Any Which Wall

by Laurel Snyder

  Well, there is something you need to understand. For some reason, writers like to leave out the regular parts of a magical tale, probably because plain old good fun is not especially dramatic or exciting. This is silly, but it’s just something writers do.

  Most writers are show-offs and they like lots of drama. Even me.

  But in the name of absolute honesty, I’m now going to tell you something that I might otherwise have left out. I’m going to share with you that the four kids did, in fact, have a fabulous time with Tish on the boardwalk. They had fun because there were lots of new things to see and interesting people to stare at. There were bumper cars and a tattooed lady who walked past carrying an enormous snake. There was a one-man band, and a group of fire-eaters and jugglers, and they found postcards to buy and ridiculous hats to try on. They had fun because it was an adventure, they were on their own, the magic had brought them, and because Tish, who had been lonely for a year, was very, very glad to see her best friend again.

  They walked down by the water too, where Susan and Tish helped Emma built a sand castle while Rebecca and her friend sat on the beach and looked beautiful. And when the blond boy from Susan’s vision just happened to walk by with a pack of friends, and he just happened to drop his sunglasses at Rebecca’s feet, and then he just happened to strike up a conversation with Rebecca, Susan didn’t mind a bit.

  They ate funnel cakes, drank lemonade, and played Skee-Ball (which the blond boy—whose name turned out to be Gavin—was very good at, though winning isn’t really the point of Skee-Ball), and at last the day was over and Susan and Tish hugged and whispered promises to see each other again soon and to e-mail and call. And then it was time to go home.

  Which they did.

  Yes, they all made it back safely, without even the most minor of minor mishaps.

  They had been gone for hours, and nobody had chased them, except a seagull who wanted a bite of Emma’s funnel cake. They hadn’t gotten lost, frightened, or caught. They hadn’t been separated again, and they found the wall right where they had left it, in the room full of hot dogs.

  They made it back to the field safely, locked the wall for the night, and were home in time for dinner. With seconds to spare.

  No, nothing bad happened at all. It was a fun afternoon and free of all disaster, and it didn’t affect anything that happened afterward, not even a little. In fact, I wouldn’t bother to include this particular adventure in the book since it doesn’t matter much to the story.

  Except that it does. Because fun does matter. It matters a lot.

  THE NEXT DAY, Henry, Emma, Susan, and Roy woke to the sound of rain. And while rain is a wonderful sound to wake to (far pleasanter than an alarm clock or your mother yelling that breakfast is getting cold), each of them, in their separate beds in their separate rooms, groaned aloud and went back to sleep in hopes of a sunny afternoon.

  If the rain had come a few days earlier, they might have climbed out of bed anyway and biked to the wall in the storm, but now, spoiled by a number of magical adventures, slightly sunburned, and filled with pleasant memories of Coney Island, they were willing to wait for sunshine.

  This is why Susan and Roy were still in bed when the phone rang at 10:07 a.m. and why they were still in bed when it rang again, and kept ringing, at 10:17 a.m. Roy finally got up to answer it on about the twentieth ring. He groaned, “Hello?”

  “Come over, now,” Henry said, and he hung up just as Roy was opening his mouth to ask why.

  Roy woke Susan and they brushed their teeth hurriedly, tossed on some clothes, and ran next door. They were in such a rush that despite the torrential downpour, they didn’t bother with umbrellas. But even so, they couldn’t miss seeing the incredible car parked out in front of the O’Dells’ house. It looked like a small schoolbus had gotten mixed up with a coffee table. It was something called a woodie (though the kids didn’t know to call it that), and it was cool!

  They burst through the front door, shaking off water and yelping. Roy shouted out, “Did you see that car!” before they noticed Lily and Bernice in the living room. Lily was sitting on the couch in a startling bright turquoise slicker with pink polka dots. Bernice looked like a furry mountain at her feet.

  “So, you like my car?” asked Lily brightly. “I like it too! Maybe you’ll come for a ride later.”

