Escape from Baxters' Barn

by Rebecca Bond

  If he didn’t have immediate plans, he would have gone for his gun right then.

  Nanny backed up again when she heard footsteps come through the doors.

  She stopped in her tracks.

  It was Pull. Burdock was there too.

  “Oh my!” She gasped. “Thank goodness it’s you.” She stumbled back a step.

  “Let me, Nanny,” said Pull. “You have done splendidly. Let me see what I can do. Fluff, hurry, go stand against the far wall.”

  Burdock got out of the way too and Nanny moved over beside him. She was wheezing.

  They watched. There wasn’t much room for the big horse to maneuver, but quickly Pull turned and, facing away from Fluff’s stall, he gave a snort, pitched his weight forward, and kicked his formidable hind legs powerfully backwards.

  With his two thousand pounds of muscle and bone readying to land a concentrated blow, Pull was an imposing, breathtaking beast. Never before had Burdock seen him like this. If the cat didn’t know Pull, he would have run.

  SMASH! Pull splintered his massive hooves into the wood of Fluff’s pen. The door tore from its hinges and plowed into the ground, sending up a cloud of dirt and dust.

  In a moment, the air cleared.

  Fluff looked frightened, dazed, then purely delighted.

  “Oh, PULL!” she cried. “You’ve rescued me!”

  “Let’s go!” said Nanny.

  They dashed out, but not before there was another big crunch as Pull’s dinner-plate-size hoof stomped down on one of the old gasoline jugs waiting near the door. He stumbled, accidently kicking another can, which rolled away into the grass. Burdock sprang out of the way. Pull looked back. The first rusty old can was crumpled like cardboard. Liquid seeped out.

  Tick burst breathlessly from the long grass on the side of the barn and careened into Nanny, almost knocking her over.

  “Where have you been?” She looked at him hard.

  “Hurry!” said Burdock.

  “C’mon!” cried Nanny, and all of them bolted around the corner into the dark.

  28

  Flames

  A short while later, Dewey approached the barn and stared in wonder. The doors were open. He advanced to the barn threshold and the ground squelched. What was that? He couldn’t see.

  He leaned over, crouched, brought his torch down low. And caught the smell of gasoline just a moment too late.

  A massive billow of fire erupted as the gasoline caught. Flames flashed across the ground like lightning and then, as the other gasoline jugs simultaneously caught, there was a thunderous explosion.

  Dewey stumbled backwards, landing heavily in the dirt.

  Would you look at that.

  Without another thought he pushed up and ran through the arc of flames into the barn.

  Dewey spun around. Where was Pull? Tug? Where were the goats, the cow, the pig, the sheep? They were not here. His shock was so great he didn’t register the intense heat of the fire or its devilish roar as it blossomed around him, gorging on timber.

  Dewey propelled himself out of the barn as one of the burning doors broke free from its hinges and crashed to the ground, a fizzing of sparks falling like hot molten rain.

  He ran out across the road, through the tall grass, stumbled onto the lawn, and collapsed onto his knees.

  Bright flakes of ash and snow glided lazily down, dusting his green coat white.

  29

  Through the Middle of the Night

  From the top of the ridge that Noctua had brought them over, the animals looked down into the valley and saw the barn burning. The snow was coming down thicker now and against the white sky the glowing red was dazzling, brilliant, ethereal.

  They had turned at the sound of the explosion and now stood and watched awed as the fire grew and grew, engulfing the barn in mere minutes. Even from this distance, they could see the roof buckle and split and collapse into the red maw of fire.

  No one knew what to say. They had escaped. They were safe. That had been their home. They were alive. It was gone. It was all so strange, nothing felt right.

  Burdock shrugged his fur and the cold coating of snow he had collected slid off.

  Minutes went by, and finally Figgy said, gently, “Let’s go, shall we?”

  “Yes,” said Nanny. “Noctua, would you please lead on?”

