The need to relieve himself was suddenly urgent. He tiptoed to the back of the store. Maybe if he left the magic kit behind the wastebasket in the restroom, she wouldn’t notice it for a few days. The basket was nearly empty now so it could even be a week before it got taken out. His problem solved, Little Klein stepped confidently back into the store and walked up the side aisle, planning to slip nonchalantly out the front door.
He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants as he neared the door and without looking at the counter pulled hard. It didn’t budge. Panicking now, he pulled again, and again it stuck. He glanced over his shoulder, but Mildred was not at the counter. He turned around slowly.
“Hello?” he called in a thin voice. “Hello?”
Only the clock answered with its monotone tick. He looked out the window at LeRoy sniffing hopefully around customers coming out of the bakery and replayed the scene in his mind. He’d walked into the store. The door was open then. Mildred had been at the counter. He’d walked to the toy section. He’d heard Mildred talking to the girl who’d pushed him in the door. He’d found the magic bag. He’d heard Mildred laughing. After that he couldn’t remember hearing her again. He’d shaken the bag, squished its mysterious contents, then pulled at the drawstring until it snapped. He’d been chanting abracadabra to himself just for practice.
That was it.
Little Klein had made Mildred and her friend disappear.
He ran back to the bathroom and grabbed the magic kit. There was no turning back now. He spread the contents out on the floor: a deck of cards, three stacking cups, a silky red scarf, a fake mustache. He tore the book from the string. If he didn’t get Mildred back, he’d never see another allowance as long as he lived.
Little Klein opened the Magician’s Bag of Tricks manual, hoping for a quick solution. He turned pages looking for pictures, but the small drawings showed him nothing to solve his problem. He went back to the first page and started reading. As he reached the top of page three, “Tools of the Trade,” the front door jangled open.
“Watch the counter while I go do my lipstick,” came Mildred’s voice, followed by the clicking of her heels. Little Klein scrambled to his feet, and when the bathroom door swung open, Mildred screamed to find a boy inside. Little Klein stepped backward and heard a crunch. They both looked down. Splinters of three stacking cups surrounded Little Klein’s foot. Mildred put her hands on her hips and snapped her gum.
“You break it, you buy it,” she ordered.
Little Klein just stared at her.
“You reappeared,” he whispered.
“Yeah. Magic,” she said. “What’s your name? Were you hiding in here while I was gone? Did you take anything else? You better pay for that or I’ll have to call my dad in and he’ll either call your mother or the cops. Depends what kind of mood he’s in.” She stooped to pick up the empty red bag. “Forty-nine cents. Cough it up.”
Mildred’s friend had run back when she heard the scream. She watched as the small, pale boy dug in his pocket and pulled out two quarters.
“Now get out of here,” Mildred directed, pointing toward the front door. Little Klein did not need an invitation. He shoved the magic bag in his pocket, whistled for LeRoy, and ran. They were a block from home before he remembered about the stamps. If only he’d gotten to read far enough to find out about pulling coins from the backs of ears.
LeRoy cried at the moon. He’d found his family. He’d taken care of them. He’d herded his boys to the river and back and kept them out of trouble. When the back door swung open every morning, LeRoy popped out of his house and stood at attention to see what would happen next and what would be expected of him, but nothing was expected of him and that was the trouble. He’d protected his family from raccoons, cats, postal delivery, milk delivery, and every other manner of intrusion, but they went on as if cats and raccoons didn’t exist and approaching people were friends.
All summer he’d found shelter in the little guardhouse his boys had built for him. While sleeping between walls and under the same roof every night was new and not so pleasing to LeRoy, he didn’t want to insult his boys. He had to be careful on entering and turning around in his house as there were nails poking through the walls. One summer day melted into the next and boredom overtook LeRoy. He lost interest in chasing and grew heavy with lazy napping.
Then in August the Bigs left town to work on the Filmore Farm. One day Little Klein was left home alone, and he invited LeRoy to come inside the big house. The treasures stored in the castle were beyond LeRoy’s imagination.
