Free Plenty by Ananda Braxton-Smith Page A

Nana mostly remembered what was important to her – like keeping part of the Cyprus garden wild for fairies. But sometimes she remembered wrong – like who owned the black horse.
    She couldn’t help forgetting. Sometimes it made her angry.
    “But then,” said Mum, “she forgets what she was angry about. So that’s all right. And also,” she added, “you can tell her the same story and she’s just as interested the second or third time. It’s relaxing, actually.”
    “Will she forget me?” asked Maddy.
    “I don’t know,” Mum said. “Nobody knows what someone else will remember. But if she does forget, you can remember for her.”
    “What about when I’m old though,” Maddy said. “When I’m just plain Mad. Will I get it?”
    “What time is it?” asked Mum, suddenly.
    Maddy and Mum were late. They’d stopped in Whittlesea to buy Maddy a pair of the Plenty boots. Maddy was watching her feet now as they walked the bush track. They looked strong, tough, solid. Like they belonged here. And they looked cool.
    Brilliant, actually.
    It was planting day and Grace and Nana Mad had gone ahead into the gorge, down through the white gums to the bank of the Plenty River. Maddy could hear the river. And her grandmother was calling
Coo-ee
back through the trees to guide them. She’d forgotten a lot of things but she still knew the secret places of the orchids.
    Maddy Frank decided it would be ages before she was old enough to forget like Nana Mad. And meanwhile, the light was dropping through the trees and making silver puddles in the undergrowth, and everything smelled clean and good. She just couldn’t think about getting old any more. She took off up the track, running in her new boots towards Nana’s
Coo-ee
.

    Nana Mad and the planting party were meeting deep in a part of the bush where the only paths were fire trails. The orchids had to be planted where nobody would trample over them, or ride dirt bikes through them. Even people who only wanted to look could hurt them by accident. Orchids were not rare, just as Nana said, but they were sensitive. They had to be planted in the right places.
    The almost-finished school project had a whole section on this:
Where the wild orchids grow has to be secret. Indigenous orchids need a safe place to grow. They need to be protected while they regenerate
…
    “
Coooo-ee
!” called Nana. Her voice came from straight ahead.
    “Are we nearly there?” Mum panted behind her.
    “I can see them,” said Maddy.
    Nana and the planting party were gathered by the river. Sunlight was bouncing off the water and rippling the underside of leaves. The men and women moved round each other in the clearing, orbiting inside these constellations of lights. They were unpacking the orchid pots.
    Every pot held a new orchid. Every new stem shivered in the fresh air. Every new leaf and bud trembled. Watching, Maddy found she was holding her breath. They looked so soft. So breakable. But Nana had said, one orchid alone might be delicate, all together, they were a tough mob.
    The project was clear on this point also:
Orchids can live in the soil, on rocks, up trees and even under ground. There is an orchid for every place on Earth
.
    By the riverbank, platters of lemon slice, chocolate hedgehog and fairy cakes were laid out, with the ants already arriving. The women of Whittlesea thought it only good manners to bring a plate to any sort of gathering, even those held in the bush. Maddy approved of these manners and she took one perfect fairy cake.
    Grace Wek couldn’t decide between the hedgehog and lemon slice.
    “So,
so
lucky,” she was saying to herself over and over, studying the platters with feeling.
    Deciding which cake, Grace’s face was full of a serious delight and she took so long, Maddy wondered if she’d ever choose. In the end, she took a piece of the hedgehog – and then right at the last moment, a piece of the lemon slice as well. Mrs Wek wagged her finger at Grace and