  “Lily!” said Susan. “We were going to come over today to see you and Bernice. I promise! But it rained and—”

  “Yes,” said Lily. “Mmmmhmmm. Rain does make for good snoozing. I forgive you. But when I didn’t see you guys yesterday, I figured I’d pop by today and check in. Bernice wanted to say hello. She’s such a friendly girl.”

  When Bernice heard her name, she looked up and grinned … or panted. It was hard to tell which.

  Lily reached over and patted her head. “Such a good, good girl,” she crooned.

  Susan flashed Henry a look, and he grinned back. Everything was coming together just as they’d hoped it would.

  “She is a good girl.” Emma beamed. “Don’t you just love her so much?”

  “Yes, I do. She’s wonderful. But as wonderful as she is, I have to go out of town in a few days, so we need to figure out what to do with her.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Henry. “Aren’t you going to keep her?”

  “Why would I want to keep her?” asked Lily, sounding taken aback.

  “Yeah,” said Emma, who had not been privy to Henry and Susan’s conversation on the train, “why would Lily keep her? She’s my dog, and just as soon as Mom and Dad—”

  “It’s never going to happen,” said Henry in his kindest, most good-brother voice. “You have to understand that, Emma, and Lily might be the best chance Bernice has!”

  Lily shook her usually chirky head in a sad way.

  “But dogs are good for protection?” suggested Roy. He got down on his knees and crawled across the floor to look Bernice in the eyes. “And walking her will be really good exercise.” He tousled the dog’s head and looked up at Lily.

  “Yes, that’s all true,” admitted Lily, “but still—I only said I’d watch her for a day or two while you came up with a plan. Heavens, I can’t keep her for good!”

  “Are you allergic?” asked Roy. “My mom is allergic, and that’s why we can’t have a dog. Or at least, that’s what she says.” Roy considered thoughtfully that he had never actually seen his mother sneeze, wheeze, or itch in the presence of a dog. He’d have to ask about that.

  “Nope,” said Lily. “I’m not allergic to Bernice at all. I’m just too busy.”

  Emma looked confused. Although she didn’t want Lily to keep Bernice forever, she knew deep in her heart that Henry was probably right, and in any case, she thought the librarian should want to keep Bernice. “But you love dogs!”

  Lily chuckled and stroked Bernice’s head, which was in her lap. “I do love dogs, Emma, but I always have loved dogs, and you don’t see me with any other dogs, do you? Don’t you think if I wanted a dog, I’d have one already?”

  “This is different!” said Emma. She cocked her head as she thought this over. “Bernice is special.”

  “Dogs are a lot of work, and I’m gone all day. I travel a lot to library conferences and book fairs. It wouldn’t be fair to Bernice. Or to me.”

  “To you?” asked Susan.

  “Yes, dogs are hard work,” said Lily. “Why, just in the last twenty-four hours, she’s eaten a few house-plants and chewed up the legs of my favorite chair.”

  “Oh!” said Emma, who felt responsible. “I’m sorry!”

  “Don’t be,” said Lily. “I agreed to watch her for a bit, and I’ve had a nice time walking her and cuddling, but now I’m done. So”—she held Bernice’s leash in the air—“what now?”

  They hadn’t prepared for this at all. Henry, Roy, and Emma turned to Susan, who usually had an answer for everything but was now silent.

  “Come on, guys,” said Lily, shaking the leash. “I’d love to keep her, but I
just can’t. It isn’t practical for me just now. Maybe someday …”

  Susan cleared her throat. “But, Lily, you aren’t practical. I mean, you don’t have to take the dog, but this doesn’t sound like you. It sounds like something a real grown-up would say.”

  “I am a real grown-up, Susan,” said Lily, setting down the leash. “I’m thirty-three years old. I have a PhD in library science and a good job. I own a house, a car—”

  “A nice one!” said Henry appreciatively.

  “Thank you,” said Lily, smiling at him.

  Susan shook her head. “But you aren’t a regular grown-up. Your house is different. And your car is different. And your hair is different.”

  Lily felt at her bun, which was, today, held together with two forks. They were jammed in so that the tines faced out.

  Susan continued, “Real grown-ups don’t have prairies in their backyards or wear forks in their hair. That’s not practical either.”