“Here, boy,” Little Klein said. “This is the kitchen. This is where humans eat.” He set a plate on the table. “We put our dishes on a table. See? And we sit in chairs.”
LeRoy panted. He followed his snout around the kitchen. The bouquet! And the feast on the floor! Treats in all the corners — oatmeal clumps, bread crumbs, cheese. Little Klein put a sandwich on his plate and sat at the table. He took a bite and looked at LeRoy, who stood guard at his side.
“Want some, boy?”
LeRoy barked.
Little Klein tore off a piece of bread and dropped it for LeRoy.
“Woof!” He looked up at the boy, hoping to play the game again.
“You should try eating like us,” said Little Klein. “Think you can do it?” He got another plate and put it at the place next to his and pulled out the chair.
“Here, boy. Sit here.”
LeRoy leaped up onto the chair, his front paws sprawling onto the table, sending Little Klein’s plate skittering, but not before he snatched the sandwich off of it.
“No, boy! No! You aren’t supposed to take anyone else’s food. This is your plate. See? LeRoy’s plate. Let’s try again.”
LeRoy ate bread and cheese until even the trash can didn’t smell appetizing. Then Little Klein gave him a tour of the rest of the house.
Each room had its own scent. In the living room was a davenport softer than any bed of needles, and LeRoy settled in for a nap.
“No, boy! Get off! You’re leaving hairs everywhere!” Little Klein shooed LeRoy off the couch and swiped his arm across the spot where he’d been lying.
The bathroom offered a bowl of fragrant water — an indoor pond! Little Klein pressed a lever, and the water drained, then reappeared. LeRoy barked.
A dry powdery smell filled Mother Klein’s room, which LeRoy toured quietly. Then he galloped up the stairs after Little Klein to the best room of all. Here lived dirty clothes, wet towels, a cookie. And on the bed, pillowcases ripe with the individual scent of each of his boys’ hair and drool. LeRoy yelped for joy.
Just when he had forgotten that the outside world existed, Little Klein called him.
“That’s it, boy. You’ve gotta get back outside before Mother gets home.”
LeRoy hung his head and followed Little Klein to the yard.
After that day, LeRoy’s doghouse felt unbearably small and cramped and devoid of aroma. He took up whining at the door whenever his family was inside. Perhaps they didn’t really need him after all.
“What has gotten into that dog?” Mother Klein mused.
Alone now in the big upstairs, Little Klein’s nightmares were unleashed. Wolves chased his trembling behind; boulders crushed his house while he slept; a big wind blew him away, and he couldn’t grab hold of passing trees. While the Bigs were gone, Little Klein’s nightmares played like horror marathon week at the Riverview Theater. He resisted bedtime because he didn’t want to go to sleep, yet he didn’t want to be the only one awake in the house, either. The room without the Bigs was a cavern.
Mother tried all her sleep remedies. She told him stories, sang him the spider song, fed him warm milk and buttered bread. She let him sleep in one of his father’s nightshirts because he liked the softness of it. But every night it was the same routine, Little Klein pestering her to stay awake so he could fall asleep.
“Why can’t LeRoy sleep with me?” he pleaded, but the answer never changed.
Mother Klein dismissed his worries. “I don’t worry about your brothers,” she said, and sang through the hymnal by heart until he fell asleep. But the next night was the same. And the following.
“Would you read to me about cake?” called Little Klein from the bedroom one night. Mother Klein shrugged. “What do you mean?” she called back.
“I mean, will you read to me about cake? You know, crack an egg, one cup of flour, like that.”
Mother pondered.
Though he was small for his age, Little Klein had the appetite of one of the Bigs. He was transfixed by the magic with which water and heat turned crisp dry oats into warm mush for breakfast and the way an unappetizing lump of raw eggs and flour and cocoa could turn into a cake with the texture of a spring meadow. Even the power of butter to fuse two pieces of bread together delighted Little Klein.
“Well, excitement is in the mind of the beholder,” said Mother Klein. She pulled her worn cookbook off the shelf and opened it. “It’s worth a try.”
