Wishtree(22)

“Maybe someday.”

“How about now?” Stephen urged.

Francesca sighed. “You children need a hobby, you know that?”

She put the key in the silver lock, and the journal clicked open. The pages were yellow, the ink faded. “Let me guess. It’s about a tree that can talk.”

“Actually, it’s about this neighborhood,” Stephen said. “It’s about us.”

“Please?” Samar said.

“Dear, it won’t change anything,” Francesca said.

“Please,” Stephen said.

“Oh, fine.” Francesca rolled her eyes. “Gotta wait for the tree guys to finish getting set up. Sure. I’ll glance it over. Maybe then you’ll leave me in peace.”

Dragging Lewis and Clark behind her, Francesca went to Samar’s porch, sat on the top step, and began to read.





48


It isn’t easy cutting down a big tree.

It takes careful planning and people who know what they’re doing.

I’d seen neighboring trees cut down. I knew how things went.

While Sandy and Max moved people to a safe distance, Stephen’s parents watched from their porch and Samar’s from theirs. Meanwhile, the tree people put ropes around my trunk and consulted with one another.

A man and a woman carried over a huge chainsaw, followed by the stump grinder.

The grinder looked a little like a hungry animal.

Actually, it looked a lot like a hungry animal.

“All those critters gone?” Dave called to Francesca.

“Haven’t seen any,” she answered.

Dave climbed a ladder and peered into my hollows as well as he could. He didn’t seem to notice Bongo, who was hiding deep in the owls’ former home.

I sat patiently, awaiting my fate, while around me the world buzzed. A huge crowd, filled with old neighbors and new friends, had gathered, it seemed, to see me off.

Near the curb, some kids were making music.

I don’t know if it was good music. But it was, most definitely, loud music.

I realized it was the garage band Bongo liked.

The whole thing was almost like a party. A going-away party.

There it was, surrounding me: my wild and tangled and colorful garden.

It wasn’t such a bad way to leave the world, I decided.

Not bad at all.





49


Dave had a megaphone, and through it he reminded the crowd to stay behind the barriers that had been erected.

“This is a big tree, folks,” he said. “And when it goes, we don’t want anyone else going with it.”

“Bongo,” I said in a voice that only she could hear, “you need to get to a safe place. You heard him: I’m a big tree. You don’t want to be in the way when I fall.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she replied in a stubborn whisper. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. But I’m staying with you, Red. And that’s final.”

Dave turned to his workers. “Okay. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Please, Bongo,” I said, softly but urgently.

The saw moved closer.

I waited, expecting to hear the painful roar of the chainsaw engine.

Instead, a small but intense sound filled the air, something like a puppy growl mixed with a kitten hiss.

It was a baby opossum.



Darting through the huge crowd, across the muddy lawn, past Dave and his crew, around the massive saw, beneath the stump grinder, and finally, triumphantly, up my trunk, was none other than Flashlight.

He climbed straight to his former hollow and settled there, his tiny head poking out. He was panting and trembling and hiccuping. But he did not seem to be in any danger whatsoever of fainting.

“I missed you, Red,” he said, in a voice so small that only Bongo and I could hear it.

“Hold off on the saw!” Dave yelled. “Some dang animal just ran up the trunk.”

Bongo popped out of her hollow. “Flash!” she hissed. “You can’t be here! It’s dangerous. They’re about to … you know.”

“You’re here,” Flash pointed out.

Across the grass streaked HairySpiders, with her other babies trailing. She went straight to the opossum hollow, where she proceeded to scold Flash as she snuggled him close.

In the sky, little Harold suddenly appeared, frantically flapping his wings like a fuzzy butterfly. Agnes and the rest of her brood followed. They settled into their old home as if they’d never left.

Bongo moved to Home Plate to make room for the owls.

The Yous came next, trotting across the lawn. Last to join the group was the skunk family, who quickly scrambled up my trunk.

Seven opossums, four raccoons, five owls, and six skunks had waddled, scooted, dashed, and fluttered from their various homes, just to see me off.

My residents.

My friends.

The crowd was delighted. People applauded. They cheered. They laughed.

Francesca, straining to get a look, accidentally let go of the kittens’ leashes, allowing Lewis and Clark to escape.

They ran straight to me, clambering up my trunk to join the gang.

It wasn’t all perfection. The babies and parents were grumbling, but softly enough that none of the humans could hear.