I
Everlie stood in a vast expanse of open country, her hair flowing in the wind. Anyone may have thought she was completely alone. Yet, a perceptive person may have followed her intent gaze, and noticed her faint smile. She was looking at a tree. Her tree. And she was sending her thoughts to it.
The tree was in the centre of an otherwise unforested meadow, which was a riot of wildflowers in the summer, and desolate in winter. The coldest days could never have kept Everlie away, though. She had made a friend – and Everlie took care of her friends. She knew friendship’s value precisely because of its rarity. Most of her friends had six legs, and needed help when they fell into puddles of rainwater. She took her job of Ant Rescuer very seriously. She delighted in her friends with wings. She had a few friends with four legs, but none with two.
Oak had no legs, and no other friends as far as she could tell. She could perceive these things. Yet, one day she had felt perceived, too. She’d been scooping frantic insects out of a nook in Oak’s trunk, full of yesterday’s rain, when suddenly there was an atmosphere. The field hushed. The grass swayed and strained, as if to listen. Wind rushed in vortices around her small frame, and a single leaf fell from Oak. As it touched her cheek she heard something. Except, it was something from the outside, on the inside.
Most wonderful of humans…Everlie. You are welcome here.
Of course it was Oak. Who else could it be? And if he could send, surely he could receive. So she thanked him, and asked him how his day was going. What’s it like not to move? Do you know what a day is? How many days have you been here? Do the birds’ nests itch? Is there anything you need?
She had heard a laugh, as if you could hear your great-grandfather laughing. As if you knew that he loved you, just from the sound. She sat down gently, and for a long moment she rested her hand on Oak’s rough, cracked, ancient bark. Thus had begun their friendship.
Four summers on, Oak was Everlie’s tree. A grin only he could produce blossomed on her face as he greeted her arrival. She ran like a deer across the empty field, excited to hear about everything he’d been up to since yesterday. Did the barn owls visit you again? How did the moonlight feel last night? Wasn’t the full moon just the brightest! What has the earth been saying?
He captivated her with stories of his world. A world he made sure she knew she was part of. As the sun arced across the sky and made fireflies out of flecks of pollen, Oak sent to her.
Have you made your plans yet? You can’t let too much summer go by. The winter will not be kind, my dear one.
The smile left her face as if wind-driven clouds had stolen the sunlight.
But it’s my last summer with you, she sent, softly.
Yes. And we will grieve. A time for tears. But as wide as this field is, and as tall as I am, we are not big enough for you. You have outgrown us. It is as natural as the river. You were made for more, Everlie.
Yes.
More will never be here.
No.
I know what awaits you in the autumn. It is what will get me through the winter. Make your plans.
And as the wind wrapped itself around her, she knew Oak was right. She wondered in that moment if her heart was as heavy as Oak’s mighty frame. Maybe it was even heavier.
II
Everlie was expecting the slap when she got home. She had lingered too long. But as her father stumbled dangerously close to the fire, with dull eyes and stinking breath, she bared her teeth at him and roared. He had no response for that. She took a deep breath until she felt her inner strength return.
She tipped the washing-up water over her sleeping brothers. It was mid-afternoon. The look in her eyes silenced them quickly. They could see where the sun was, and they could see just how much they had not done today. And Everlie was not going to do it all. She accepted their hate, the same way they accepted her meals.
She got busy with a knife and a potato. More will never be here.
Everlie cooked for her brothers and her father. Not because they appreciated it, or did anything for her. But because nobody else was going to. Not even themselves. The pain emanating from the small raised bump at the end of the garden, where they left flowers and awkward silences once a year, had made sure of that. She had been so small, she had no memories of her mother’s voice. Not even on the inside. But her mother’s hardworking fingers had felt a lot like Oak’s leaves, as they had traced her cheeks and run through her hair.
Everlie knew that after dinner, she would cease to exist as far as the others were concerned. So she just went to sleep. The sun had barely dropped below the treeline, but that was okay. She’d be there to welcome it back as soon as it returned, and in the solitude of the morning she would make her plans.
III
The sun was still a promise when she woke up. Just in time to wave to the last, straggling moths as they escaped the dawn and took cover from the birds. She took another deep breath and brought to mind all the reasons why she had to go. Why she had to leave her brothers, her father, and the bones of her mother. Even Oak. And Oak was right, it had to be soon, or she would still be on the road when the first snows came. She used sticks and stones to represent to herself the route she would take, placing the larger stones at key points along the route where she might find help and hospitality. I can do this.
A shadow passed over her three-dimensional map and stopped, rippling slightly. Her father could not quite hold himself steady.
