The Wishing Trees (7 page)

Mattie shifted on her cushion. “You seem . . . so happy now. How are you so happy?”

Ian had told Akiko about his wife’s death, and the Japanese woman nodded to Mattie. “Not a single day goes by without me seeing my father’s photograph and wishing that he was here,” she said. “I will always miss him. But I have my mother and my students. My life is good.”

“It is?”

“Yes. I am content.”

“That’s nice,” Mattie replied softly, looking down, wondering why she felt so lost without her mother, why she couldn’t be content like Akiko.

“Now may I ask you something?”

“Okay.”

“Do you know what I see, when I look at you?”

“Me?”

“I see a girl who will soon be a young woman. And that woman, I am sure, will be like her mother. She may have her own children someday. And I think she will be so pleased.”

Mattie looked up. “You do?”

“Yes,” Akiko said, smiling. “My own life, I know, has been a changing of the seasons. My mother and I have spoken of this many times.”

“How was your life . . . a changing of the seasons?”

Akiko glanced at Ian, who bowed ever so slightly to her. “I was a child in the spring,” she said, “when the cherry blossoms filled the trees. And then the rains and typhoons of summer came, and sometimes I had to be careful. That is what I tell my students now—do not be afraid to splash in the puddles, but also do not forget to watch the sky.” She paused to sip her tea. “In autumn, when the leaves yellowed and fell, I went away from home and studied. And then, years later, my father died. That was the winter of my life. I felt so cold. But my winter did not last forever. It is once again spring. And I am as happy as the songbirds.”

Mattie looked to her father, her eyes tearing. He reached for her fingers and held them tight.

“May I tell you something else, Mattie-chan?” Akiko asked.

Nodding, Mattie looked at Akiko’s big brown eyes. “Yes.”

“Now, I think, you are in the winter of your life. But spring always follows winter, no matter how deep the snow.”

“It’s deep. As deep as a house.”

“But it will melt. And after it does, remember that just as the seasons come and go, so will smiles and tears. What will you learn from the tears? How do you share the smiles? How can you honor your mother by being a good person? Those are the questions that we must all learn the answers to. And I am sure that you will learn them.”

Again Mattie nodded, her fingers still within her father’s grasp.

“Thank you, Akiko-san,” Ian said quietly. “Your students are lucky to have you.”

“Oh, I do not often share such thoughts at school. But here, among new friends, after a pot of nabe, it seems right to do so, yes?”

Mattie sniffed and turned to where she had set her blue backpack. She opened it, leafed through her sketch pad, and came to the picture she’d drawn of the cherry blossoms. Her small fingers carefully pulled the edge of the drawing, tearing the paper from the pad. “This is for you,” she said, handing her drawing to Akiko.

Akiko bowed, taking the offering, surprised by Mattie’s skill, delighted by her gift. “It is beautiful, Mattie-chan,” she said. “You do me a great honor by giving such beauty to me. I am undeserving of it.”

Mattie shook her head. “I’m glad you’re happy, Akiko-san. And that you like my drawing.”

“Your drawing reminds me of all those wonderful spring days. And I am going to put it somewhere special in our home. Where my mother and I can look at it and smile.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And, Mattie-chan, please trust me when I say that you will be happy. That the snow will melt.”

Mattie looked at her host, wanting to believe Akiko’s words, repeating them in her mind. But she didn’t know if happiness would find her again. She’d always longed to have a little sister, and that now seemed unlikely. She’d wanted to show so many more of her drawings to her mother but now never would. It was as if each of her childhood dreams had been turned into a glass bottle and thrown from a moving car.

Still, Mattie wanted to try to be happy, even though these days she was far more familiar with tears than smiles. And so she thanked Akiko again, sipped her green tea, and pretended not to notice that her father felt and acted the same way she did.

