Free The Night Gardener by Jonathan Auxier

dreams had been different. “I was dreamin’ that some gang of older boys was kickin’ a lost dog,” he said. “I pushed ’em away, to save the dog, but when I came close, the dog attacked me—chomped down, right on my left leg.” He glanced at his bad leg, hanging like a dead weight over the water. “The dog wouldn’t let go. I screamed for help, but the boys around me just laughed and jeered, cheerin’ as it bit my whole limb clean off.” Even now, he could still hear their taunting voices, and it made him shiver.
    He hammered down another nail, accidentally bending it. “What about you?” he said, pulling the nail out and starting over. “Did you have bad dreams?”
    Molly’s eyes were on the river rushing below them. “Aye,” she said.
    He watched her face, searching for clues. “About what?”
    “About nothin’.” She said this in a way that let him know he should stop prying.
    Kip looked past her to the house. There were so many things about this place that didn’t add up—none of them good: the silent forest, the pale faces, the mysterious prowler, that giant tree out front. If there really was somebody walking the halls at night, maybe he would be better off sleeping in the stables like the mistress wanted.
    He took his crutch and pulled himself to his feet. “I know you’re doin’ your best to take care of us, Molls. But if there really is danger, shouldn’t we leave?”
    “And go where? Back to town? We were homeless and halfway to starved.”
    Kip looked at her and knew she was right. “Ma an’ Da would know what to do,” he said, collecting his tools. “I wish they was here.”
    His sister tensed her jaw, still staring at the water. “Well, they’re not. And it’s no use wishin’ otherwise.”
    “You think I dinna know that?” He picked up his toolbox and hobbled toward the wagon. He knew it hadn’t been fair to bring up their parents that way. Molly wanted to see them again just as much as he did. But they were gone for now, and there was nothing either of them could do about it. “Forget I said anythin’.”
    “Don’t be sore,” Molly called out behind him.
    “I ain’t sore,” he said, hefting his tools into the wagon bed.
    He felt her hand on his shoulder. “You’re right to miss ’em, Kip.” Ma an’ Da aren’t here to tell us what to do … but maybe … maybe we could ask ’em?”
    Kip turned around. He could tell from her face that she was being serious.
    “Ask ’em how?” he said.
    Molly looked down at the hat, which was still in her hands. She screwed up her mouth as if she didn’t want to say what she was about to say. “We could write ’em a message.” She smiled weakly. “Well,
I’ll
write it—your letters ain’t so good.”
    Kip steadied himself against the back of the wagon. Again he had that feeling inside like he was being tricked. “But they’re at sea. And we dinna even know where.”
    Molly shrugged. “We can send it to the navy postmaster. He’d be able to deliver it easy enough. Or we could put it in a bottle and toss it out in the river like that Robinson Crusoe fellow I told you about.” She moved toward him, taking his hands in hers. “Think of it, Kip. We could tell ’em everything in our hearts. We could tell ’em how we miss ’em.”
    Kip did think of it, and just doing so made him feel less alone. A letter was not the same as being with them, of course, but it was something. “And that way they’d know where to look for us when they reach land,” he said.
    Molly beamed. “Exactly!”
    Molly’s smiles always had a way of catching, and before Kip knew it, he was smiling, too. “I’ve got just the thing to help.” He fished through his trousers pocket and removed a folded sheet of paper. It was an advert with a picture of a metal leg brace some doctor had invented. “We can use this paper I found in town. There’s words all on one side, but the back is plain enough.” He shrugged. “I’d been savin’ it