The Night Gardener Read Free

together—its gnarled trunk running up the wall like a great black chimney stack. Palsied branches crept out in all directions like a second roof—including a few that appeared to cut straight through the walls. “It’s almost a part of the house,” Kip said softly.
    Why any person would build a home so close to such a terrible tree was beyond him. Had it been too difficult to cut down?
    His sister smiled and pulled him closer with her arm and mussed his hair with her fingers. Kip hated that. “Maybe they’ll let us tie a swing to it. Or build a fort,” she said.
    Kip did not think building a fort in this tree would be a very good idea. He shrugged his sister’s arm off and slid down from the bench, landing expertly on his good leg. His head was a bit light, probably from all that sitting still, and he had to steady himself with one hand onthe sideboard. He reached under the bench and retrieved his crutch. His father had carved the crutch from the branch of a fallen wych elm on the farm back home. It was strong and thick and had just enough spring to be comfortable when he walked. His father had named it “Courage,” saying that all good tools deserved a good title. Kip had always liked the idea that courage was a thing a person could hold on to and use. He fit the crutch under his left arm and tried to ignore how it was getting a bit short for him.
    Kip hobbled around the back of the cart and lowered the gate. Inside was a battered wooden trunk with leather straps and no proper handle. It looked like something a pirate might use to store gold pieces, but instead of treasure, it held ratty clothes—everything they owned. “I still dinna see why we had to come all the way here,” he said, struggling to pull the trunk free. “We coulda just stayed in town.”
    Molly hopped down and helped him. “You’d prefer the orphanage?”
    He glared at her. “No, ’cause I’m no orphan.” The trunk dropped to the cold ground, nearly crushing his left foot—not that it would matter.
    Something passed over his sister’s face that Kip couldn’t quite read. It was the same look she had been giving the old witch when they were talking in the road. It was a look that made his stomach clench up. Then Molly smiled at him, bending her knees so their faces met. “Of course you’re not an orphan,” she said, “but they’d have to put us somewhere until Ma an’ Da came round to fetch us.”
    Kip swallowed his anger. He wished for the hundredth time that his parents were already with them; they would know better than to take a job in some ugly old house in the middle of some ugly old forest.
    “Look here,” Molly went on. “I got a present for you.” She ripped the last remaining button from the flap of her coat. She cupped it in her hands like a treasure. “Do you know what this is?”
    Kip tensed his jaw. He knew what his sister was doing, and he did not want to play along. “A button,” he said flatly.
    Molly shook her head. “Not just any button—it’s a special
wishing
button. Watch close.” She lifted her hands to her mouth and whispered, “Dear Button: I wish that right now my brother would give me … a kiss on my cheek.”
    Kip didn’t move. Nearly eleven, he was a bit old for kisses and make-believe.
    Molly shook the button. “Did you get that, Button?” she said a little louder. “All I’m askin’ in the whole wide world is one teensy, wee, bitty, little—”
    Kip knew from experience that she would carry on like this until he gave in. He leaned over and gave the smallest peck he could manage.
    Molly gasped, staring at the button. “It worked!” She sprang to her feet, eyes aglow with awe. “Did you see that?! It really worked!”
    “You shoulda picked a better wish,” Kip muttered.
    “Aye, perhaps.” Molly took his hand and pressed the button into his palm. “I’m givin’ this button to you, but only if you promise to make
really
great wishes. And also, you must promise not to cry or