“Now, Miss Penny—”
She stomped her foot. “Promise it!” The girl’s jaw was clenched tight. It was clear she was about to cry.
The sight nearly broke Molly’s heart. She would have loved to promise the girl that she would never leave, that they would always be together. But Molly of all people knew that those sorts of promises could not be kept. She lowered her head. “I canna promise you,” she said softly.
The girl’s mouth went as small as a pinprick. “Fine!” she shrieked. “I’ll get my own stories!” She kicked over Molly’s bucket, and dirty water sloshed across the hall.
“Penny, wait!”
But the little girl had already stormed off. Molly righted her bucket and set to mopping up the water. She hated the thought of parting with Penny on bad terms and told herself that the girl would return within the hour, the argument forgotten, and the two of them could then spend the rest of their last day together chatting about ogres and princesses. But even as Molly thought of this, her spirits fell. She knew no amount of stories would change the fact that Penny was stuck in this horrible place. Molly pushed the thought from her mind, telling herself that the girl would be fine. She had family. She had a home. She had a life filled with storybooks and sweets and jewelry and bags of money.
Hours passed, and Penny did not return to make peace. Molly continued with her chores, occasionally looking in some of the girl’s favorite hiding places. She checked the kitchen pantry, the stairs closet, the space under Alistair’s bed, even the dumbwaiter. Penny, however, was nowhere to be found.
Molly was dusting off books in the study when she finally heard the muffled trill of laughter. “Miss Penny?” she called, expecting a reply.
Penny did not answer, but a moment later Molly heard what sounded like a gasp of horror. She got down from the ladder and went into the hall. “Miss Penny?” she called, crossing the foyer. “I know it’s you.”
She heard someone clapping. The girl was hiding somwhere on the second floor. Molly crept up the stairs. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she sang. Molly reached the top of the staircase and listened for another clue.
A burst of laughter sounded directly behind her. Molly was so startled that she nearly tumbled back down the stairs.
The sound was coming from behind the green door.
Molly saw now that the door was not completely shut. Through it, she could hear the sound of Penny giggling. Molly moved toward the door, one hand still on the banister. She had waited so long to see inside this room. But now, for some reason, she felt afraid.
“Hooray!” cried Penny’s voice from the other side.
Molly could take it no longer. She grabbed the handle and pushed the door open.
Penny was sitting on the floor of a small, empty room, facing away from Molly. In her lap was a large book, decorated with a giant colored picture that spread across both pages. Penny turned the final page to find it blank. “That can’t be the end!” she said, casting the book aside. “I still don’t know what happens!”
Molly watched as the girl jumped to her feet and marched to the far wall of the room. Only, it wasn’t an ordinary wall: part of it consisted of the tree, whose massive trunk ran from the floor to the ceiling. In the center of the trunk was a big knothole, about the size of a pumpkin. Penny put both hands on her hips. “I want another story!” she said, looking up at the knothole. Molly listened, confused; it almost seemed like the girl was talking to the tree.
Penny made an exasperated sound. She rose to her tiptoes and peered into the knothole. “Hulloooo?” she called into the darkness.
Molly crouched down, picking up the book that Penny had discarded. The title read Princess Penny and the Tower Guarded by Ogres. The book looked like part of the same set that Molly had seen in Penny’s bedroom on one of her first nights. At the time, Penny had behaved as though the books were a secret.
Molly opened the book, looking at the colorful pictures, which showed a little girl with dark braids and glasses battling a monster-filled tower. Fighting alongside the little princess were two other people, a boy and a girl, both of them with striking red hair. Molly caught her breath. She was looking at herself.
“Miss Penny?” she said.
The girl spun around. The moment she saw Molly, her face went white with panic. “I—I—I didn’t mean it!” she cried, backing away from the tree.
Molly took a careful step closer. She pointed to herself in one of the drawings. “Where did you get this book?”
