Pies & Prejudice

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  She wheels the table out of the room, and returns a few minutes later.

  “Just as I suspected,” she tells us. “The leg is fractured, but in the grand scheme of things it shouldn’t be difficult to mend. I’m going to sedate her and set it, but she’ll need weeks of care. Have you been in touch with a wildlife rehabilitator?”

  I tell her about the man that the Audubon Society recommended.

  “Walter Mueller?” says Dr. Gardiner. “He’s a good guy. Really knows his stuff. She’ll be in good hands with him.”

  “He won’t be home until tomorrow, though,” I tell her.

  Dr. Gardiner frowns. “Someone needs to keep an eye on her overnight.”

  “Can’t she stay here?”

  She shakes her head. “The office is unsupervised at night, and I don’t want to leave her by herself.” She turns to my father. “Could she stay at Half Moon Farm, Michael? I have a pet carrier you could borrow to keep her in.”

  My dad rubs his chin. “I’m not sure,” he says doubtfully. “It’s not that we don’t have the room, but I’m worried that her scent might send our flock of chickens into a tizzy. Sugar and Spice, too. And with Sundance and Cedar being so close to term, I hate to risk unsettling the animals like that.”

  Dr. Gardiner nods. “I understand.”

  “I have an idea,” I tell them. “There’s an empty storage room in the stable at Colonial Academy. Maybe I could ask if we could keep her there.”

  “That could work,” says Dr. Gardiner. “Especially since it’s only one night. But there absolutely, positively has to be adult supervision.”

  We call my dorm and Mrs. McKinley answers. After I explain what happened, she asks to speak to my dad.

  “She’s going to talk to the stable manager,” he tells us, and Dr. Gardiner heads off to set the fox’s injured leg.

  “Is she okay?” I ask when she returns. The fox’s leg is now in a cast, and she’s lying limp in the bottom of a pet carrier.

  “Don’t worry,” the vet tells me, “it’s just the anesthesia. She’ll be hungry when she comes around.”

  “What do I feed her?”

  She scribbles out a list. “I don’t know if she’s been weaned yet, so you might offer her a bottle. I’ll give you one, along with some canine replacement formula and puppy chow.”

  “Thanks.”

  “The main thing to remember when taking care of a wild animal, Jess, and I know the rehabilitator will tell you the same thing, is that they are exactly that: wild. And it’s your job to keep them that way. Don’t try and make a pet out of her, as tempting as that may be.”

  My housemother calls back, and says that it’s okay with the stable manager if we keep the fox at Colonial Academy overnight, as long as she stays in a carrier and is closely supervised. Mrs. McKinley tells Dr. Gardiner that she’s willing to help keep an eye on things, and after Dr. Gardiner gives us some final words of advice, my father and I head off, swinging home first to round up a heating pad and blankets, along with some grapes and hard-boiled eggs and a few other things on Dr. Gardiner’s list.

  “What are you going to call her?” asks Dylan, peering at the fox through the mesh grate on the carrier. I can tell by the way his fingers are twitching that he’s itching to pat her. But Dr. Gardiner made me promise—as little human contact as possible.

  “Her name is Lydia, because she’s a wild girl,” I tell him. Lydia Bennet is Elizabeth Bennet’s little sister. She’s boy crazy and disobedient and gets the Bennet family into a whole lot of trouble in Pride and Prejudice.

  “Lydia?” Ryan scoffs. “That’s a stupid name. You should call her Ruby or Foxy or something better than dumb old Lydia.”

  I grin at him. “She’s my fox, and I’m calling her Lydia. If you guys are really good and do your chores around here, though, I’ll let you come visit her in a few days.”

  Back at school, Mrs. McKinley meets us at the stables.

  “Oh, isn’t she darling!” she says as I lift the carrier out of the truck. “She looks like something out of Beatrix Potter.”

  The little vixen really is cute. She’s snuggled in the fleece blanket that I tucked in around her, and she’s got one paw curled over her nose, like a cat.

  After the stable manager shows up, my father gives me a kiss good-bye and heads home to Half Moon Farm.

  “Just until tomorrow afternoon, right?” says the stable manager, unlocking the storage room.

