Escape from Baxters' Barn

by Rebecca Bond

  “What’s happening?” called out Figgy. But Burdock didn’t have time to explain; he scrabbled around the corner and up the back stairs to the loft.

  “Noctua!” he called. “Noctua! Where are you?”

  One minute later in the pasture, just as it was clear that Dewey had the advantage and would finally catch Nanny, a huge white bird plunged silently between them. Talons extended, it swooped down on Dewey. With the impeccable timing an owl is known for, it seized the stick and swung it around, nearly striking Dewey.

  Dewey ducked and fell. “No wormy way!” he cried.

  Nanny saw her chance. She skirted around Dewey and pelted back to the barn.

  “I don’t believe this place!” sputtered Dewey, standing up and watching as the owl soared up and away over the trees.

  Finally he stomped back to the barn and locked Nanny in. He banged the barn doors closed. He threw the bar down into the slots and stormed away.

  A moment later Noctua glided in through the upper window and Burdock crept forward into the middle aisle.

  Once Dewey was out of earshot, the animals looked at one another and softly cheered.

  “Hooray!” cried Fluff.

  “We did it!” exclaimed Tick.

  “Tied a knot in his tail,” chuckled Tug.

  Nanny turned to the cat. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Burdock closed his eye and sighed. Nanny was okay. As harrowing as it had been, it had worked. Tug and Pull were still harnessed to the wagon at the back of the aisle, the hole was dug, and everything was ready to go.

  Tonight they would escape before Dewey set the barn on fire.

  24

  What Do We Do Now?

  For a good ten minutes the barn buzzed with excitement, everyone talking about the escape and the trip, fidgeting and fretting and discussing and hoping.

  Then the hinges creaked and Dewey walked in. Burdock hadn’t even been keeping watch at the door. This was a shock.

  “Time for your suppers! And your milking, Mrs. Brown.” Dewey seemed to have calmed down but now he looked perplexed as he studied the horses and wagon at the back of the barn. “How’d you fellows get in here without me seeing? And look at you! I guess I need to unharness you too.”

  Given everything—his exhausting animal chase, his anger, his intentions—it seemed odd that Dewey was here, even bothering to attend to the animals. But after countless years, this daily routine was so thoroughly ingrained in the farmer that as long as the animals remained he simply couldn’t not do it.

  Dewey unharnessed the horses, hastily filled everyone’s feed troughs and water buckets, and milked Mrs. Brown. He went into the toolshed and gathered an armful of tools and then he stood at the front of the barn and looked back. Tucked off to the other side, Burdock had a clear view of Dewey and couldn’t help but wonder, Does he look a little scared? It was hard to know.

  Dewey turned off the light, closed the big doors, and slid the heavy brace into the slots.

  Outside, it was starting, very lightly, to snow.

  There was a collective sigh inside the barn.

  “Oh nooo!” moaned Figgy.

  “What do we do now?” asked Tick.

  “Now what do we do?” echoed Fluff. The sheep felt forlorn. She wished she could fill herself with air and float up, out the side window, into the sky, like a balloon.

  Mrs. Brown hung her head. She closed her eyes, and though it embarrassed her, she couldn’t help herself; large, silent tears seeped beneath her lashes and coursed down her soft cheeks. She turned her head away.

  Slowly, Burdock looked around. Watching Mrs. Brown and Nanny, small Tick, the big horses, silly Fluff, and clever Figgy, Burdock tried to think of the right word to describe them. Maybe friends wasn’t really quite the right one. After all, Burdock lived with these animals, slept and ate beside them, listened to their talk, and shared one roof every night, all year round. Maybe Noctua had been on to something. The barn animals might not be exactly like him but, he saw now, they were his real family. Burdock stood up.

  “Listen,” he said, trying to sound assured. “Eight miles is a lot. I’ll be the first to admit that, but we can do it. We will walk. I have the shortest legs of any of us. But if I can do it, in this rotten cold, then you all can! Mrs. Brown too!” The ten-pound cat turned and leveled his good eye straight at the cow who, at over nine hundred pounds, weighed nearly one hundred times what he did. “Okay, Mrs. Brown?”