  Noctua flew ahead, scouting out fences, houses, steep descents, obstacles of any kind, and then flew back, flapping her wings for Pull to follow. It was a challenge to find routes without barriers or bodies of water, to find ways across roads with impossibly high banks.

  Pull kept his eyes to the sky, while stomping his feet through underbrush and branches, crushing down brambles and steering the clearest path under Noctua’s wings.

  After Pull came Tug doing the same, trampling and clearing, and offering encouragement, then Figgy, Fluff, Mrs. Brown, Burdock, Tick, and Nanny.

  It was a sight to see—this long line of animals walking bravely through the woods.

  As they walked, Nanny asked Tick where he had been before they all converged at the side of the barn, and Tick told her everything: about Dewey, the torch, the window. Nanny was staggered to realize her son had disobeyed her and by doing so had probably saved them all.

  “My pet,” she said. “My wonderful, fearless Tick.”

  But besides that, no one talked much, except to say things like, “Watch this branch!” “Mind that hole!” “Mrs. Brown, you’re going to have to duck here!” and so on, and they fell into a kind of rhythm, through woods, across fields, down hollows.

  The group stopped several times to rest, mostly for Mrs. Brown. But really, she was doing surprisingly well. She was keeping up. Perhaps having just survived was fueling her adrenaline, and though her knees felt stiff and her hips were sore she didn’t complain once. Anything was better than that fire.

  There were however a few minutes of panic as they were crossing a ridge, when Fluff stepped down awkwardly and seemed to just tumble away into the dark.

  “Fluff! Where’s Fluff?” cried out Mrs. Brown in dismay. One moment the sheep had been right there in front of her and then, just as suddenly, she was gone.

  But Noctua quickly found her at the bottom of the hill and Tug came to stamp a path for her and before long they were back on their way.

  “I’m certainly awake now!” exclaimed Fluff.

  “That’ll do it every time,” laughed Figgy.

  Up front, Noctua circled around again and called a warning to Pull, “You’ll have to head to the right here and then look for me and I’ll lead you back on track. Don’t get fenced in.”

  Mrs. Brown heard that and the song came easily, naturally, awakened from her memory and her mother long ago. As she stepped through the snow, she started to sing.

  “Oh, give me land, lots of land

  under starry skies above.

  Don’t fence me in.

  Let me eat of the sweet

  open pasture that I love.

  Don’t fence me in.”

  Besides the chuff of feet on snow-covered grass, and the crackle of snapping twigs, Mrs. Brown’s voice was the only sound. It started wavery and low but through the dark trees of the shadowy forest it was cheering, fortifying. First Fluff joined in, then Nanny, trying to follow along.

  “Let me be with my friends

  in the evenin’ breeze

  and slumber in the shade

  of the cottonwood trees.

  Send me off forever but I beg you please

  don’t fence me in.”

  Now came the others, the horses’ deep harmonies adding a warm texture, and a kind of solidity, to the voices. Burdock had never sung before, but he joined in with his gravelly voice. It made him forget about the cold.

  As a chorus, the song bound them, confirmed that though they might feel cold and adrift and uncertain, stepping down onto frozen foreign ground, traveling through the middle of night, at least they were together. They each felt infinitely better for havi
ng the others near.

  “I want to gaze at the ridge

  where the west commences

  and graze on the grasses till I lose my senses.

  I can’t look at hobbles

  and I can’t stand fences.

  Don’t fence me in.”

  Mrs. Brown thought there was a verse missing there, but it didn’t matter, it was enough, and they sang it over and over, round and round, up hills and down, as the snow came down thicker and settled on the backs of the horses and the sheep, like a thin blanket of pure, white cotton.

  The first snow of the year made for slippery roads, so Gavin Henry, the town librarian, was driving slowly and carefully down Highway 81, not above thirty miles an hour. He squirted his windshield with wiper fluid to clear the snow and squinted out. Before him, crossing the road into the trees on the other side, was that—? No! It sure looked like a milk cow, a cat, a kid goat, and a nanny goat, all in a line. Gavin pressed gently on the brake and leaned forward over the steering wheel. A goat? It was gone now. He reached over for his now-cold coffee and took a large gulp. He needed to stop eating so much sugar . . . He would tell no one about this.

