The Wishing Trees (14 page)

“Maybe you could draw it for me.”

“You want another one of my sketches?”

“I’m greedy, you know. Like Captain Cook with all his islands.”

She smiled, stepping forward, now leading him. The remainder of the bridge came and went, and soon they stood on firm land. The path continued for a few minutes before turning into a series of steps that had been carved into a cliff. Mattie let go of Ian’s hand, following the women up the steps, which were worn and smooth, polished from the passage of countless sandaled feet. Ian turned around, intending to take another look at the river. At that moment Mattie fell, her muddied boot slipping beneath her, sending her tumbling forward, her right knee striking the step ahead. She whimpered as she collapsed, falling and sliding down the stairs. Ian called out her name, catching her before she reached the bottom.

Mattie tried not to cry, but her knee was bloody and bruised and felt as if it had been smashed by a hammer. Ian cradled her, dropping to his backside, keeping her on his lap. She wept and he kissed her brow, kissed her tears. She thrashed against him, wanting his attention, but unable to bear the sight of her knee or the thought of him brushing up against it.

Ian continued to cradle her as Leslie hurried down the steps. Without a word, she opened her pack and found her first-aid kit, removing a large bandage, a bottle of aspirin, and some antibiotic cream. Seeing that Mattie wasn’t ready to be attended to, Leslie opened up her umbrella and held it over the father and daughter. “You’re a brave girl,” she said, watching Ian kiss the top of Mattie’s head.

“It hurts, Daddy,” Mattie said, crying, arching against him. “It hurts so much.”

“I know, luv. I know.” He held her tight, blowing on her knee because that was what Kate had always done when Mattie had been injured. “That wasn’t a fair match,” he said. “Your little knee against that big rock.”

“Stop joking.”

“Sorry, luv. Just trying to take your mind off it. Do you want Leslie to doctor you up?”

“No, not yet. Don’t touch it.”

“No worries. Take your time, Roo. Just . . . listen to the river.”

“Please don’t touch it.”

Ian continued to cradle Mattie until she nodded, and Leslie carefully applied ointment to the wound and covered it with a bandage. Tiffany and Blake tried to be as helpful as possible, using Leslie’s umbrella to shield Mattie from the elements. “How far is it to the next village?” Ian asked, glancing behind them.

Blake knelt lower. “Maybe another mile or two. Not far.”

“I’ll carry you, Roo, to the next hotel,” Ian said. “You can’t do much hopping on that leg. At least for now. Or we could turn around. We could head back down and—”

“No! We can’t go back. Not now.”

“Are you sure, luv? You’re cold and wet. And your knee is—”

“We can’t stop! Mommy asked us to get to the top of a mountain. She’s waiting for us there.”

“But you’re hurt.”

“No! She’s waiting!”

Ian sighed, glancing at Blake. “Another mile or two?”

“It’s not far after the bridge. At least that’s what the guidebook says.”

Leslie started to unzip her pack. “We’ll all take some of your stuff and lighten your load.”

“You’re sure?” Ian asked.

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

It took about ten minutes to redistribute most of Ian’s and Mattie’s possessions into the packs of the Peace Corps volunteers. Ian thanked them, kissed Mattie on the brow, and lifted her up into his arms. “This is just like old times,” he said, trying to smile, wounded by the sight of his little girl in so much pain.

“Old times?” Mattie asked, relieved that they would be continuing on, and holding back her tears.

Ian started to follow the women up the stone steps, careful where he placed his feet. “When you were a wee babe, you’d fall asleep downstairs, sometimes lying on a blanket, sometimes on the couch in your mum’s arms. And I’d carry you upstairs, just like I’m carrying you now.”

“Mommy didn’t carry me up?”

“Oh, sometimes she did. But usually it was me. That way I could steal a few extra kisses on the way up. There’s nothing more beautiful, you know, than kissing a sleeping baby.”

Mattie wiped away her tears, embarrassed to have cried in front of everyone. “Why is that so beautiful?”

“Well, luv, when that baby is your baby, and you’re kissing her, you just sort of feel at peace. No matter how hard your day has been, no matter what disasters happened, you realize that the most important thing in the world is in your arms, held tight, and that’s a powerful thing.”

“And you carried me to bed? Almost every night?”

“I reckon so, Roo. Even when I came home late. Your mum was sweet. She let me do that, because she knew I fancied it.”

Mattie glanced below, realizing that he’d already carried her halfway up the steps. “Don’t drop me, Daddy.”

“Never, luv,” Ian replied, glad that she was no longer crying, but worried because her knee seemed to be swelling. He doubted that she’d be able to walk the next day. They’d have to remain in one place and say good-bye to the women whom Mattie seemed to look up to so much.

THE DAY EVOLVED EXACTLY AS IAN HAD feared. He managed to carry Mattie to the next village, but by the time they arrived, her knee was swollen and achy. Fortunately, she could move her leg without much additional pain, so he doubted she’d broken anything. His guess was that she had badly bruised her kneecap and would need several days of rest before tackling the trail again.

Ian paid for a room at the best hotel in the village, which was really nothing more than a collection of stone homes and two-story buildings that bordered terraced wheat fields. The room was like the others they’d stayed in—sparsely furnished, cold, and inhospitable. Ian pushed the two beds together, combined their sleeping bags, and lay Mattie down. Leslie, Blake, and Tiffany were as helpful as possible. Leslie gently cleaned Mattie’s wound, applied a new bandage, and gave her half an aspirin. On her guitar, Blake played the songs Mattie requested.

Since it was already past noon, Ian knew that the women would have to continue onward if they were to finish their trek on time. He didn’t want them to leave, as he was sure that their departure would sadden Mattie, but he couldn’t ask them to linger.