  I nod, and my housemother puts her arm around my shoulder and raises three fingers of her right hand. “Scout’s honor,” she tells him. “I promise to keep a close eye on things.”

  Satisfied, the stable manager hands us the key and leaves. We make sure Lydia is settled, then we lock up and head back to the dorm. It’s Movie Madness night, but as I sit there with my friends watching How Green Was My Valley, I find it hard to keep my mind on the movie. I keep worrying about Lydia. When it’s over, I ask Mrs. McKinley if we can go check on her again.

  “Of course,” she tells me. “Let me grab a flashlight.”

  “I wish I could spend the night with her,” I say as the two of us head out the back door.

  She pauses on the doorstep. “Hmmm,” she replies. “I have a couple of sleeping bags in the basement. Why don’t we both stay with her?”

  “Really?”

  Mrs. McKinley nods. “I hate the thought of her waking up in the middle of the night and crying for her mother, and nobody being there to comfort her. She’s just a baby.”

  “Exactly!”

  We go back inside and I run upstairs to get my pillow and a few other things I’ll need. Frankie and Adele beg to join us when they hear about the plan, but I remember Dr. Gardiner’s instructions and shake my head. “Too much human contact isn’t good for wild animals,” I tell them. “But you can come down and see her tomorrow at lunchtime.”

  I grab an extra jacket, a warm hat, and my alarm clock. I want to make sure I’m up early enough to shower before school. “Goat Girl” was bad enough—I don’t need to add “Fox Girl” to the list.

  Lydia is still sound asleep when we get to the stable. Being careful not to wake her, Mrs. McKinley and I spread our sleeping bags on some straw and settle down for the night. I lie awake for a while, listening to barn noises—the creak of wood timbers, a low whinny now and then from one of the horses, and a rustle or two that’s probably one of the barn cats on the hunt for mice or rats—and then, breathing in the comforting scent of horses and saddle leather, I finally fall asleep.

  Lydia doesn’t make a peep all night, but my alarm wakes her. I hear her stirring in the dog carrier, and then she starts to cry these pathetic little mewling cries.

  “Poor baby!” I whisper. “You must be starving.”

  Crawling out of my sleeping bag, I fix a bottle of the special puppy formula that Dr. Gardiner gave me. Mrs. McKinley raises herself up on one elbow and watches as I pull on the heavy leather gloves.

  “Careful now,” she cautions.

  I’ve been around farm animals all my life, and the trick is to handle them gently but confidently. Feeding Lydia isn’t really all that different from feeding a baby goat. I pick her up, being careful not to disturb her leg, and holding her firmly in the crook of my arm, I offer her the bottle. She sucks it down greedily.

  When she’s finished, I offer her some grapes and a little chopped-up hard-boiled egg, but she’s not interested. She snuggles in my lap instead and goes right back to sleep.

  “Would you look at that!” exclaims Mrs. McKinley. “The little angel.”

  “Can I skip classes and stay with her here instead today?”

  My housemother smiles. “Nice try. How about I check in on her for you later this morning?”

  “That would be great.” Very gently, I move Lydia back into her carrier and gather up my things to return to the dorm.

  While I’m showering I have a brainstorm, and after breakfast I make a beeline for the science labs.

  “Mr. Turner!” I call, sp
otting my AP biology teacher in the hallway up ahead.

  He turns around. “What’s up?”

  I quickly tell him about Lydia, and then launch into my idea. “I’d like to help rehabilitate her, and I’m wondering if that could count as my science project.” For the life of me I haven’t been able to think of something interesting to do as a project, until now.

  “I don’t see why not,” he replies. “As long as you document everything carefully. I think it would make for a fascinating project, in fact.”

  He agrees to meet me at the stable at lunchtime, and I head off to my first class. The morning drags on endlessly. I keep looking at my watch, wishing that noon would arrive. When it finally does, I run to the stable to find Mr. Turner already there, along with Mrs. McKinley and a handful of students, including Frankie and Adele, who are practically hopping up and down with excitement

  “Looks like word has gotten out,” says my housemother.

  While I’m feeding Lydia again—more formula, and a little chopped egg this time—I explain my plan to Mr. Turner in more detail. “I already checked online this morning, and you have to be eighteen to be a licensed rehabilitator,” I tell him. “There’s nothing that says I can’t help with the rehabilitation, though, so if Mr. Mueller says it’s okay, would it be okay with you?”