Penny lowered her head. “I only wanted to hear a story—and it’s your fault because you’re leaving and then I’ll have no one but Alistair!” She scuffed the floor. “It’s not fair. Everyone else uses this room, so why shouldn’t I?”
Molly knelt down in front of the girl and spoke as calmly as she could. “I swear I’m not angry. But I need you to tell me: What is this room?”
The girl sighed. “Not for children.” She said this as if she had been told as much many times. “Please don’t tell Mummy or Papa.”
Clearly the girl was far too frightened of punishment to give any plain answers. Still, there was one thing Molly could get from her. She held out her hand. “Give me the key,” she said.
Penny took the key from her pocket. “I was going to put it back in Mummy’s dresser—honest I was.” She handed it to Molly. Molly stared at the key. It weighed like an anchor in her palm.
Penny blinked at Molly with wide, bespectacled eyes. “Am … am I punished?”
Molly put the book in the girl’s arms. “Not this time. Just you run along.” She held out a finger. “But don’t speak of it to no one.”
Penny seemed too relieved to question the order. She sprinted out the door and down the hall without another word.
Molly was left alone in the strange room. How many times had she imagined what lay behind the green door—and now here she was. The room was small indeed, only about the size of a broom closet. But for a small, cracked window, its walls were completely bare. And then there was the tree.
Molly stared at the knothole, which seemed to stare back at her like a giant black eye. It looked like Penny had been talking into it. Molly took a step closer and pressed her hand against the cool bark around the edge. Nothing happened. She peered into the knothole. It was dark and empty and smelled like a cellar. “H-h-hullo?” she called.
The tree did not answer.
Molly stepped back, feeling a bit silly. What had she expected? As for the book with Molly’s picture—that simply had to be a coincidence. Red hair wasn’t all that uncommon, especially in storybooks.
Molly stepped back from the tree and walked to the door. She would have to return the key before Mistress Windsor noticed it was missing. She was about to step into the hall when a faint sound caught her ears—
It was a gentle lapping of waves.
Molly let go of the door handle and slowly turned around. The knothole, which moments before had been empty, was now filled with dark water. She moved closer. A few foamy drops sloshed over the edge of the knothole, wetting the floorboards at her feet. As Molly came nearer, she caught a briny odor that smelled like home. “Seawater,” she whispered.
She stared into the little pool: an ocean inside a tree. She noticed something white moving beneath the water. It floated up and bobbed quietly on the surface. It was an envelope. There was one word written across the front in elegant, water-stained script:
Molly
Molly’s heart was galloping. She furtively looked around her and then turned back to the knothole. The envelope was still there, waiting for her, calling to her. She reached out a trembling hand and pulled it from the water, which silently drained away until the knothole was once again empty. Molly stared at the envelope in her hands—the envelope addressed to her. It was wet and flat and very much real. She turned it over and opened the flap. Inside was a piece of ivory paper, folded two times. A letter.
Molly unfolded it and gasped. She stared at the words writ
ten in that same familiar, cramped hand across the top of the page:
To Our Dearest Molly & Darling Kip …
Molly clutched the paper tight, afraid to look away, afraid the words might disappear.
She knew that handwriting.
The letter was from her mother.
ip flipped his wishing button high into the air and caught it. “Can you read it again?”
“I think three times is enough,” Molly answered. “I’m already hoarser than Galileo!”
Kip grinned. Even Molly’s bad jokes couldn’t spoil his mood. He stared at the letter in his sister’s hands. It was written on heavy paper that was stained with water and salt air. It had come from the top of the world. It had come from Ma and Da.