THE NEXT MORNING, A BULLET TRAIN LEFT downtown Tokyo, accelerating with breathtaking speed and grace. The interior of the train car that carried Mattie and Ian hardly seemed to move. Nothing rattled. No bumps or sways were felt. A girl walking down the wide aisle didn’t have to hold on to anything. The train glided forward in an almost magical fashion, seeming to hover above the rails instead of rolling over them. Outside the long windows, Tokyo rushed past, cars becoming blurry, people nearly impossible to discern.

“It’s like being on a plane, isn’t it?” Mattie asked.

Ian stretched out in his chair, looking around, impressed with the mode of transportation. “It’s better than a plane, luv,” he said. “It’s always right on time. There’s no turbulence or danger. It’s a heap more comfortable. And it’ll get you anywhere in a tick.” He pointed to an electronic sign at the end of the long, gleaming cabin. “See those numbers? That’s our speed. When we reach the countryside those numbers will jump like roos in the bush. I reckon we’ll hit two hundred miles an hour.”

“Wow,” Mattie replied, looking outside, then about the cabin. She couldn’t believe how large the interior of the train car was. “It’s like being in a spaceship.”

“Kind of wallops the subway back home, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“How about a bit of homework, luv? Remember, you’re supposed to study three hours a day. That’s the deal we made with your teacher.”

“No, not now, Daddy. Please not now. I want to draw the train.”

“We’ll be in here for a while.”

“Please.”

He reached into his day pack and removed her history book, putting it on his lap. “Fine, luv. But when you’re done, we’re going to have a go at this. Joan of Arc, of all people, isn’t going to run away and hide.”

As Mattie got out her sketch pad, Ian glanced at the city. Skyscrapers were no longer everywhere, but scattered about. The train continued to accelerate, quietly powered by electricity. A pair of businessmen seated behind Ian and Mattie started to speak in Japanese, the sound of their voices pulling Ian into the past. He had overheard such voices a thousand times on the train, returning from work or dinner with Kate. They’d often eavesdropped on the conversations around them, trying to decipher nuggets of information.

Thinking about Kate, about nearing the place where they met and fell in love, made Ian’s pulse quicken. He was afraid of what he would see. His days in Kyoto by Kate’s side had been among his best. On their mountain bikes, they’d explored the city. On foot, they’d made almost daily climbs into the mountains behind their apartment.

Ian didn’t believe that he would be strong enough to walk through Kyoto and constantly maintain his composure in front of Mattie. How could he look at something that Kate had touched and not be affected? Such self-control would be impossible. Perhaps years from now, when his memories had dulled, he’d be able to walk past the past. But not now. Not when he still awoke reaching for her. Not when she dominated so many of this thoughts.

Please give me strength, he said silently, closing his eyes, his thumb moving back and forth. Mattie needs me to be strong. Like I used to be. So please, when we’re in Kyoto, don’t kick me in the teeth. Don’t let me fail her. I’ve failed her before, and I can’t do that again. I need a fair go this time. Please give me a fair go.

Ian opened his eyes and glanced outside, surprised that they were already in the countryside. Shimmering rice fields dominated the floor of the valley through which they sped. Lush mountains rose in the distance. The mountains moved slowly to Ian’s left as he looked at them, unlike everything nearby, which rushed past as if comprising a colorful tapestry that spun around the train. Ian felt that he was moving forward at the speed of light toward pieces of Kate, for to him memories were pieces of the people who made them. He mused over the letter she’d written to him, still unsure what he thought of her request. A part of him continued to resent her for sending Mattie and him on this journey. It seemed too demanding—both physically and mentally. What if Mattie became sick in India? What if she got hurt or lost? Why in the world had Kate asked so much?

A bullet train going in the opposite direction suddenly appeared. Even though the other train was well over a thousand feet long, it vanished in the blink of an eye. The view of the lush countryside once again filled the windows. As Ian glanced at an electronic map showing their progress, he realized that he was sweating. He swore to himself, pulling his shirt away from his stomach, which ached. He took off his black and green Statue of Liberty baseball cap and hung it from the seat in front of him. Trying to move his mind from their destination, he turned to Mattie, who was drawing a rice field with mountains behind it. “Good onya, Roo,” he said, forcing a smile. “That’s going to be a beaut.”