  Figgy laughed. “That’s chutzpah, Burdock! Okay, let’s! What the heck?” Her voice grew louder. “Really, what have we got to lose?”

  “A hill of beans!” said Tug.

  “That’s right,” said Pull, brightening. “I agree. I’ll lead the way. And Tug too. We weigh a ton. Each. And we have enormous feet, alarmingly large feet!” His voice sounded almost buoyant. He lifted his feet and crunched audibly about in his straw for emphasis. “We’ll trample down a path for the rest of you!”

  “I’ll bring up the rear,” said Nanny. “Make sure everyone is accounted for.”

  “Of course you will!” said Figgy. “You know, you really do deserve a better name than Nanny. You’re way beyond that.”

  “Okay, everyone,” said the goat. “Now quickly, eat all your dinner and drink a lot of water; you’re going to need it. Then, we move!”

  25

  Trying to Escape

  Once dinner was hastily consumed, Nanny jumped her pen wall and worked on opening Mrs. Brown’s door first. Nanny was nervous and it took her three tries, but she finally knocked the block upright and Mrs. Brown pushed out. She was free.

  “Okay, go to work,” said Nanny in a whisper, for suddenly everything felt tense and a cloak of near silence felt necessary. “Oil them up!”

  Mrs. Brown hastened to the toolshed where Burdock pointed out the pail he’d seen earlier. The ungainly cow turned around and backed up with Burdock calling directions.

  “A little bit to the right, Mrs. Brown. Turn more, yes, there you go!”

  She went carefully, stepping over and around the jumbled mess, and dunked the shaggy end of her tail into the bucket. Blech. Greasy indeed! But she would set to work oiling the hinges while Nanny squeezed through Figgy’s tunnel.

  “You think that’s big enough?” asked Nanny in a low voice. “Oh dear, well, it’s going to have to be. Now if I get stuck, you’d better push me!”

  Figgy had pulled all the hay back from the escape hatch and the dimmest of light shone through.

  “Here I go,” said Nanny. “Wish me luck.” She hadn’t realized until right now how frightened she was of this whole escape. Getting through the tunnel, opening the barn doors and all the stalls, sneaking away from the farm and, of course, not getting caught.

  Nanny took a big breath. She crouched low, knelt down, and wriggled her head and front hooves into the hole. The ground was surprisingly cold and hard, like cement. This was going to be tight. She squirmed in farther and she could see a patch of outside. A few tiny snowflakes were swirling down. The crisp air actually felt good, invigorating. She pushed with her back hooves and worked her way nearly halfway through the tunnel, and managed to press in farther. Oof, it’s tight. She tried to take a deep, fortifying breath, but the hole constricted her. And now that the thickest part of her was wedged in the hole, she couldn’t get any traction; her front legs stuck straight out, and her hind hooves pushed back but caught on—nothing. Oh no, was she stuck?

  Burdock’s bristly head suddenly appeared.

  “Oh Burdock, dear me,” Nanny said not loudly. “I think I’m stuck!’

  “You can’t be,” said Burdock. “You’re almost through. Tell Figgy to push you.”

  Nanny twisted her head slightly and whispered insistently, “Figgy, give me a shove!”

  Figgy said something, but it was muffled and Nanny and Burdock couldn’t make it out. Had Figgy understood her? Was she just stuck here? But oh—Nanny felt a push.

  Inside the barn Figgy pushed, first with her head and sh
oulders, then she turned and shoved with her back, digging with her hooves in the dirt. It didn’t seem she was making any headway either. “Sorry!” she snorted. “I can’t! It’s just—it’s too—it’s—”

  There! In a crumble of dirt and sand Figgy collapsed back into the hole and Nanny was propelled ungracefully through into the night.

  “You did it!” the pig heard Burdock exclaim from the other side. “Now around to the front!”

  Papery moths were flying in and out of the cool luminescence above the barn doors. Weak as the light was, Burdock didn’t like the nakedness of it. He wanted the dark. Nanny looked as if she felt the same.

  “Burdock,” said Nanny in a hush, staying off to the side, in the shadows. “Are the doors oiled?”