  My biology teacher nods. “If he agrees to allow you to apprentice with him, I’ll approve your project,” he says. “I think this is a wonderful opportunity for you, Jess. Keep me posted, okay?” He squats down by the carrier. “Cute little thing, isn’t she?”

  Back at the dorm, I call Walter Mueller.

  “Jessica Delaney?” he says. “I knew your grandparents. Sure, I’ll take your fox—and I’m happy to have you help out, if you want to.”

  I offer to pay for Lydia’s care, but he says no, adding, “But I wouldn’t mind some of Half Moon Farm’s wonderful goat cheese, if you can spare it.”

  Afternoon classes seem like they’ll never end. When 3:00 finally rolls around, I race down to the stable again. My father is already there with the truck. We load Lydia in and head off to the address that Mr. Mueller gave me.

  “Looks like his property backs up to Estabrook Woods,” my dad remarks as we pull into a driveway a short while later.

  Estabrook Woods is this big wildlife preserve here in Concord, the one where Lydia was hit by the mountain biker.

  A deep voice floats across the yard from the barn as we get out of the truck. “I’m out here!” As we enter the barn with the pet carrier, an old horse pokes his head over one of the stall doors.

  “New friends, Milo,” says a spry-looking elderly man, patting him on the neck. He gives me a wink. “Milo supervises things around here.” He extends his hand. “I’m Walter Mueller. You must be Jess.”

  Nodding, I shake his hand. Mr. Mueller looks over my shoulder and spots my father. “Mikey Delaney!” he exclaims, breaking into a wide grin. “I haven’t seen you since you were in short pants.”

  My father laughs and shakes his hand. “Nice to see you again too, Walter. I can’t remember the last time anyone called me ‘Mikey.’ ”

  “Probably back when your father and I used to go duck hunting,” Mr. Mueller replies. He turns back to me. “That was a long time ago, young lady, when I used to chase ‘em instead of care for ‘em.” He jerks his thumb toward a big cage on the floor next to Milo’s stall. Inside it is a mallard whose wing is hanging limply at its side.

  I glance around the barn, curious. There are a number of other cages scattered around too, not all of them occupied. But I spot a raccoon, another duck, and a couple of rabbits.

  “Business is picking up now that spring is here,” Mr. Mueller tells us. “I often get fox kits this time of year. Your little vixen may have company eventually.” He gives me a keen look from under a pair of shaggy white eyebrows. “I’d be glad of some extra help, if you’re still interested.”

  I nod eagerly. “I can ride my bike over every day after school.”

  “Jess got a full scholarship to Colonial Academy,” my father tells him proudly.

  “Is that right?” says Mr. Mueller. “Apple didn’t fall far from the tree then, did it? Your grandmother had more smarts than just about anybody I ever met. She could add a list of numbers as long as your arm, all in her head.”

  I never knew my grandparents. They died before I was born. But I smile and nod anyway.

  Mr. Mueller takes a good look at Lydia, who is awake and alert and sitting right next to the wire mesh on the front of the carrier, observing her new surroundings curiously. He tells me it looks like I did everything just right so far, which makes me happy. “Main thing now is just to see that she gets plenty of rest and food, so she’ll heal fast and get strong again,” he says.

  I’ve never known a week to fly by so fast. Fortunately, the weather holds, and every day after school I ride my bike over to check on Lydia and document her progress. Often when I arrive I find her pacing back and forth in her cage, and she makes little puppylike yips and squeals when she sees me.

  “She knows me!” I tell Mr. Mueller proudly.

  “She knows you’re going to feed her,” he says, with a chuckle.

  I’m still careful to wear the heavy leather gloves when I touch her—I’ve seen her teeth and Dr. Gardiner is right, they’re really sharp. And I try not to pat her and stroke her too often, as tempting as it is.

  “I know just how much you’d love to make a pet of her, Jess,” says Mr. Mueller one afternoon toward the end of the week. “I’ve had the same feelings myself with other animals over the years. In fact, I tried to keep a raccoon for a pet once, but it only made us both unhappy. Wild creatures belong in the wild, and our goal as rehabilitators is to release them back there safely. That won’t happen if she grows too attached.”

