Deer Life

by Ron Sexsmith

  Well, that’s a good sign at least! thought Claira as she struggled to think positively. She wasn’t at all sure she could trust Eleanoir, but for her father’s sake, she was willing to give her a second chance.

  Deryn, though, felt every bit as wounded in the back of that wagon as on the first day he arrived. Claira smiled back at him periodically in the hopes of reassuring her friend, though her attempts were woefully unsuccessful. For his deer senses were telling him that this was all very bad indeed as they drew closer to home like a moth to a flame.

  Meanwhile, back in Hinthoven, Maggie returned to find Claira’s note. She had been to The Fist and Firkin, only to come up empty there. The bartender and chambermaid informed her that Crad’s room had not been occupied the previous night and were both of the opinion that he must’ve headed back to Hixenbaugh. This, of course, made absolutely no sense to her. The twins had not seen him, either, which was even more unusual. But as with Deryn, they offered their help to look for him. Understandably, Maggie was quite perplexed by it all. It seemed like everyone she’ d ever cared about was either dead or missing. P’raps I’m the one who’s cursed! she thought as she paused to check her reflection in the mirror. Oh, the ravages of time. She sighed and fumbled with her hands. In the next moment her attention was drawn to the same imposing shadow that had caught Deryn’s attention not so long ago. Maggie raced to the window just in time to see Tourtière passing by.

  But as if somehow sensing that eyes were upon him, he stopped suddenly and turned toward the house as Maggie ducked down to avoid detection. The next time she looked, though, his face was pressed up against the glass and hideously scowling at her!

  Rightly startled, Maggie tumbled backward over Deryn’s old seat as Tourtière erupted in a volcano of knee-slapping laughter. A moment later, however, she had rallied all her strength and was back on her feet, shaking a defiant fist at him from the good side of the glass. This only served to make him laugh harder as he headed homeward, leaving behind a terrible feeling that lingered long after he was gone from sight. Maggie slid down the wall and wept for a spell until she had composed herself enough for this one brave thought to shine through. “Well, I think we know where to start looking tomorrow.”

  For Jacques Tourtière, breakfast meant black coffee, ten pieces of buttered toast, and one raw potato. Like Grimsby, he, too, was a creature of habit, though with a much greater emphasis on the creature part. His house, though only slightly bigger than Maggie’s, was packed floor to beams with hunting paraphernalia, rusty tools, and an array of hats and boots and pots and pans. In one corner, an angry wood stove crackled and hissed, while directly opposite to that came a noticeable dip in the floor that sloped down to a filthy cot piled high with coats and trash and bottles and bags. A full chamber pot was positioned perilously close to the kitchen table, which upon closer inspection revealed itself to be a door balancing on a barrel. And all of the above items were thoughtlessly strewn about the room on top of an unusually large bear rug. (Though some things were more off the bear than on.) And while we’re on the subject of the bear, the look of anguish it wore appeared to have more to do with its final resting place than any bullet could’ve ever caused.

  The only thing that seemed slightly out of place in the whole cheerless room was a faded floral dress that hung from an old vanity like the ghost of happiness. Whether it once belonged to his mother or to some long-lost lover, there was just no way of knowing.…

  On this dreary September morn, Tourtière busied himself with the loading of bullets into a new rifle, which Eleanoir had acquired especially for him. Apparently, they had met not long after she first arrived at Hinthoven, and though completely repulsed by the sight of him, she also could sense in him a sort of relentless mean-spirited quality that just might come in handy someday. And that “someday,” it seems, had finally arrived!

  For although he tried to hide it, Jacques did have a heart after all. The very idea that an attractive woman had, in his mind at least, befriended him filled his normally solitary existence with a vague sense of something he’ d buried along with his childhood. Whether it was love or joy he couldn’t say — it had been that long. All he knew was that by granting her this one rather large favour, she would be exceedingly grateful. What that meant exactly could be anyone’s guess. Had she promised money? Three wishes? Brandy? Well, whatever it was, it would most certainly be to her benefit alone.

