The Kindness Tree

She gently pulled the sweater free, but another vine had curled around her shoelace. She sat on a flat stone and worked the thorny stem loose with careful fingers.

When she stood, a small prick caught her hand.

“Ouch,” she said, holding her finger close. A bright red dot appeared, but it did not hurt for long. Maya pressed her finger against her sleeve and took a step back.

The hollow was not a path for rushing.

She studied the vines. Some grew low along the ground. Others hung from the bushes. In the middle, a few smooth stones made a line toward the hidden tree.

Maya picked up a fallen branch and used it to move the vines aside. She pushed too hard, and the branch snapped with a sharp crack.

Maya blinked at the broken pieces.

“I need to be gentler,” she said.

She tried again, this time lifting each vine slowly. When one sprang back, she waited until it stopped moving. Then she stepped around it.

The air smelled of warm leaves and damp earth. Small birds chirped somewhere overhead, but the vines brushed her sleeves with a dry, scratchy sound.

Maya reached the first smooth stone. Then the second.

At the third stone, the trail disappeared beneath a thick bundle of prickly stems. The tree stood beyond it, only a few steps away. Its trunk was wide and gray, and its branches spread like open arms.

Maya could not reach it.

She glanced toward the garden. She could go back for garden gloves, but the thought of leaving made her feel disappointed. She had come this far, and the tree seemed to be waiting in the quiet hollow.

Then Maya remembered the broken branch.

She found a longer fallen stick beside the bush. With both hands, she lifted the vines one at a time and laid them gently to the side. Some stems were too tangled to move. Maya did not pull them. Instead, she crawled beneath a low opening, keeping her elbows close.

A thorn brushed her sleeve.

“Slowly,” she reminded herself.

She moved one knee, then one hand. The earth felt cool beneath her palm. A tiny white flower trembled beside her cheek. Maya held still until the vine stopped shaking, then slid forward.

At last, she came through.

Maya rose and brushed leaves from her dress. The hidden hollow opened around her like a small green room. The garden sounds grew soft behind the vines. Here, the air was cooler, and the ground was covered with moss.

The tree stood in the middle of the hollow.

For a moment, Maya smiled. She had imagined bright leaves and red fruit. She had imagined birds resting in its branches.

But the tree had no leaves at all.

Its branches were bare. Several small twigs had broken away and lay on the ground. Around the trunk, the soil had pulled back, leaving the roots uncovered like long, pale fingers.

Maya’s smile faded.

“Oh,” she said softly.

She walked closer. The bark felt rough beneath her hand. It was warm on one side and cool on the other. At the base of the trunk, the earth was dry and cracked.

The tree did not speak, of course. Still, Maya felt as if it had been waiting a long time for someone to notice.

She looked around the hollow. There was no stream. No puddle. No soft bed of leaves covering the roots. Only a few brown leaves rested near the stones.

Maya knelt beside the tree and cupped her hands over one of the exposed roots.

“I’m sorry you are all alone,” she whispered.

A breeze moved through the hollow. The bare branches made a light clicking sound.

Maya reached for the small water bottle she had brought from the kitchen. She shook it. There was only a little water inside, just enough for two small sips.

She poured it onto the dry soil.

The water disappeared at once.

Maya frowned. It was not enough. She tipped the bottle again, but only one drop fell.

“I need more,” she said.

She hurried to the edge of the hollow, then stopped at the thorny path. The way back looked even harder now. The vines had fallen across the opening again.

Maya could return to the garden and ask for help. That would be sensible. But she worried that, by the time she came back, she might not remember the exact turn in the path.

She picked up a flat white stone and placed it beside the first smooth stone. Then she placed another beside the second.

“I’ll find you again,” she told the tree.

On her way back, Maya tried to move quickly. A vine caught her shoelace, and she stumbled onto her hands. The soft moss kept her safe, but the water bottle slipped from her fingers and rolled beneath the bushes.

Maya searched under the leaves.

“Where are you?” she asked.

She found the bottle beside a patch of ferns. A small bird hopped away from it, chirping as if it had been surprised.

Maya picked up the bottle and held it close. The cap was still on.

She looked at the bird, then at the thirsty ground near the tree.

“You didn’t take it,” she said. “But you made me look more carefully.”

The bird fluttered onto a branch and tilted its head.

Maya smiled a little. She had been thinking only about getting to the tree. She had not thought about what the tree would need after she arrived.

The vines rustled behind her. Maya took a slow breath and began the trip back through the hollow.

This time, she did not push. She lifted each stem and waited. When a thorn caught her sleeve, she freed the cloth instead of tugging. When the trail became too tight, she turned sideways.

At last, she stepped over the stone wall and returned to the garden. The mint smelled fresh and sharp. Somewhere near the kitchen, her mother called, “Maya, the rolls are ready!”

“Coming!” Maya called back.

She looked once more at the hidden path. The white stones were barely visible through the leaves, but she knew they were there.

Maya set the empty bottle on the wall and touched the tiny mark on her finger. Then she looked toward the kitchen, where the warm smell of bread drifted through the air.

She wanted to tell her mother about the tree right away. She also wanted to go back with water, gloves, and someone who knew how to help.

The lonely tree had given her a wonderful secret, but it was not a secret she could keep to herself.

Maya picked up her yellow ball and walked toward the house. Her steps were slower now, and her thoughts were busy.

She had gone into the hollow as a carefree wanderer. She came back as a concerned discoverer.

Before she reached the kitchen door, she turned and looked at the garden path again.

“I’ll come back,” she promised.

And this time, she knew she would bring help.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters and about 8,593 words in the full book.