When Evie came out from the back of the vault, the seed was burning her hand.
“Pop, can we go yet?” she asked, using the nickname she knew he hated. Father looked up, and she wondered if he’d understand, but he nodded.
“I suppose these old maps and artifacts will be plenty to get us started,” he said to Kit. “Your husband will probably be here soon, and we ought to head out before things get worse.” Kit stood up and closed the box she’d been looking through.
“I appreciate you letting us take these things,” Maggie said, but Kit only laughed.
“Technically, they still belong to you.”
Maggie nodded. “Someday I just might come back to look through the rest. I should have done this a long time ago.”
Her voice trailed off, and Evie slid up next to her. Together they followed Father and Kit out of the vault and back up the stairs. Kit found a plastic bag for their things, then she led them to the front door, where they piled on their coats and boots and gloves.
“Maybe I’ll see you back again before too long?” Kit asked Evie, unlocking the door to let them out.
“You will,” Evie said, knowing it was true.
Then Evie, Father, and Maggie stepped outside into the snow, fighting their way to the truck. The moment the doors were slammed tight against the wind, Evie opened her palm and looked at the seed.
“You’re certain this is the one?” Father asked.
Evie nodded. “I think we ought to plant it on Rodney’s grave, just like I did before.”
Father nodded, then he gunned the engine and stepped hard on the gas, but the trip back to the house turned out to be even slower than the trip into town. In the rearview mirror Evie saw a truck pull up in front of the library, and Kit ran out, but other than that the town was empty and silent and the last few lights were slowly flickering off.
“Hurry,” Evie said, but Father was trying to keep the truck’s wheels in the grooves they’d made on their way in. The snow crunched ominously, and when they finally made it back to the house, the front wheels spun angrily into a snowbank.
“Close enough,” Father said, opening the door so Evie and Maggie could climb out. “Looks like we’re walking the rest of the way.” Father started toward the orchard and Evie followed, but Maggie stopped.
“What is it?” Evie asked, turning back.
Maggie sighed. “I’m not so young as you folks,” she said. “I’m afraid I won’t make it too long out in this weather.” She trudged up next to Evie and hugged her tight. “Good luck, Eve,” she said. “Whatever happens, make sure you come back.”
Evie nodded.
“I’ll have the fire going when you return,” Maggie said. Then she winked, and Evie watched as she walked away, her form gradually disappearing through the snow.
Evie turned to Father. It was just the two of them now.
“Let’s go,” Father said, reaching out to take her mittened hand in his thick glove. “Sooner we plant this seed, the sooner we can get back home, where we belong.”
Evie nodded, and she was surprised to realize that when Father said “home” she thought of the old house with Maggie waiting by the fire like she’d promised.
She squeezed Father’s hand tight.
“There’s my scarf,” she said, spotting the last of the red fabric hanging loosely off the tree branch. Father ducked underneath and Evie followed, squinting to see through the fierce white streaks of snow. Her nose was running, and soon her pant legs were crusted with ice, and she was glad she’d worn all her layers to keep warm.
She wouldn’t have found the spot where she’d planted the seed, but Father knew the trees well. “This is it,” he said, kicking away the snow around Rodney’s grave with his boot. He knelt down and used his pocketknife to dig a hole in the dirt.
“The ground is probably frozen underneath, but this stuff on top is all right. It’s old soil and won’t have any nutrients, but . . .”
Evie put her hand on Father’s arm.
“It’s not that kind of tree,” she said, and then she took off one mitten and poured the seed into the small hole Father had dug. She covered it over and held her breath. At first she felt nothing, but then the familiar wind picked up around her.
“Can you see the seed growing?” Evie hollered when the tiniest green shoot had started up out of the earth. She pulled Father backward so the tree would have room to grow.
“I’m . . . trying,” he said, studying the soil.
“I wish you could see it,” Evie said, but Father shook his head.
“It doesn’t matter if I can see it or not.” He hugged her tight, and Evie watched as the tree grew taller and fuller.
“I hope I can bring Adam back,” she said. “What if he won’t go? What if the tree disappears? What if—”
Father put one finger over her mouth.
“No more ‘what ifs,’” he said. “I believe in you.”
The branches of the tree unfurled one by one and filled with blossoms.
“It’s almost grown,” Evie said, holding out her hands. Mixed in with the snow were the falling petals. Then amid the ever swirling white, she saw the first of the bright red apples.
“It’s time,” she said, taking several steps forward. Father’s gaze never left her as she reached up and plucked the apple. She watched him standing there with the snow drifting silently around him, his brow furrowed tight, but then his face changed, softening with wonder.
“Do you see it now?” she whispered, but Father shook his head.
“No,” he said, “but for a moment you looked just like your mom. All grown up.”
Evie held the apple tightly. For the first time since Mom died, she felt her mother’s presence, not as something outside of herself that she’d brought to life, but as something inside of her—as something she was.
She looked back at Father and smiled, then lifted the apple to her lips.