Kip and Molly were both sitting on the roof of the stables, legs dangling from the eaves. The valley around them was painted gold by the falling sun. At first, Kip had been afraid that the letter was a trick—something his sister had written to make him feel better. But the moment he saw the writing, he knew it was real. He could not read it, of course, but he could tell a thing written by Ma’s pen just as plain as he could tell a bowl of her stew or a sock darned by her needle. The words were in watery blue ink, and they went like this:
To Our Dearest Molly & Darling Kip,
Your da and me received your letter with great joy—it surely sounds like you two have had a grand adventure! We’ve had some adventures of our own. After getting shipwrecked, Da made a tiny raft from an old rum barrel. We used an oar for a mast, and I wove a blanket of seaweed for a sail. We named her the “Kip ’n’ Molly,” and she kept us safe through still and storm till we reached the snowy north, where we met a band of Eskimo merchants in a whale-drawn skiff! The Eskimos were so pleased to find we spoke English that they invited us aboard for a steaming bowl of kraken soup, which your da and me agreed was the loveliest thing we ever did taste. We even got the recipe so’s that we can make a pot when we’re all together once more. Until that day, you remember to take good care of each other in your new home and keep out of trouble (that means you, Kip!). We’ll write again soon, so stay put no matter what.
Be good, be brave,
Ma & Da
If Kip closed his eyes, he could almost hear Ma speaking the words as she wrote them. He could picture Da standing behind her, laughing as she said the bit about getting into trouble. Kip laughed, too. He opened his eyes and let out a deep breath—a breath he had been holding on to for a very long time.
He watched as Molly carefully folded the letter and put it back inside the envelope. “When did it come?” he said. “I been watchin’ the road for weeks, but never saw any postman.”
“It’s hard to explain …” She was silent for a moment. “Let’s just say, it came by special delivery.”
Kip didn’t like that she was being so mysterious, but did it really matter? His parents were out there. The letter was proof. They were coming for him and Molly. He turned the wishing button over in his fingers. “Now that I know they’re all right,” he said, “I dinna think I need to stay out on the bridge so much.”
Molly smiled, mussing his hair. “I’m glad to hear it.”
But then Kip remembered something. He had been so caught up in the letter from Ma and Da that he had almost completely forgotten about the tree. “While you were doin’ chores,” he said, “I did some snoopin’ around that hole the night man was diggin’.”
“You did what?” The alarm was plain on Molly’s face.
“Don’t worry, I was careful.” He stared across the lawn. “I saw the tree’s roots … They were alive. They started movin’ right in front of my eyes. Like little black worms pushin’ through the soil. They were so hungry, but not for water.” He showed her the red spot at the end of his finger where the roots had grabbed hold of him.
“Why, it’s only a scratch,” Molly said, hardly even looking. “You probably just nicked it on a rock.”
Kip pulled his hand back. He remembered how they had found Galileo in the woods, a black root coiled around his foot. “I dinna think there is a sourwoods,” he said. “I think there’s just that tree with its black roots creepin’ all the way to the river. I tried plantin’ some flowers right under it. They’re all dead now—I think those roots killed ’em.” He looked at her meaningfully. “Those same roots are in the house. In your room.”
“Kip, it’s just a tree.” Molly’s voice was sharp. “If you don’t like it, then stay away from it. Mistress Windsor told us as much when we came here.”
He sat up. “You dinna think she knows somethin’, do you?”
“Here’s what I think: if she found out you’d been sniffin’ around her tree with spades and rakes like that—you’d have a lot more than a sore finger.” She looked flustered, as if she were trying to form words that wouldn’t come together. “Just ’cause the tree’s ugly don’t make it evil,” she said.
“But it ain’t just ugly—or have you forgotten about what we saw last night?” He looked back over the ground. “Because I remember. I remember the wind. And the man. And the waterin’ can. And most of all, I remember you, hunched next to me, scared outta your mind. Just like I was.” Even though it wasn’t cold, Kip shivered. “The Windsors can do as they like. But we have to get outta here—the sooner the better.”
When he said this, Molly looked away.
“We are leavin’, aren’t we?” he said. “We agreed to it.”
Molly stared at him for a long moment, some unknown worry playing behind her eyes. “I know what I said, but that was before this.” She held up the letter. “If we leave … we might never hear from Ma an’ Da again.”
“Of course we will,” Kip said. “We’ll just write and let ’em know where we go.”