  The animals came over the last ridge in the dark early hours of the morning. They had been walking for more than nine hours. Their singing had stopped a long time ago and now they just trudged, heads down, each following the tail of the animal in front. Only Pull kept his head up, looking always for the owl who flew forward and back, beckoning the horse this way or that with a tilt of her wings. She was glad he was large and dark; it made him easier to find in the snow. He was glad she was there charting him through the trees, this unfamiliar white night landscape.

  Finally, Noctua flew down and rested on a branch of a tree just ahead. Pull came to a stop beside her. Noctua had recognized the grove of trees she had sheltered under during the storm. They were on the edge of the woods, at the top of a slope. This was it.

  “You can’t see it now in the dark and with this snow, but the barn,” she said to Pull, “it’s just down there.”

  “Wow,” he answered. “You did it. Thank you.” He took a breath. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  30

  Arrival

  Before the sun came up, the animals settled into the round barn. The doors were not locked and Tug easily nudged them open. Inside it was dry and warm with soft hay to lie on and to eat.

  Like voyagers across an ocean, the animals felt they had arrived at a new shore, solid land. With hardly a word, they crept in and lay down, not in individual stalls, but in the big open space, side by side, nose resting on back, head against hip. Once they were settled, only Noctua flew off, in search of food. She would return soon and roost in the rafters.

  Figgy was next to Nanny, and after the pig had closed her eyes, she opened them again to look closely at the goat. “It’s you who pulled this all together,” she whispered. “Without you it would never have happened. From now on I’m calling you Gloria.”

  “Gosh,” said Nanny, “thank you. But it wasn’t just me. We all did it. You dug us out. How about I call you Figgy the Formidable? Or Madame Muscles? Maybe just Gutsie?”

  Figgy snorted. “Figgy will do. Good night, Gloria.”

  “Good night, Figgy.”

  Nearby, Burdock settled down next to Pull and the weary horse cocked his head to one side and asked quietly, “You thought about leaving on your own, didn’t you?”

  How had he known?

  “I, well, yes, I did,” answered Burdock honestly. “I really didn’t know what to do.”

  “Quite understandable,” said Pull. “I would have considered escaping too if I could have. Not that I actually think I would have. But I certainly would have considered it.”

  “Really?” asked Burdock, looking up to meet the great horse’s warm brown eyes with his one blue one. “So you don’t think that makes me—terrible—for thinking about it?”

  “Of course not,” said Pull. “It’s animal nature. No one wants to die. Especially not like that.” He paused before adding, “Still, I’m sure glad you stayed. We needed you. You were the one who figured out how to open the stall doors. You kept Dewey from seeing Figgy’s hole. You caught the mouse for Noctua. You got Mrs. Brown to agree to come, and Nanny says that you saved her. I don’t think any of us would have made it here without you.”

  The tired gray cat didn’t answer, but in the dark he moved a bit closer to Pull, gave a great sigh, and then a small rumbly purr started up like a motor.

  The snow fell thickly through the dawn, covering up the animals’ tracks.

  In the morning, despite the snow, the Bell family’s hired man, Stanley, showed up for his first day of work. He wasn’t going to let the snow thwart him. He couldn’t wait to get started on the Bells’ projects: the stone walls they wanted built, the chicken house, fixing the fences so they could have a few cows. Dr. Bell even wanted bat boxes, said he’d read that bats kept down mosquitoes. It was exactly the kind of job Stanley was hoping to find, and he felt fortunate. The Bell family was new to town and eager and he liked them all. They might not know what they were doing, but they’d figure it out.

