Read Online The Night Gardener by Jonathan Auxier - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Auxier
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ever touched, its brim damp with mildew and age. She slowlyturned the hat over in her hand—dead leaves spilled from the crown, forming a pile at her feet.
Molly stared at the silent house, which only moments before had been filled with these leaves. It wasn’t a dream. Kip, Penny—they had both been telling the truth.
The night man was real.
he morning after Master Windsor’s arrival, Kip sat on the bridge, repairing a rotting plank. Molly had come out to visit and to tell him something of what had happened to her the night before. “And you’re sure you wasn’t dreamin’?” he said. “Sometimes folks have dreams where they think they wake up, but really, they’re still inside the dream.”
“It wasn’t no dream,” Molly answered. She tossed the contents of a porcelain chamber pot over the edge of the bridge into the river below. There were three more pots sitting in Galileo’s cart, all of them full to the brim with urine and night soil. Kip wrinkled his nose. The smell was enough to make a person wish for rotting fish again. “I didn’t see him, exactly,” she clarified. “But I heard him plain enough.”
Kip’s bad leg dangled carelessly over the edge of the bridge, braving the river below. He stared at the churning current, his own mind churning at the thought of a stranger being inside their room. “Ears are trickier’n eyes,” he said. “It coulda been anythin’ that made them sounds.”
“Maybe this’ll change your mind.” She went to the cart and returned with an old black top hat. “That’s his hat. He musta dropped it at the door.”
She held the hat out for Kip, but he did not touch it. He looked up at his sister, wondering whether this might be a trick. Molly sometimes teased him like that—bringing him a dragonfly wing and saying it came off a fairy, or placing moss and a handkerchief inside his shoe and claiming it must have been where an elf made its bed—but when he looked up into her face now, it was clear she was telling the truth. “You told me the front door was open,” he said. “Maybe the wind just knocked it off the hat stand.”
“Wind don’t leave footprints,” she said.
Kip gave a noncommittal nod. He had noticed some dry mud smeared across the floor when he had gotten up early in the morning to return to the stables. But it was hardly what he would have called a footprint. “What makes you so sure it ain’t the master’s old hat?”
Molly shook her head. “I checked. All his hats got round tops, and they’re bigger in the crown.” She knelt beside him, looking him sharp in the eye. “Kip, remember when you said you saw that man in the fog?” Kip nodded. At the time, his sister hadn’t believed him. It seemed that she had changed her mind. “You told me he was all in black. I need to know: Was he wearin’ a hat like this?”
Kip picked up the hat and ran his fingers along the brim. It was ragged and torn and smelled like it had been buried underground for a long time. “Can’t say for certain.” He gave it back to her. “Itwas pretty dark.” It was, in fact, the exact same kind of hat Kip had seen, but he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to admit it. A part of him felt as if saying the words aloud would somehow make them true. He looked up at her. “If there really was a man, what do you think he was after?”
Molly shrugged. “I dunno. Money or jewels maybe? Only …” She hesitated. “There was somethin’ else. When I went upstairs, all the bedroom doors was open, and I could hear the family inside their rooms. They was all tossin’ about, caught in these terrible dreams.” She looked straight at him. “I heard you, too.”
Kip steadied a nail between his fingers and hammered it down into the new plank. He had in fact spent the entire night trapped inside a nightmare that refused to end. Usually in Kip’s dreams he was a hero—saving people from rushing rivers and burning houses. But since coming to Windsor Manor, his
Molly stared at the silent house, which only moments before had been filled with these leaves. It wasn’t a dream. Kip, Penny—they had both been telling the truth.
The night man was real.
he morning after Master Windsor’s arrival, Kip sat on the bridge, repairing a rotting plank. Molly had come out to visit and to tell him something of what had happened to her the night before. “And you’re sure you wasn’t dreamin’?” he said. “Sometimes folks have dreams where they think they wake up, but really, they’re still inside the dream.”
“It wasn’t no dream,” Molly answered. She tossed the contents of a porcelain chamber pot over the edge of the bridge into the river below. There were three more pots sitting in Galileo’s cart, all of them full to the brim with urine and night soil. Kip wrinkled his nose. The smell was enough to make a person wish for rotting fish again. “I didn’t see him, exactly,” she clarified. “But I heard him plain enough.”
Kip’s bad leg dangled carelessly over the edge of the bridge, braving the river below. He stared at the churning current, his own mind churning at the thought of a stranger being inside their room. “Ears are trickier’n eyes,” he said. “It coulda been anythin’ that made them sounds.”
“Maybe this’ll change your mind.” She went to the cart and returned with an old black top hat. “That’s his hat. He musta dropped it at the door.”
She held the hat out for Kip, but he did not touch it. He looked up at his sister, wondering whether this might be a trick. Molly sometimes teased him like that—bringing him a dragonfly wing and saying it came off a fairy, or placing moss and a handkerchief inside his shoe and claiming it must have been where an elf made its bed—but when he looked up into her face now, it was clear she was telling the truth. “You told me the front door was open,” he said. “Maybe the wind just knocked it off the hat stand.”
“Wind don’t leave footprints,” she said.
Kip gave a noncommittal nod. He had noticed some dry mud smeared across the floor when he had gotten up early in the morning to return to the stables. But it was hardly what he would have called a footprint. “What makes you so sure it ain’t the master’s old hat?”
Molly shook her head. “I checked. All his hats got round tops, and they’re bigger in the crown.” She knelt beside him, looking him sharp in the eye. “Kip, remember when you said you saw that man in the fog?” Kip nodded. At the time, his sister hadn’t believed him. It seemed that she had changed her mind. “You told me he was all in black. I need to know: Was he wearin’ a hat like this?”
Kip picked up the hat and ran his fingers along the brim. It was ragged and torn and smelled like it had been buried underground for a long time. “Can’t say for certain.” He gave it back to her. “Itwas pretty dark.” It was, in fact, the exact same kind of hat Kip had seen, but he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to admit it. A part of him felt as if saying the words aloud would somehow make them true. He looked up at her. “If there really was a man, what do you think he was after?”
Molly shrugged. “I dunno. Money or jewels maybe? Only …” She hesitated. “There was somethin’ else. When I went upstairs, all the bedroom doors was open, and I could hear the family inside their rooms. They was all tossin’ about, caught in these terrible dreams.” She looked straight at him. “I heard you, too.”
Kip steadied a nail between his fingers and hammered it down into the new plank. He had in fact spent the entire night trapped inside a nightmare that refused to end. Usually in Kip’s dreams he was a hero—saving people from rushing rivers and burning houses. But since coming to Windsor Manor, his
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