  “I think so. Mrs. Brown did it. Let’s hope it works.”

  “Okay, good,” said Nanny. “Now for this lock.”

  Burdock watched as Nanny studied the doors and the bar that held them. He stole another glance down to the house. The kitchen light was on, but nothing else. No Dewey in sight. Smoke curled out of the chimney, a twist of gray against the black sky.

  “Let’s do this,” whispered Nanny.

  She tiptoed up to the doors and leaned her head forward, beneath the bar, until her forehead came to rest on the vertical boards. Slowly she stood up taller, hooking her horns under the bar, and tried to lift. From his position, Burdock saw the bar give. It lifted an inch, then another, and a bit more, and now Nanny stood on the tips of all four hooves, straining her head and neck and shoulders, stretching as high as she possibly could, struggling to lift the heavy oak brace free. But it wasn’t enough. The bar wasn’t clearing the slots.

  “Ahh.” She sighed and lowered her head, and the bar slid back into place. She ducked back into the shadows.

  Burdock moved closer, standing just near enough to Nanny that her coat brushed against his face. Had he never touched her hair before? It was unexpectedly soft.

  “What if you try running and butting the bar off?” Burdock asked.

  “Yes,” said Nanny, studying the doors again. “I think that’s the only other way. I was just worried that might make too much noise.” In the cool air, her breath came out in warm puffs of white. Burdock looked quickly again at the farmhouse window and shivered, but Nanny kept her gaze on the doors.

  Now the goat backed up a few steps, positioned the end of the bar securely in her sights, then bounded forward and bucked up in one unbroken motion.

  The bar was knocked cleanly up and out of the slots, sailed through the air, and landed with a small thud in the grass off to the other side.

  Stunned, she turned to gape at Burdock.

  “Wow!” he whispered. “Neat! All right, now, step back. I’ll tell Mrs. Brown to push open the doors.” He ran quickly back into the barn.

  Burdock gave the okay. Though the doors had been oiled, still he steeled himself to hear the loud, grating creak. But as Mrs. Brown nudged the wood and the doors swung out, they opened as silently as theater curtains at the start of a performance.

  The overhead light filtered into the barn and all the animals leaned out of their stalls. Just like Nanny’s, their eyes were bright and frightened and awed.

  “Okay, we have to be quick!” said Nanny in a fervent whisper. “Once I get you out, go around to the side of the barn where it’s dark. I’ll be the last one, so when I arrive, we bolt!”

  As Mrs. Brown had already been freed, she nodded and slipped around into the dark. Noctua left her spot on the edge of Fluff’s pen and went out too.

  Burdock remained by the door as watchman.

  Nanny began to open stalls. Her heart was pounding away and she felt jittery, almost weak with nerves, and her first go at Pull’s door was way off. The second one too.

  “It’s okay, Nanny,” said Pull. “Steady on.”

  “Right,” she whispered. “Steady on.” She zeroed in on the block and hit it just right, and Pull touched the boards with his hoof and the stall door opened. The huge horse came out, looking at her squarely.

  “You’re something, Nanny,” he said, and went out the barn doors past Burdock to join Mrs. Brown.

  Tug was freed next, easy enough, with two tries.

  “Bravo,” he whispered, giving Nanny a crisp nod. He tried to pick up his hooves and set them down lightly; it wasn’t easy to move two thousand pounds and make no noise.

  On to the other side of the aisle. Tick’s door lined up on the first try.

  “Go!” she said, giving him a nudge. “Go around the side with the others. And stay there!”

  Then Figgy. Figgy’s block was looser, and Nanny had to go back and forth, tapping a bit left, a bit right, but finally Figgy was out, trotting away, calling, “Almost there, Nanny! One more!”

  Now Nanny came to Fluff’s pen.

  Nanny lined up, bucked, and rammed the block squarely from the right.

  Such a solid chop should have had an effect. But the block didn’t move. Not an inch. Nanny backed up and tried again, putting more force into her assault, but though her aim was perfect, the block didn’t budge. It made little sense. When was Fluff out of her pen last? Nanny calculated quickly. The sheep hadn’t gone out when they all tried to distract Dewey, but that was because Nanny had misjudged how much time she’d need to open the gates. So then, it had been several days. Had all the rain swollen Fluff’s door tight against the block?