  But after tossing back one last gulp of brew, Tourtière stepped out into the dawn’s blurry light as a trio of small birds serenaded him sweetly from the rooftop. “Get lost,” he fumed and whacked the eave hard with his gun, sending them all off in search of a more hospitable perch.

  Then, while locking up the front door, he took a brief moment to scowl upward at the sky, as then a-hunting he did go.…

  Little did he know that just up the road a little ways, Maggie, Griff, and Gruff had poked their heads out of an archway like a three-headed monster and watched him as he went waddling past. His mind, thankfully, was much too occupied with the day’s ominous task to notice he was being watched. And so, as he disappeared around the bend, Maggie and her skeleton crew sprang immediately into action. Griff and Gruff got straight to work on the lock, while Maggie acted as lookout on the off chance that someone should happen along. And as if Bad Timing himself had read the above sentence, the unmistakable sound of a door opening across the road created a flurry of frenzied whispering as Maggie instructed the boys to stop whatever they were doing and act natural. Assuming that was even possible.…

  In the next instant, our brave souls stood whistling, hands in pockets, while attempting to look nonchalant as the mystery neighbours stepped out into the light. Maggie recognized them right away as that rude elderly couple from the day before! “Mornin’, neighbours!” she called to them with a smile and a wave, though all it produced was a similar look of disdain as they walked off without even saying a word. “Some people!” Maggie scoffed. But no sooner had they departed then the clicking of Tourtière’s door being unlocked could be plainly heard. “You did it!” exclaimed Maggie. (The word it being cut short by Griff’s quick hand over her mouth as all three entered Chez Tourtière with the appropriate trepidation.)

  Were it not such an urgent mission, the stench alone that greeted their nostrils would have sent all three away screaming in horror. For Grimsby’s sake, though, they would brave both the odour and the obstacle course of debris to find their missing friend. At first glance, though, it did not seem even remotely possible that he could be there at all. The house had only one room in it, so unless he was buried ’neath a pile of coats, there was really nowhere to hide Grimsby in such a place. So, with hopes rapidly fading, Maggie and the twins had just turned to look elsewhere when Griff suddenly froze and pointed to the rug under the table.

  “What is it?” she asked, her eyes darting from the rug, up to Griff’s face, over to Gruff, and back at the rug again. Griff raised a finger to his lips and another to his ear. And as she listened, it wasn’t long before she, too, could hear curious noises coming from directly below the bear. “Quick,” she said. “Everything out of the way!”

  Griff and Gruff wasted no time in moving the table and all other obstacles off to one side, until at last they were able to pull back the rug, revealing a secret door in the floor.

  All at once the mysterious sounds became more audible. “Well, don’t just stand there, boys, open it up!” And in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, the twins were down on all fours and pulling open the trap door, which, as suspected, led to a dark cellar. “Mr. Grimsby? Are you down there?” hollered Maggie as a series of muffled words came floating up from the abyss. “Pass me that candle over there, would ya?” she commanded, as Gruff deftly snatched it from the sill, lit it, then handed it to her. And as she climbed down the coarse rope ladder, Maggie aimed the candle in all directions ’til suddenly it illuminated the face, but curiously not the rest of Grimsby.
For as she would soon discover, he was rolled up in a filthy carpet on the floor and gagged.

  “My heavens, Crad!” she exclaimed.

  The spirited noises that followed assured her that he was still very much alive and kicking, to her enormous relief. Maggie rushed to his side and pulled out the gag (which consisted of a small potato held in place by one of Tourtière’s awful knee socks).

  “Thank goodness!” he croaked as Maggie went straight to work unrolling him from his humiliating cocoon.

  “Poor thing,” she said and shook her head with dismay. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m much better now,” he replied (and, in fact, he did seem to be in pretty good spirits, all things considered). “I thought I would die down here!” he admitted as a small tear rolled down his broad cheek.

