Birdie's Book Read Online Free Page B

mantel and window ledges in the living room. There were porcelain doodads set on every surface, and every kind of clock you can imagine was
tick-tock
ing up and down the walls.
    Once Willowby had decided I was trustworthy (his attitude no doubt related to his full belly), he curled up in my lap, purring. We were all ready for an early bedtime.
    â€œNow don’t stay up reading too late, and turn off the lights before you go upstairs,” Mo warned as she gave me and Willowby a couple of pecks on the tops of our heads, picked up our dishes, and headed back to the kitchen. “Sweet dreams, Birdie dear!” she called as I heard her go up the stairs.
    No worries about reading, since I could barely keep my eyes open. I took five minutes to just enjoy being alone, then I moved Willowby to the couch, turned off several lamps, and headed upstairs myself.
    In my mother’s old room, I threw my suitcaseon a chair, opened it, and changed into cozy thermals. I flopped down on the bed. I propped my laptop on a pillow, flicked it on, and checked my e-mail. There was a message from my dad that complimented me on how cool I was, going off to meet Granny Mo on my own, and updated me on Mom’s news from London, and ended with “Love you, my Redbird. Dad. P.S. Mom’s okay with what you’re doing, too. She wasn’t very happy at first, but she recognizes that this is part of your growing up and you need to know your family, especially with the move.”
    â€œI love you, too, my one and only dad,” I replied in an e-mail. I added some stuff about the train ride and Granny Mo, but I didn’t tell him about the Glimmer Tree. Somehow it seemed too secret to be sending off into cyberspace. I glanced up from the computer. Something was distracting me. Ah, the posters. I stood on the mattress, pulled down Leif and his fake smile, rolled him up, and pushed him under the bed. He wasn’t
my
dream.
    When I stood up, a fierce blast of cold air shot into the room. The old window overlooking Mo’s garden rattled. I grabbed a blanket off the foot of the bed to stick into the cracks on both sides of the window. I looked outside; the beauty of the night sky took my breath away. I imagined my mother as a girl,standing in this same place, looking out at the tip-top of the Glimmer Tree, way off in the strange and beautiful Ha-Ha Valley. Was that tree the last place Mom allowed herself to get lost in imagination?
    The wind swept the clouds away. I watched the constellations appear, like Dad and I used to do on camping trips. There was Orion and there was Andromeda, and then … the stars began to move. Really! The stars from Orion’s belt zipped along in a trio, Andromeda played with the Northern Crown, and hundreds, maybe thousands of stars danced right there in the yard. I shut my eyes tight, and when I opened them, I looked back up to the sky. Every constellation and every star except for one sparkled back in their proper places.
    A sense of foreboding creeped across my skin. I stuffed the edges of the blanket into the window frame, and then turned back to the bed.
    At the end of the bed, where I had just taken away the blanket, was a book—a
huge
book, the size of a really big dictionary. It was clearly handmade, and so yellowed and tattered it could be a thousand years old. How could I not have seen it?
    I spun around, expecting Granny Mo to be in the room, even though I’d shut the door. How did she get this book into my room? There was no doubt inmy mind that she’d put it there. “Don’t stay up too late reading,” she’d warned.
    I picked up the book, which weighed more than Willowby, and snuggled down under the comforter. I stared at the ornate cover:
The Book of Dreams
. The size of the book made it clear that the author had sure dreamed a lot. I ran my fingers along the silver, shimmering script, and then along the thick binding. I took a deep breath, opened the cover,