“You ladies should head out,” he said, standing up from where he’d been sitting next to Mattie. “If you’re going to make it to the next village before dark, you’d best buzz off.”

Tiffany glanced at Mattie. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? I feel bad about leaving.”

“No worries,” Ian replied, the taste of antacids dominating his mouth. “You’ve all been grand. Just lovely, really. We’ll be fine. Right, Roo?”

“Right.”

Leslie bent toward Mattie. “Is the aspirin helping?”

“A little. Thank you.”

“I hate to leave you,” Leslie said, straightening Mattie’s pillow, “but if we don’t get going, we’ll never finish our loop. And, you know, we have to get back to our jobs.”

Ian put his hand on Leslie’s shoulder. “Don’t fret about us. We’re lucky to have found you.”

Leslie removed a digital camera from her pack and handed it to Ian. “Can you take a picture of Mattie and us? I’ll e-mail it to you.”

“Lovely,” Ian replied, waiting to aim the camera until the women had gathered around his daughter. He took several photos, aware that Mattie was trying to smile and that her smile was fake. She looked so small compared to the Peace Corps workers. She shouldn’t have been in a dark and dreary room with them in Nepal, but with her friends back home. As Ian handed the camera back to Leslie and told her his e-mail address, he felt guilty about taking Mattie into the mountains, regardless of Kate’s request.

The women lingered for a few more minutes before saying good-bye, hugging Mattie and Ian, and stepping from the room. Mattie began to cry. She pulled the sleeping bag up to her chin and turned away from her father. She had liked walking with the women and didn’t want them to leave.

Mattie’s misery caused Ian’s spirits to tumble. Suddenly he didn’t want to be in Nepal. He was angry with Kate for sending them here, for asking them to pursue the impossible. “I reckon we should just go home,” he said quietly, sitting on the bed to untie his boots. “This trip is too bloody hard. On you. On me.”

“What?”

“What if you’d really been walloped today? If you’d broken your ankle or fallen off the top of that bus? You shouldn’t be here. You’re too young. You’re missing school.”

“But I’ve been reading. I’ve been studying. Just like I promised.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t right, Roo. You’re too little to be here.”

“That Japanese woman was little. And she climbed Everest.”

“She was heaps older than you.”

Mattie moved away from his hand as he reached for her. “But Mommy wanted me to come.”

“Mommy was sick. Really sick. She wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Yes, she was.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

Her tears intensifying, Mattie pushed his hand away. “I’m not afraid.”

“I know, luv. I know.”

“And I’m not too little. Mommy wouldn’t have asked me to come if I was.”

“She didn’t—”

“No!”

“Easy on, Mattie.”

“You don’t get to decide!”

“What?”

“You decided everything for Mommy, at the end. And that didn’t work. So you don’t get to decide this.”

Ian leaned closer to her. “I tried my best. Just like I’m trying my best now.”

“You let the doctors put those tubes in her! Even when she didn’t want them!”

“I . . . I thought they would help. Don’t you understand that? The doctors told me the tubes would help.”

“They didn’t! And you didn’t listen to Mommy and you’re not listening to me!”

“I am listening. Though I don’t want to hear any of this.”

“You don’t listen!”

Ian rubbed his brow, trying to settle his emotions. “You know, Roo, I listen to you a lot bloody more than I listen to myself. If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be here. And those tubes . . . I wanted them in because I thought we could save your mum. Would you rather that I did nothing? I wanted to give her a fighting chance.”

“She didn’t want to fight!”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do! She didn’t want the tubes! And I don’t want to go home!”

Ian glanced toward the door, wishing that they were still walking, that Mattie hadn’t fallen. His stomach ached, and he pulled another antacid from his pocket. “I understand that you don’t want to go home,” he said, chewing the medicine, his thumb moving against his forefinger. “But I still think we should turn around. This trip is too hard. On both of us.”

“No, Daddy! It’s not.”

“But you’re hurt. You’re cold and crying. How’s that good?”

Mattie shook her head, wringing the sleeping bag in her hands. “I’m not going back! Not until we’ve finished. Mommy asked us to finish, and I’m going to listen to her. Even if you won’t.”

“I always listened to her. And to you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Mattie.”

“You don’t.”

“I—”

“How can you listen when you’re at work? When you’re gone all the time? Mommy was home. And she listened. I know she heard everything I said. Everything!”

Ian closed his eyes, wanting to shout but staying silent, feeling trapped in the small, cold room. “I did my best. Maybe I made mistakes, heaps of them, but I did my best.”

“You should do what she says.”

“I came here, didn’t I? Even when I didn’t want to.”

“You came but—”

“And you know, Roo, this is tough on me too. I’ve been kicked in the teeth just as hard as you have.”

“I’m not going back.”

“Why not? Why are you so afraid of going back? We live in a lovely place, in a lovely country. We’ve got mates who would do anything for us. Don’t you miss your soccer team? Your art teacher at school? Walking to the movies with me and stuffing ourselves with popcorn?”

She pulled the sleeping bag over her head. “I don’t want to go back because I know Mommy’s here. And I’m not going to leave her. I’m not ever going to leave her again.”

TWO DAYS LATER, AFTER THE RAIN HAD subsided and Mattie’s knee was no longer swollen and stiff, they left the stone room. They’d passed the time by going over her schoolwork, reading Harry Potter, and writing postcards. Through the years, Mattie had often sent Ian’s parents postcards and she wanted to continue the tradition. She’d only met them once when they’d visited New York, and she enjoyed receiving their postcards and seeing different parts of Australia, a country her father promised that she would come to know well.