  Stanley walked into the barn with his coffee, stamped the snow off his boots, and stopped. Seven sleeping animals were nestled in the hay. And now out of the dim early light, a one-eyed, brambly gray cat appeared, stretched his body long and looked intently at him.

  Were the Bells surprising him? Stanley laughed. “Those Bells sure are funny. Keepers, I think.” He reached down and ran a kind hand over the cat.

  “You want some cream?” he asked. “Me too.” He lifted his coffee cup. “And if I know anything, that cow needs milking.” He nodded at Mrs. Brown.

  “This is good,” he said to the barn. “A new beginning. Let’s find a pail.”

  31

  Home

  Soon the Bell family was up, the three children dashing about looking for their winter pants and warmest boots. It had snowed! The first snow! They couldn’t wait to go out in it.

  Dr. Bell and his wife got ready too. They also were excited to see their new place dressed in winter.

  Finally all the scarves and mittens were found, the laces tied and coats zipped, and the family of five stepped out onto the porch.

  “Morning!” called Stanley as he came out of the barn. He was heading toward them with a pail.

  “Morning, Stanley!” Jane Bell called back. “It snowed! Hey, whatcha got there?”

  “Fresh milk!” cried Stanley. “From your cow!”

  Jane Bell looked at her husband. And he looked at her. Each expected to see a contained smile on the other’s face, a tiny reveal of the surprise they’d kept hidden. But neither of them saw that.

  Stanley saw their bewildered expressions too, and suddenly wondered— But no! How could the animals have just arrived here out of nowhere in a snowstorm?

  “Uh, better come see,” he said, turning back to the barn.

  Stanley pulled open a door and held it for the family. The Bells tromped in, and there were the animals, munching hay, sucking up water from the buckets Stanley had filled for them, swishing their tails, and breathing their sweet, warm breath. They were real and alive, and in the Bells’ own barn. The sheep let out a low “Baaaah!” by way of hello.

  “Look!” laughed Henry, the six-year-old, taking his mother’s hand.

  “Oh, Daddy! Thank you!” cried May, throwing her arms around Dr. Bell’s substantial waist. “Ohmigosh! Look! There’s a baby goat!” This was way better than any snow.

  “Wow,” breathed Helena, the oldest. She was transfixed, staring at Tug and Pull. “They are beautiful.”

  “Dear?” asked Jane Bell. “Did you . . . ?”

  Dr. Bell shook his head slightly, a confused smile on his face.

  “They’re for us, Daddy?” asked Helena. “We’re keeping them, right?”

  “If we can,” said Dr. Bell, smoothing his beard, “then we most certainly will.”

  The Bells thought about put
ting an ad in the local gazette: FOUND ANIMALS. But no matter how they considered wording it, it sounded ludicrous. People would think they were crazy.

  They decided just to listen to the local news, read the papers, and check the town bulletin boards regularly, and if they heard anything about missing animals, they would follow up. They didn’t want to steal anyone’s animals, but they hoped not to lose them. Right away it had felt like the animals belonged there.

  First days and then weeks went by, and the Bells became part of the town framework. They learned the history of the area from Noreen Claussen, the town clerk. They got to know everyone as they filled up their tank at Gus’s Gas. And they found out where to buy Dolly Maccabee’s famous doughnuts, once even bumping into the lady herself, which was a little like meeting a celebrity.

  But the Bells never did hear anything about the animals; not one mention ever came up. It was as if the animals had dropped from the sky with the snow.

  “This place is so cool,” said May, leaning over the edge of her bunk to talk to Helena below. Tonight they realized that they’d had the animals a whole month. They were staying. “I mean, I thought I’d like it here. But I didn’t expect to like it this much!”

  “Me either,” said Helena, looking up from her journal. At the bottom of her bed was curled a one-eyed cat, reveling in the choicest warm spot ever. “Who’d have guessed?”

  And Dewey? What happened to Dewey?

  The town fire truck couldn’t get up the farm’s driveway with a sheet of sheer ice at the bottom, and the barn burned to the ground.