“It don’t work that way … They might not get our letter. It could get lost or—who knows? Ma an’ Da said as much themselves.” She pulled the letter from the envelope and pointed to some words at the bottom. “Stay put no matter what.”
Kip stared at the words. “I know they said that, but they didn’t know—”
“They did too know!” Molly cut him off. “Remember? We told ’em all about the night man in our first letter. They read that letter and then wrote back and told us to stay put, and that’s what we’ll do.”
Kip turned away, his cheeks burning. “You dinna sound like you’re asking.”
He felt a hand touch his shoulder. “Kip, I know you’re frightened. I am, too, but you have to trust me. Trust Ma an’ Da.” Molly’s voice was softer now. “The only hope we have of ever hearin’ from them again is by stayin’ right here.”
Kip breathed a deep sigh, trying to expel the tightness from his chest. He knew it was dangerous to stay in this place, but for some reason he couldn’t make Molly understand. He stared at the woods lining the ridge of the valley. They were lit with golds and reds and deep purples—the warm palate of a setting sun. He blinked, thinking again of his parents, who were somewhere far, far away, looking at the same sun. “I suppose we could stay a bit longer,” he said. “Just to see if another letter comes.”
“Thank you, Kip.” Molly hugged him, and he hugged her back, clinging to her with everything in him. He felt her body shake, letting out silent tears. Molly had tried so hard to protect him, but now it suddenly felt like she was the one who needed protecting. “Do you want to read it again?” he said.
Molly pulled back, wiping her eyes. She nodded. “Maybe just once more.”
olly spent the next two weeks in a haze of excitement and expectation. What had started as one letter had soon grown to four, and not an hour passed that she didn’t find herself wondering when the next special delivery might come. After all this time thinking she and Kip were alone, the letters had given her hope.
“Master Alistair?” Molly called, a stack of sheets under her arm. “I’m here with the linens.”
She heard no response and pushed the door open with her shoulder. Alistair’s bedroom was a place Molly generally tried to avoid,
going in only to change linens and the pots. The air in the room was thick with the foul odor of armpits and unwashed feet. Molly opened the window, briefly pausing to watch her brother load a wheel-barrow outside the stables. She went to the bed and pulled back Alistair’s quilt to reveal a mess of toffee wrappers and powdered sugar and chocolate crumbs and dead leaves. She rolled her eyes, knowing it would take twice as long to wash the stains from these sheets.
Molly stripped and remade the bed, wishing very much that she could take a short rest upon its feathery surface. She sat on the corner, yawning. Lately the chores had been catching up to her, and she was often tired. She needed something to take her mind off work and worries. She slid a hand into her apron pocket and removed a stack of worn envelopes: letters from Ma and Da.
Apparently her parents had been caught in a typhoon, whose whirlpool had sucked them straight through the center of the world and launched them out of a volcano in the South Seas. She smiled at the volcano detail—no doubt an embellishment by her father. He was the sort of man who stepped out for a box of matches and came back with a story of how he’d snatched it from the devil’s own pocket.
Molly still hadn’t sorted out what she believed about the letters. She had initially been afraid that they were some sort of prank. But with each new letter, writ in Ma’s hand, Molly had become more and more convinced that they were real. Certainly they were unusual—but unusual was different from untrue. Kip was afraid of the tree; that was why Molly hadn’t told him about the knothole. But she knew the truth: the tree was magic—not storybook magic, but the real thing. And why shouldn’t real magic be a little frightening?
How the tree worked was still a mystery. When she had tried sending a letter of her own through the knothole, a gust of wind had knocked it back. The tree seemed to grant one specific wish to each person: Master Windsor got money, his wife got jewels, Penny got her storybooks, and Alistair got lots and lots of sweets. Molly glanced toward the boy’s open closet, the floor of which was filled with caramel drops and chocolate bars and licorice wheels and peppermint sticks, all sorted into neat little piles. She stared at them, wondering what they might taste like.