beach beside her, always on the watch for a surprise attack from a starfish or an oyster shell. His
feet left a thin trail of prints on the sand.

She knelt on the beach at the highest reach of the tide. When the next wave arrived, hissing and sloshing, she dipped in the skillet and scrubbed with a small bit of sponge.

“Quit your dreaming,” she scolded herself. “You don’t have a mother, that’s true. But you still have Old Burl. And Eagle, too. And…someone else.”

Her head turned toward the cottage. The little home built long ago by the master. His sturdy work had kept out so many storms—and forest ghouls. Even on the one night each summer when he rowed out to the Farthest Reef and slept on his boat, and ghouls had come to the cottage and rattled the door, she’d been safe. Thanks to him.