  Fluff peered anxiously at Nanny through a crack.

  “It won’t open?” she asked, her eyes so big you could see bands of white all the way around her pupils.

  “Not yet,” said Nanny, determined not to show Fluff her own fear. “Let me give it another go from the other side.”

  She came around, backed up, and hit the block with a mighty blow. Did the impact move it a little? It was hard to tell. She didn’t think so. How could this be?

  Nanny tried again. Smash. And again. Her head rang now from the solid hits, but she wouldn’t give up. Goats have a reputation for being stubborn. Well, she could be a goat in this respect too. Smash. She was going to get Fluff out. She was angry and scared and there were tears in her eyes. How could they get this far and be defeated by one chunk of wood? One nail?

  Time was ticking down and now the watchman cat seemed to detect a kind of doom. Under his fur, he felt the prickle of Dewey’s imminent arrival.

  Quickly Burdock turned and ran.

  26

  Tick

  Tick knew he had been told to stay in the shadows around the side of the barn, but whatever was taking them so long? Where was his mother? He couldn’t just wait. While the others talked excitedly in nervous, hushed voices, Tick had slipped back to the corner and strained to listen. All that came to him were occasional muffled thunks. He wanted to go back in, to see what the delay was, but he knew his mother would not approve.

  Tick walked a hundred feet out from the barn and looked around at the darkened landscape, the indistinct black outlines of trees, the curving smudge of road. He looked down to the house, and the kitchen light was on. He could see a silhouette cross before the window and back. Dewey.

  He glanced anxiously back at the barn. What was taking them so long?

  Several icy flakes settled on Tick’s nose and he shivered. Something was wrong.

  A flicker of light made Tick look back down to the house. He could see a small bright blaze pass by the windows inside the kitchen, illuminate briefly the darkened mudroom, and disappear. Seconds later, Dewey was standing still in the woodshed doorway with what looked like a torch. A torch.

  Tick froze. He had been told explicitly to stay beside the barn and in fact at that moment he could not move a muscle. But now as Dewey started forward, Tick realized if he did not buy them a few extra minutes—hopefully enough time for his mother and Fluff to get out—it was over. That would be the end.

  As if a gunshot signaling GO! had exploded in his mind, Tick was off.

  As fast as he had ever run, as fast as he would ever run again
, Tick raced through the tall grass along the road, pelted under bushes, bounded over the dark lawn, and circled around to the house. He could not see clearly in the gloom, but he did not slow his stride. He took the risk of stumbling in a hole and breaking a leg. It did not matter. He ran.

  He reached the house, skidded around the side, and came to the back lawn.

  Had Dewey seen him? He didn’t know.

  Tick needed to make a lot of noise and fast. He spun around looking for something, anything that would do it. On the lawn were just the dry branches of a rosebush, and a stack of bushel baskets. On the back porch, an old glider swing, a broom—nothing would work! Tick was desperate. Dewey would be walking toward the barn with his torch.

  Tick turned his head to the garden and a slight glint in his peripheral vision demanded his attention. Now he looked up past the porch railing and saw, marvelously, the gleam of glass.

  That was all it took. Tick hurdled up the three steps, put down his head, and bashed the nubs of his fledgling horns into the old window.

  The noise of the shattering glass was spectacular. Glass splintered down and flew back up in a hailstorm. Tick closed his eyes, leapt off the porch, and ran, his breath gone, his heart smashing like a hammer in his chest.

  27

  C’mon!

  What in the world was that?

  Dewey changed course and ran back around the side of the house.

  The light from the torch was so bright it swallowed up the dark around him; Dewey felt blinded. He held the torch off to the side and ran as quickly as he dared, his feet sounding loud on the dirt gravel, now soft on the grass. He came to the porch and halted in his tracks. It was spooky. What in heaven’s name happened here? Was this some kind of practical joke instigated by . . . he couldn’t even imagine who. He held his torch behind him and looked out into the dark. A deer?