“What kind of cake?” she asked.
“Chocolate,” said Little Klein, snuggling down into his blanket.
“Here goes. ‘Best Chocolate Cake. Heat oven to three hundred and fifty degrees.’”
“No,” said Little Klein, “start with the ingredients.”
“What was I thinking? The ingredients: ‘Two cups all-purpose flour or cake flour, two cups sugar, one teaspoon soda —’”
“What’s soda?” Little Klein interrupted.
Mother Klein explained the ingredients as they went through the list. By the time she got to the happily ever after of “pour evenly into pan(s),” Little Klein was asleep, a peaceful smile on his face, a drop of drool edging out the side of his mouth.
Recipes worked for a few nights, first chocolate cake, then gingerbread, then anything with lots of ingredients and several steps. Soon, though, Little Klein’s anticipation of nightmares was worse than the nightmares themselves, and his bedtime demands got more complicated. Dessert was no longer enough. He needed a main dish first, then a salad course, and a song after dessert. When he asked Mother Klein one night to read him a breakfast, lunch, and dinner, she snapped shut her Joy of Cooking and stood up.
“Enough,” she said. “My bedtime services from now on will include one song and a prayer. Now, go get your dog. If there are any nightmares lurking, his smell will surely keep them at bay.”
By the time the Bigs returned from the farm, chipmunks had taken up residence in the doghouse and LeRoy, like Goldilocks, had tried out each of their beds, sleeping every night, though, with Little Klein.
Night after night LeRoy patrolled the long and narrow upstairs bedroom. Sometimes he needed the benefit of a tree so badly and his boys slept so soundly that he had to wake Mother Klein to be let out. But that was his only complaint.
One night after his tree run, LeRoy peeked over the edge of Little Klein’s bed to make sure he was asleep. Then he pattered between the other three beds, sniffing at still feet and damp hair, and under beds for remnants of sandwiches or crackers. He nearly woke Mark when he got into a chase with what turned out to be a bunny of dust, which, once caught, made him sneeze. These were now LeRoy’s nightly rounds, and he trotted proudly, then, paws up on the windowsill, looked out at the moon, a howl building in his belly. He gave it just a small hollow voice, though, lest he be sent outside for the rest of the night.
He crawled up on Little Klein’s feet and laid down his head. Now that LeRoy slept indoors, truth was he’d grown skittish about the outdoors after dark. It was a good thing Little Klein needed protection from bad dreams.
The next day toward evening, the boys walked to the town park for a game of baseball. There were lots of kids around, and LeRoy was not the only dog. The struggle to keep track of his boy in the crowd put LeRoy in an irascible mood, and when he found Little Klein hunched down petting some puff of a pup, he couldn’t help himself — he barked so loud the puppy wet the ground right there, and then LeRoy nipped him.
“LeROY!” Little Klein gasped.
“Why, I never!” exclaimed Mildred Gamble, hardware store maven, swooping the puppy into her arms.
“Fluffy, are you hurt?”
LeRoy barked again, but his bravado wavered when he saw the look on his boy’s face.
“You’re mighty lucky Fluffy isn’t hurt, young man,” Mildred continued. “I ought to call the pound.” She leaned down and gave LeRoy a swift slap on the snout. “Bad dog!”
LeRoy lunged to nip her, too, but an arm at his neck held him back and he watched the fluff ball disappear with Mildred Gamble while his boy talked soothingly into his ear. Then another brother was there holding out a piece of frankfurter, and LeRoy forgot all about being ornery. He pranced along between his boys the rest of the evening, running with them when the clouds turned suddenly dark and the rain started. When they got home, he barely paused at his doghouse, he’d grown so accustomed to slipping in the screen door behind his brood.
The rain kept LeRoy awake nearly till morning, and when he did finally sleep, his dreams rumbled with the terror of lost boys, of muted barks, of swimming after a floating Fluffy, who in dream’s translation was larger and fiercer than LeRoy.