Mattie looked up at him. “Thanks, Daddy.”

“You’re a bloody good artist.”

She nodded, but said nothing, picking up a lime-colored pencil so that she could add a different hue to her rice field. Hoping that her father was still watching, she tried to move the pencil the way that she’d seen older artists sketch, her hand in almost continuous motion. When Ian turned his gaze back to the window, Mattie’s pace slowed. She knew that her mother would have asked her questions about the drawing, wondering perhaps if the water in the field was cold, or if Mattie had thought about adding birds to the image. Her mother always asked such questions, always applauded Mattie’s ideas as well as given her new ones. Her father usually just said that her pictures were pretty. He didn’t have much else to offer, which made Mattie want to create fewer and fewer sketches. Drawing had given Mattie and her mother joy. And with her mother gone, that joy had been halved.

Mattie put down her pencil. “I’m hungry.”

Ian turned toward her. “Oh. Well, can you wait for lunch? We’ll be there in an hour.”

“Mommy would have packed me a snack. She wouldn’t have forgotten that.”

“She what?”

“She wouldn’t have forgotten some food for me.”

“Easy on, Roo. There’s a dining car down the way. Want to have a go at some sushi?”

“I don’t feel like sushi.”

“How about some noodles?”

“We had noodles for lunch yesterday. And they tasted like paper.”

Ian sighed, glancing again through the window. “Do you want to eat or not? There’s a heap of tasty treats on this train. Or we can wait and have a proper lunch in Kyoto.”

“Let’s wait.”

“But you’re hungry. I could get something for you.”

“No, I’m okay.”

Ian massaged his brow, aware that Mattie was upset about something but not knowing what. He could ask her, of course, but knew that she probably wouldn’t tell him. Some pains she kept to herself, just as he did. “Do you want to open the notes, Mattie?” he asked, nodding. “Do you want to have a gander at what your mum wrote to us?”

“But I thought you wanted to wait until we got to Kyoto.”

“Ah, I’ve waited too bloody long as it is,” he replied, thinking about how Kate had asked him to open their canisters when they arrived in each country. “I’ve been mucking around, afraid of what I might read. But I reckon it’s time for me to stop being a dimwit.”

“You can be a dimwit, Daddy.”

“Too right.”

“You really want to open them?”

Ian reached into his pocket and removed two black film canisters. Both had “Japan” written on them in gold-colored permanent marker. One carried his name, the other Mattie’s. “Here you go, luv,” Ian said, handing Mattie her canister.

“Maybe you should read yours first.”

“No worries, Roo. You go ahead. I’ll wait.”

Mattie nodded. Her fingers, darkened from the colored pencils, pulled the gray top off her canister. Inside was a narrow but long piece of paper that had been rolled up like a little scroll. Mattie studied the paper, her heart thumping faster. She didn’t know what she hoped her mother would say, or even if it were possible for her mother to say anything that would make her feel better. Her colored fingers trembling, she unrolled the paper and squinted at the small, elegant words.

My Lovely Little Lady,

If you’re reading this note, then I know you’ve gone on our trip, the trip that we were planning before I got sick. I’m so proud of you for going, Mattie. I know that it won’t be easy. I haven’t walked the road that you are walking, but I can imagine how it might be.

Now, as I lay here, I am imagining your sketches, your freckles, the way you can laugh as if everyone in the world were tickling you. I imagine everything about you. And when I think of you, I think of goodness, of a girl who makes me smile, both as a mother and as a fellow human being. I don’t believe I’ve met anyone, Mattie, who has your heart. You’re so young, yet you already know how to share your compassion, how to share yourself. You’re far beyond your years when it comes to sharing, to so many things.