  I nod. “I understand.”

  And I do, really. But the urge to cuddle her is almost irresistible. Her fur is incredibly soft, and she looks at me with such trust when I feed her. I can’t help but think about how cool it would be to have a tame fox for a pet, and I fantasize about having her follow me around our farm, and sleep at the foot of my bed at night.

  Lydia has been moved to a bigger cage by now, and I squat down beside it and call to her softly. She limps right over, poking her nose through the wire mesh and sniffing my jeans. She cocks her head and watches me, intelligence shining in her bright golden eyes. She’s lovely, with her sleek coat and black markings on her tawny muzzle and legs.

  “You’re going to be a beauty,” I whisper to her. “Just like Lydia Bennet. All the boy foxes will be chasing you before long.”

  On Thursday afternoon I bring Adele and Frankie and Savannah with me. We stop at the bakery for fresh buttermilk donuts, which I have learned are Mr. Mueller’s favorite.

  “Look how adorable she is!” squeals Frankie when she sees Lydia. “She’s really grown!”

  “Wait until Emma gets here,” adds Adele. “She’ll go nuts.”

  “No kidding,” says Savannah.

  I suddenly realize that I’ve been so busy with school and taking care of Lydia I’ve hardly thought of Emma all week. She’ll be here the day after tomorrow. And so will Darcy!

  Friday night is my last night in the dorm for nearly ten days, and it’s abuzz with excitement. Some students are heading out tonight, others first thing in the morning. My friends are scattering to all points of the compass. Frankie is going home with Adele to San Francisco—I got invited too, but had to say no because of Emma and Darcy. Adele said not to worry, she’d invite me again another time. Savannah is going skiing in Switzerland again. Peyton Winslow is not going with her this time. Savannah told me no way did she want to be cooped up in a hotel with Peyton for a week, not after being stuck with her for a roommate. I guess Peyton practically turned herself inside out trying to wangle an invitation, but Savannah just kept pretending she didn’t get the hints.

  Savannah and I have made a few awkward jokes about goat cheese, but I’ve b
een careful not to overdo it. Even though I know she’s totally forgiven us for the prank we pulled last year, it’s still kind of a touchy subject.

  On Saturday morning, Mom gets up early and rides over with me to Mr. Mueller’s.

  “So you’re Mikey’s bride,” he says. “I used to love watching you on HeartBeats.”

  Somehow, Mr. Mueller doesn’t seem like the soap opera type to me. But I guess you really can’t judge a book by its cover.

  “You bring your friend Emma on over here real soon, okay?” he says as we get back on our bikes to head home. “Her mother’s been a big help to me at the library over the years, with research and such, and I’d love to meet her daughter.”

  I promise I’ll bring Emma as soon as I can, and my mother and I pedal off. We ride quickly because we’re picking Emma and Darcy up at Logan in a few hours and both of us still need to take a shower and change.

  “Don’t expect to do too much this afternoon,” Mom warns me. “They’ll have been flying for hours, and they’re going to be wiped out.”

  I’m too excited to eat lunch, but my mother says I have to eat at least half of my turkey sandwich before she’ll take me anywhere, so I force it down. Then we drive over to Cassidy’s house to meet the rest of the book club so we can caravan to the airport. Mom and I hop into the Sloane-Kinkaid’s minivan with Cassidy and her mother and Mrs. Bergson, while the Wongs and Mrs. Chadwick and Becca and Stewart cram into the Chadwick’s SUV, which smells like manure, unfortunately.

  I know this because Mrs. Chadwick came over to Half Moon Farm the other night to get some horse droppings to spread around her new rose garden, and because I can see Megan and Becca inside, gagging. Cassidy and I start laughing as they roll the windows down and stick their heads out, gasping for air.

  “Suckers!” Cassidy calls to them. “See you at the airport!” Her stepfather and Chloe wave to us from the front porch.

  Forty-five minutes later we pull into the parking garage. We find the waiting area outside international arrivals, and Becca and Megan unfurl the big banner we made—the one with WELCOME HOME EMMA AND DARCY! painted on it in huge blue letters. They’re going to be embarrassed when they see it, but that’s the point.