The sky drained for days and by the time it paused, cabin fever was epidemic. An unbearable stillness hung over the town, a heat so soggy Little Klein’s socks lay still damp by his bed in the morning. Then LeRoy woke them up early with his feet, sniffing and licking.
Little moaned about getting the smallest bowl of oatmeal, and all three Bigs growled at him to Shut Up.
“That’s it,” declared Mother Klein, whapping the wooden spoon against the counter with a snap that broke it in two and made the boys jump. “It’s too hot in here for the five of us. I’ve been cooped up in this house too long with your bickering and wrestling and . . . and . . . et cetera. I want you all outside doing something constructive. Preferably out of my sight.”
Little Klein couldn’t believe she was including him in the decree. “Yes,” she added, “you, too. Clear your dishes and get.”
They stumbled out the back door and sat on the steps.
“Hey, make room for me,” complained Little Klein.
Luke pushed Mark off the end and scooted over. Just as Little sat, Mark got up and shoved back, bumping Luke into Little, who smashed into Matthew, who got up and raised his arm at the whole mess of them.
Mother Klein came to the door. “Either find a task or I’ll find one for you.” She tossed their shoes out after them.
Little Klein slouched over to LeRoy’s doghouse and picked at a loose shingle on the edge of the roof. Matthew swooped him up and tossed him over the doghouse to Luke.
“Hey! Stop that! Put me down!”
“Sure. Here you go,” and with that Little Klein was deposited on the roof of the doghouse. He slid down slanted boards to the ground. It was kind of fun.
“Hey, do it again!” Once again Luke hoisted his brother to the roof for a bumpy slide to the ground.
“My turn,” said Mark and Matthew at once, and they dived at the roof from opposite sides, colliding in a heap over the top.
“Make room!” shouted Luke, who piled on top of the other two. Little Klein tried to join the pileup by climbing the dangling legs.
“I’m suffocating under here,” called the bottom Klein, and when the pile shifted there was a slow crack, then a snap, and before the sounds registered in their brains as breaking boards, the sloped roof flattened, then collapsed, and four heads and torsos were trapped inside the buckling walls.
The Klein boys sorted out their limbs and rose slowly to their feet.
“Sliver!” Little Klein yanked at a small splinter of wood stuck in his hand.
“Look at all the nails,” Luke said. They stepped back gingerly and stood in shocked silence around the wr
eckage.
Mother Klein came to the door and sighed. Then she shook her head and went back inside, taking LeRoy with her.
Outside, Little Klein broke the silence. “Luke ruined LeRoy’s doghouse.”
“You started it, squirt.”
“Did not!”
“Did too!”
“Now what are we going to do?” asked Mark.
“You’re all a bunch of sissies,” Matthew scoffed.
Glares were passed around. Little Klein stepped forward and pulled a loose board off the side of the doghouse and laid it on the ground. He yanked off another and set it neatly next to the first one. “Now LeRoy’s got a window,” he said.
But soon the window turned into a door and then the wall was lost all together, the house now beyond saving as one loose board led to another. While his brothers took over the dismantling, Little Klein darted around them, picking up boards and sorting out the splintered ones from the good ones.
“Here,” he said, tossing a shingle to Matthew, who started a pile. Mark picked through the wreckage for nails. Luke walked around Little Klein’s boards.
“Look at this,” he said, pointing to the neat rows. “What do you see?”
They all stood up and stared. “What?”
“We have enough wood here to build a raft!”
“I was thinking about a tree house . . .” started Little Klein. But his voice was drowned out by the excitement of the Bigs, who were already planning a raft. Then Little Klein saw himself on the raft, floating along the middle of the river. He saw himself passing right over the den of The Minister and reaching down to scoop him up with a net. He abandoned his plans and joined his brothers. “Go look in the garage for rope,” commanded Matthew.
“And see if you can find a tarp in the basement,” added Luke.
Mother Klein brought out a basket with sandwiches and bottles of milk as they finished their raft.
“Have a picnic by the river,” she said. “And don’t take Wilson’s Fork.”
Little Klein Page 6