“There’s no cider” he said. He turned his cup upside down to illustrate the point, and stared at her. Through her. He didn’t realise he hadn’t asked her a question, as he waited for a response. He didn’t realise a lot of things.
“The cider doesn’t just appear, dad. You need to go to the village. And don’t buy cider, buy apples. Please.” She cast her eyes across the fraction of land they had lived all their lives on, and gestured at her brothers. “For them!” she said, in a forceful, forlorn whisper.
He said nothing. Then a storm came over his face, and Everlie stepped quickly out of arm’s reach. She watched as he kicked every last stick and stone from its place. In seconds, her map once more existed only in her mind. As dust from the dry earth swirled between them, an agonised look came over him that she had only ever seen in the face of a dying animal.
“I wish you didn’t have her eyes” he murmured.
Everlie stared at him open-mouthed as he turned away, a bruise blooming within her that would never fade. As he disappeared in the vague direction of the village, she knew she would never see him again.
IV
Everlie spent the last hours of the morning turning all of their supplies, everything she could forage, and everything she had saved for herself, into a meal for her brothers that was the finest she would ever cook them. She’d been drying the rarer herbs and spices for weeks. She set the stew to simmer on a fire she had built fresh and high. When they woke up it would be steaming, the smell would be heavenly, and she would be gone.
As she looked at their sleeping forms, Everlie wept.
A hush like the first time she’d communicated with Oak descended upon the clearing, and she knew it was time. She gathered all of her clothing, her water carriers, her flints and tinderbox, her knives and her rough-hewn wooden cutlery; everything useful that she could carry went into her very old, but very tough, backpack. The sun was in her face as she surveyed the scene. There was one thing left to do. She walked to the end of the garden.
Courage
Oak’s voice. All the hurt Everlie was carrying released itself in the sound she made as she fell to her knees. Oak had been trying to find the strength to send all the way to her home ever since they had met. He’d finally succeeded, just as she had found the strength to leave.
Oh, Oak.
I am sorry it took such time, dear one. There were nights-
You were always here. Always.
Kneeling beside her mother’s grave, Everlie did not feel courageous. When Oak towered above her, she did not feel small. Here at the small bump at the end of the garden, she felt like one of the ants. Another deep breath, another goodbye. She did not know if sending could reach those who had died, but she sent anyway.
I love you, mum. I hope…I hope you understand. Your bones might stay here but I will carry you far away in my heart. I’m going to the city. The city, mum. And I am going to make you proud.
Everlie kissed the earth that held her mother, and carefully laid a flower from Oak’s field in the centre of the rise. And then she left.
V
It was the first time she had walked towards Oak and not wanted to arrive. If only time could stop… She shook her head. If time stopped, she’d never achieve anything. She would be frozen. Oak had taught her so much. For a being who could not move, it was remarkable that the most important of those things was Keep Going.
So Everlie kept going. Her future was on the other side of goodbye. Oak had been careful to impress upon her the many joys that future would hold. She wouldn’t have believed how well-connected a tree could be to the outside world, but from one, dependable spot, he had opened her up to a faraway dream and told her how to make it a reality. Like the water that sustained him from the deep earth, he had absorbed all of her tears. And like the cackling ravens that scavenged the meadow, he had made her laugh. Throw back her head and howl, in fact. She wondered where in the city she would find such a friend. But Everlie knew how to take care of people, and surely if she just did that, she would create a friend. Like watering a plant.
Nature had done all it could to prepare the field. There were rabbits darting about among the reds, yellows, blues and golds of the wildflowers. The sun, not quite overhead, was casting an otherworldly glow across the expanse, under skies of the deepest blue that were cracked with mackerel clouds. There was that hush again, as she stepped into the shadow of Oak.
I know he sent, before she could speak. I know. But you are going to be okay. Never forget that you possess more strength than I. And I have seen three hundred years of storms.
I don’t feel like I do she sent.
You don’t need to feel it. Believing is enough.
You have never lied to me, Oak.
No. I have not. So believe me now when I tell you that you are worth immeasurably more than you have ever dared imagine. The city will show you your worth, and there will be love. There will be music. There will be laughter. And, because you will be there, there will be hope.
Fierce tears streamed down Everlie’s face. You gave it to me. I can’t just take it!
Yes, yes you can. And you must. People need hope. And I did not give it to you, I awakened it within you. There is one thing you must take, which I give to you joyfully and freely.
Everlie looked up at Oak, and the war between a smile and a sob on her face just expressed itself as pain.
What is it? she sent.
A small, browny-green acorn dropped softly to the bare earth at her feet.
Pick it up. You will know where to plant it. In seven years, it will be able to send. And I will be with you.
Mirror Lake Muse 