  Lily sighed. “You aren’t alone in thinking so, Susan. People have been saying things like this all my life, but they’re wrong, and so are you. How I wear my hair is not really an issue of practicality at all. What difference does it make?”

  Susan looked at her feet.

  “I make choices based on how I want to live, just like you do,” said Lily. “I may eat soup for breakfast or wear slippers to the grocery store, but those choices are completely separate from my adult responsibilities.

  “I may paint my house a funny color, but I keep it clean. I may turn my backyard into a prairie, but I mow the front yard because I don’t want neighborhood kids cutting through it and getting ticks. I can choose to sleep in the afternoon and dance all night, precisely because I am a grown-up, but I can’t choose to be able to take care of Bernice right now, because I don’t have the money or the time. And I can’t choose to have more time and money, though I wish I could. No—she’ll be better off at the pound where someone who does have enough time and money will come and adopt her.”

  “NO!” shouted Emma, her eyes welling with tears.

  Lily turned to Emma, reached out, put an arm gently around her, and said, “Emma, have you ever been to the pound? In some cities, it’s a brutal place, but here in Quiet Falls, it’s quite nice. I volunteer over there on weekends when I have time, in the Cat Room. You can come along sometime if you want, to visit Bernice.”

  “The Cat Room?” Emma’s voice shook, but she couldn’t help being interested.

  Lily gave her a squeeze. “It’s a wonderful place. There are anywhere from fifteen to twenty cats who live there at a time, and they all play and cuddle together in one room. There are toys and towers and beds for them, and people like me go spend the day with them. Or you can take the dogs out to play in the yard—”

  “I’d like that,” said Emma.

  “Well, how about you and I take Bernice over there right now, and we’ll play with the cats. Then, maybe once a week, until Bernice finds a home, I’ll drive you over there to see her. How would that be?”

  Emma nodded, but only a little. She still wasn’t quite sure.

  Lily stood up, reached for a bright red umbrella, and held out her other hand. “Who wants to come for a ride?”

  Roy and Henry jumped to their feet, but Susan raised a hand. “No thanks,” she said. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, and I’m sorry about what I said before, about your hair, and—stuff. But I have another idea.”

  The others looked surprised but fell back to listen.

  “You do?” asked Emma.

  “Yes, I do,” said Susan.

  “Susan, I really don’t mind helping,” said Lily.

  “No,” said Susan. “Thank you, but I think that this is my responsibility. I was supposed to be in charge, and so it was my decision to bring Bernice home with us. I thought you would step in and handle it, but really, it’s my job. Now I think I may have a solution.”

  She arched her eyebrows meaningfully at the others.

  “But it’s raining,” said Henry. “And Bernice is still limping pretty bad, and Lily’s car—”

  “Suit yourself,” said Susan. “You can go in the car, but I’ve got something else to do.”

  Henry grumbled. Roy looked as though he wanted to grumble. Emma waited for someone to tell her what to do.

  When it became clear that nobody was going to join her, Lily said goodbye chirkily and left with no hard feelings, because although she was indeed a real grown-up and had to wonder about their secret, she was also a kindred spirit and a friend.

  After she was gone, Susan picked up Bernice’s leash and grabbed her own yellow raincoat off the coat tree by the door. “Who wants to come to the wall?” she asked.

  Rain or no rain, everyone did.

  Walking in the rain was no fun.

  They couldn’t ride their bikes because they had to pull Bernice in the wagon, since it was too far for her to walk on her hurt leg. As a result, the hour-long hike out to the field took even longer than usual. The wet pavement under their feet made for slippery footing, and each time a car went past, they all had to jump off the road into a streaming culvert, so they got drenched. Raincoats made almost no difference, and although it was summer, the water was cold enough to make their teeth chatter. As they marched through the field, their knees bumped the cornstalks, which made things even worse. For the first time, the magic seemed like a chore.

  Silently they moved toward the wall. Silently they placed cold hands on the chilled stones. Emma wheeled Bernice over to the wall too, and when she held the dog’s tail out to the wall, she could feel Bernice shivering beneath her heavy, wet fur. Henry and Roy were whispering about something as Henry fitted the key into the wall and turned it. This made Susan nervous.