  “You thought wrong!” said Maggie. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily!” she vowed with a smile as both laughed gratefully before tightly embracing.

  A few minutes later, as he emerged stiff but otherwise happy from Tourtière’s cellar of misery, Grimsby thanked the boys profusely while his eyes adjusted to the welcome light.

  “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’d very much like to leave this horrible place without delay.” And who could blame him?

  Soon our heroes went rushing back to the relative safety of Maggie’s place, who upon arrival lit the stove to heat up some leftover soup and a soothing pot of tea. She had hoped the rest of the day would be somewhat less exciting than the morning, but sadly this was not to be. For the one perk of being a prisoner in that echoey dungeon was that Crad had been able to overhear most of Eleanoir’s wicked plans as she relayed them to Tourtière.

  “They’re going to kill Mr. Hinterlund,” he said. “We must warn Claira.”

  “But I thought they were getting married today?” Maggie wondered aloud with a look of confusion that was aimed at the floor.

  “Yes, they are,” he replied. “But it’s not the wedding I’m worried about!”

  Grimsby began to spill over with all the sordid details he’ d been privy to while wrapped up in that awful rug as Maggie and the bouncers listened in hushed silence.

  After the wedding ceremony, Magnus and Eleanoir were to take a stroll through the woods alone. (Once they’d signed all the papers, of course.) For she had feigned interest in visiting some of his favourite childhood haunts under the ruse of getting to know him better. What Magnus didn’t know was that Tourtière would also be in the woods stalking them, until at such and such a time and such and such a place he would end Magnus’s life with a single shot, as though it were just a simple hunting accident. His further instructions were to ditch the gun and head for The Willow Tree on the other side of the woods, where he was to lay low, so to speak, until the coast was clear. And after it had all blown over, Eleanoir promised to pay him handsomely for his role in what she saw as the perfect crime. And once Magnus was out the way, she would then figure out what to do with the other troublemakers.

  Well, if it wasn’t for all the jaws dropping on the floor you would’ve heard a pin drop. For Maggie, who was never at a loss for words, was quite frankly at a loss for words. And Griff and Gruff, who were men of few words, were left with even fewer words than usual. This sort of evil was just too confusing for kind-hearted people like Maggie Hedlight to comprehend, and so all she could do was shake her head and mourn for the entire human race. (There was more to the story that Crad chose not to tell, concerning the deer, or more specifically, WHO the deer was. Though he wasn’t sure if she’ d believe him, anyway.)

  “So what do we do now?” asked Maggie, who after her first taste of heroism that morning felt she was ready to go back for seconds.

  “One thing’s for certain,” said Grimsby, looking all three squarely in the eyes. “We need to get out there and warn them … if it’s not already too late!”

  “But how are we to get out there in time?” asked Maggie. “I can’t run as fast as I used to.” (And judging by Grimsby’s appearance, one could safely assume that he hadn’t done much running lately either!)

  But before he had a chance to respond to the question of their physical realities, Griff began excitedly tapping the window and pointing to the street as Gruff smiled and nodded enthusias­tically beside him.

  Maggie and Crad rushed over to the window to see what had grabbed the twins’ attention so and were amazed, too, by what they saw. For just then, a florist’s delivery carriage had pulled up right out front! And as they watched from the window, a thin man in a tidy uniform was seen carrying a few choice bouquets into a nearby dress shop. Though it wasn’t so much the man but the unattended carriage they were interested in! “It’s now or never,” said Grimsby and then, rather heroically, “destiny calls!”

  Without a moment to spare, our courageous four climbed aboard and were away in seconds, leaving the confused florist in the dust of some higher purpose. (Though carriage theft was something they would most certainly have to answer for later on!)

  “Have you ever driven one of these things before?” asked Maggie with understandable concern. For it looked as though Crad could be yanked out of his seat at any given moment!