  “Don’t you go making any wishes!” she cautioned.

  “Wait a second,” said Henry, who had not been thinking about wishes but didn’t like to be told what to do. “How come you get a wish today? You had a wish yesterday, and you wasted it on boring old New York.” (This was unfair of him, since he’d had a great time in New York, but when you’re in a grumpy mood and have been forced to march in the rain, it’s easy to be unfair.)

  With a wave of her hand, Susan dismissed him. She turned to the wall and said, “Wall, we’d like to go back to Camelot, to see Merlin again, please?”

  Then the rain was gone and they were all back in Camelot, in the pig yard just beyond the door to the lean-to. Only now it was a sunny day in Merry Olde England. There were birds tra-la-la-ing, darting around, and picking berries from a hedge along the courtyard wall. The queen was singing as she caught butterflies with a net, and though Emma hated to think of what the butterflies were for, Guinevere made a lovely picture dancing across the lawn. The packed dirt beneath their feet was full of soft shoots of new grass. Off in the distance, they could hear the clatter and crash of two knights practicing the art of friendly swordplay, and from each tower in the castle, colorful flags rippled in the breeze.

  Henry pushed back the hood of his jacket and squinted up at the sun. “Okay, okay. Maybe this was a decent idea after all.”

  Roy took off his coat, ran a hand through his wet hair, and pointed to an animal eating from a trough. “Hey, is that a unicorn?”

  The animal started, as though it recognized the word. It raised its head and turned to look over at them. Everyone gasped. It was, indeed, a unicorn.

  Sort of.

  It didn’t look iridescent and magical, the way unicorns usually do in pictures, all glowy and white. Its mane was not silver. It did not have big blue eyes fringed with thick lashes.

  Really, the unicorn looked most of all like a wild pony. It was a soft brown color, tightly muscled, and dark-eyed. It looked like an animal that might grace the cover of a horse book, except that from the center of its forehead rose a long tusk of sorts, a yellowish piece of bone that ended in a very sharp point. The horn (if you could call it that) looked like a weapon, and the beast looked like a gentle and loving creature, so the
overall effect was odd. Imagine a deer with antlers made of razor wire and you’ll have some idea of the effect. His eyes made the kids want to pet him, but his horn was a warning.

  Susan stared and held her breath, and Emma clapped her hands with delight. They were all so awestruck as to be oblivious to everything else, until Bernice gave a big shake and sent a torrent of wet dog water over each of them. The unicorn made a snorting noise, shook droplets of water from his head, and resumed eating.

  From the lean-to came Merlin’s voice. “I’m up! I’m up, I tell you! I’ve been awake for an hour, Jeffrey. No need to snort. I’ve got an apple for you right here, if you’ll only wait a second!”

  The wizard stepped through the door, wiping his face with a rag, and took note of the four of them and the great wet dog too. He said, “Oh, hello, children! I’ve been sleeping, as you well know. Good morning! Good morning!”

  When he lifted away the rag, they all gasped. His beard was gone!

  “But—but—you can’t shave your beard!” said Emma. “You’re Merlin.”

  “So what?” asked Merlin. “You don’t have a beard. Why do I have to have one all the time? Hot and itchy it is, and whenever I eat jam, it gets simply full of bees. It’s spring, and if the sheep can be shorn, why not old Merlin?”

  “Because you have to have a beard,” explained Henry. “Nobody ever thinks of Merlin without a beard.”

  “Except everyone who ever knew me as a boy,” said Merlin. “You think I was born with a face like a stickle-bush?”

  This was too much for Emma to consider, the idea of Merlin as a boy. She changed the subject. “Is that a real unicorn?” she asked.

  “He’s not pretend, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Merlin. “And he’s not a real lion or a real hoot owl, in which case, he must be a real unicorn. Right, Jeffrey?”

  Jeffrey the unicorn nodded a ponyish version of yes and went back to his lunch.

  “And what about her?” asked Roy, gesturing at the queen, who was laughing as she chased down a particularly large purple and gold specimen. “Last time, she was a lot less friendly.”