  “Well, it has been a while,” he hollered back over the screams of pedestrians diving for cover. Maggie closed her eyes and folded her hands in prayer as the carriage sped through town, spilling flowers, knocking over fruit stands, and lastly ripping through a large Augustafest banner as they neared the old Hinthoven sign at the crossroads of town. From here on in, there would be nothing but wide-open country road to Hinterlund Farm. Crad looked over at Maggie, whose eyes remained shut tight, though her hands had gone from prayer position to something resembling eagle talons as she held on for dear life.

  “You can open your eyes now,” he said, playfully jabbing her arm. Maggie opened one eye at a time before peeking over at Grimsby, now fully laughing at her.

  “How can you laugh at a time like this?” she scolded (while trying not to laugh herself). “Especially after all you’ve been through!” she added before laying her head affectionately on his shoulder. Crad’s heart had become emboldened just from having met this remarkable woman. A woman who’d not only saved his life but had also made him a better man. Why, he hardly recognized himself anymore! Who was this stranger in the stolen carriage, off to rescue the fair maiden? Certainly not Cradleigh Thorold Grimsby! For that man lived in fear, and this man wasn’t afraid anymore.

  “Well, whoever it is,” he smiled inwardly, “he could not have come at a better time.”

  And watching him throughout his moment of soul-searching, Maggie was feeling quite grateful herself. It’s really quite a handsome face, she thought. Most importantly, it’s a kind face.

  With all the craziness of the past few days, he had yet to tell her all the things he had meant to say before he was so rudely abducted. She was not the least bit concerned, however. “There’ll be plenty of time for talking. All the time in the world.” And as they returned to the serious mission at hand, their eyes met briefly in the understanding of something that words could not adequately express. “That was some special steering you did back there,” she said, shaking her head and chuckling at the memory as they raced t’ward Hinterlund farm now looming in the distance.

  “Oh, that wasn’t me,” replied Crad with a sly wink. “I don’t know who it was, but I can assure you it wasn’t me.”

  Little Grimsbys and Blackberry Pie

  Just a cherubic boy of twelve he was the day the witch came calling. And with Merthaloy little more than a toddler, he was oft times expected to babysit while their mother ran errands. Not that he minded very much, for Merthaloy was never any trouble, and besides, he truly loved her with all his heart. But on this drizzly autumn day with our two young Grimsbys home alone, there came a curious rap at the front door. They were not expecting any company, so it was with great interest that Crad went to invest
igate and found on their doorstep a rather odd-looking woman carrying an unusually large pie.

  “Hello, young man, is your mother in?” asked the mysterious lady.

  “She’s out at present,” said Crad as Mertha peeked ’round his leg.

  “Oh, I see,” replied the woman, pursing her lips. “Well, no matter, I’ve been asked to leave this pie with the man of the house.”

  “You have?” asked Crad. “By who?”

  “Why, your mother, of course, silly,” she said, wiggling her fingers at Merthaloy, now crouching behind Crad and peeking through his legs, as she held the pie out to him. “What a peculiar boy!”

  “I don’t understand,” said Crad, looking first at the pastry and then back at the bearer of it. “What would she do that for?”

  “Because she loves you, of course! Mmm … blackberry pie baked fresh this morning.” Her soothing voice spoke as she floated her hand delicately around the circumference of the tempting pastry.

  “But we don’t have any money for pie,” said Crad, who could not have been more mystified if a polar bear had offered him free tickets to the carnival.

  “Well, it’s your lucky day, then,” came her purple-eyed response. “Because this pie is free!”

  Fortunately for Crad, he had the good sense to know when something didn’t feel quite right. He took the pie from her anyway, mostly to be rid of her, and though their mother had always warned them never to accept candy (or in this case pie) from a stranger, he felt she would understand. Crad set it down on the counter and watched from the window as she backed away from the house, all the while making fork-to-mouth gestures in an overtly seductive manner.