Emmy and the Rats in the Belfry

by Lynne Jonell

  Ana emerged from the closet with the Rat on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, really I am. But I don’t think it’s the right thing to send me away to people who don’t even want me.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Aunt Melly with surprising firmness, “we simply cannot keep up this deception.” She pushed down on the arms of her chair and rose slowly to her feet. “You must try to understand—”

  “I’m tired of trying to understand!” Ana cried. “It’s horrible to live with someone who doesn’t care about me! I’ve done it already, for years!”

  The Rat patted her earlobe with his paw. “Say it, don’t spray it,” he suggested.

  “But, my child,” said Aunt Melly gently, “the judge ordered it. You still need someone to take care of you.”

  “I can take care of myself!” Ana wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand. “If I was a rat, I wouldn’t need anyone. I could scavenge for crumbs and sleep in culverts and attics and things, and I wouldn’t even go to school!” She turned away suddenly, burying her face in the crook of her elbow.

  “She really wants to go to school,” Emmy explained to Aunt Melly. “She wants to be a doctor someday.”

  “I won’t be one if I’m a rat,” came Ana’s muffled voice from beneath her arm.

  “You could lead exercise classes, though,” Raston said brightly. “I’d come!”

  Aunt Melly’s face took on an austere expression. She lifted the Rat from Ana’s shoulder and set him on the bookshelf. “You may choose a book, Raston,” she said, sounding more like a teacher than ever, “and read it—quietly. Ana, dear, here’s a tissue. Blow your nose and sit down on the sofa. It’s time we had a talk. Oh, and Emmy?” She put a hand on Emmy’s shoulder and propelled her toward the front door. “You’d better hurry to the train station. Your friend Joe should be arriving any minute now.”

  17

  “OKAY, so let me get this straight,” said Joe. “You asked your aunt to invite me here so I could work?”

  Emmy sighed. She had tried to explain things on their walk from the train station back to Cucumber Alley, but apparently she had not made this point clear. Then as soon as they got to the house, Aunt Melly and Ana had divided up the chores, and from that moment on, they’d been busy. Even Raston had been put to work, dusting hard-to-reach surfaces on light fixtures and the tops of shelves.

  And now it was evening. The three children were sprawled on patio furniture on the second-floor porch, exhausted. Raston, still wearing his feather duster, was perched on the flat top of the railing, gazing pensively into the distance at the river and the sun that was slipping behind the treetops.

  Emmy glanced at Joe. “I told my parents that Aunt Melly needed you to help with the yard work. Didn’t they tell yours?”

  Joe lifted his head off the lounge chair. “Sure, but I thought that was just an excuse! I figured you wanted me here to help Ratty and Sissy find their mother!”

  “Shh!” said Ana, with a nod toward the Rat, but he had already heard. A low, broken murmur came from the rodent on the railing.

  “Ratmommy … only wanted her … favorite child …” There was the sound of a sniffle.

  Joe pushed his sweaty, straw-colored hair out of his eyes and lowered his voice. “Not to complain or anything, but I’ve been mowing all afternoon. With a push mower. You know, the kind they had in the Dark Ages? And when I wasn’t mowing, I was pulling weeds. And when I wasn’t pulling weeds, I was clipping the hedge. And when I wasn’t doing that—”

  “We get the picture,” said Ana. “We were working, too. And we made supper and everything.”

  “Tea! And toast! And boiled eggs! You call that supper?”

  “You think you can do better?” Ana demanded.

  “I can nuke a hot dog in the microwave. I can put in a frozen pizza. That would have been way better.”

  “Sure,” said Ana, “if they had a microwave, which they don’t—and if they had any pizzas in the freezer, which they didn’t.”

  “Quiet, you guys!” Emmy motioned toward the porch door that opened into the house. Aunt Melly could be seen at the far end of the hallway, bringing a tray out of Gussie’s room. “Listen, Joe, I’m sorry. But can’t you see? They really need us.”

  Joe glanced into the dim interior as Aunt Melly’s shadow disappeared down the staircase. “They need somebody, that’s for sure, but why does it have to be us? I was working on my scouting badge for science with the professor, and on another badge with my Scout leader, and I quit everything to come here. I thought there was some kind of big huge mystery and you wanted me to help find Ratty’s mom—”

  A whimper came from the direction of the railing.

  Joe rolled his eyes. “But now all I’m doing is slaving for two old ladies I don’t even know. And if you ask me, your aunt Gussie should be in a hospital! She looks like she won’t even last the week!”

  Ana glared at him.

  “Well, it’s true,” said Joe sulkily. “That is one old lady.”

  “Don’t keep calling her that!” said Emmy. “You say it like it’s something bad.”

  “Well, it’s not exactly good.” Joe shrugged. “She can’t take care of herself, she feels terrible all the time, she can hardly breathe—that sounds pretty bad to me.”

  Emmy didn’t say anything. Joe was right.

  “It won’t last,” said Ana quietly. “Aunt Melly—I mean, Miss Emmaline—told me that if I promised not to turn into a rat, she would speak to the judge and make sure they found me a better place to live. But she said we could wait a few days … because you’re right, Joe. I don’t think Aunt Gussie will last the week.”

  “And how weird is that?” Joe sat up, looking exasperated. “We’re just hanging around, waiting for an old lady to die?”

  “We’re not just hanging around.” Raston sat on the railing, his tail dangling, and looked at them gloomily. “We’re working.”

  Joe groaned and flopped back down on the lounge chair. “Don’t remind me. I must have thirty-seven blisters.”

  “At least you don’t have to wear a bunch of feathers when you mow the lawn,” said the Rat. “At least your mom wants you.”

  “Most of the time,” said Joe. “Listen, though, Ratty—what makes you so sure your mom doesn’t want you? Just that note? Let’s see it.”

  Raston pulled two small and crumpled pieces of paper from his waistband and held them out, turning his head away. “You find the one you want. I can’t stand to read them again.”

  Joe pored over the postage-stamp-sized notes, squinting. “Hmm. I guess she makes it pretty clear who she’s inviting.”

  Raston hid his face in his paws.

  “But it still seems fishy to me.” Joe looked up. “I just don’t believe that a mother would only want to see one of her kids.”

  “Maybe I was a bad ratling,” said the Rat, his voice muffled.

  “Or maybe she’s a bad mother,” said Joe, looking down at the notes again.

  Raston’s head whipped up. “You take that back! You hear me?”

  “Shh, Ratty,” said Emmy, looking over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps in the hall. “He was just kidding; right, Joe?”

  “Oh, sure,” said Joe. “Ratty’s mother was perfect, and he was a baby delinquent. I totally buy that. Listen, Emmy, do you still have that letter your aunt sent you? I want to check something out.”

  Emmy dug in her pocket for the letter, as the sound of footsteps grew louder. Aunt Melly was standing in the doorway.

  Joe stood to offer her the lounge chair, but she sank down on a straight-backed chair instead, smiling. “After how hard you worked today, I think I’ll let you have the lounge. I can’t possibly thank you all enough.”

  The children said polite variations of “we were glad to help” (partly true), and “oh, it was nothing” (completely false).

  “You just don’t know what this means to Gussie and to me,” Aunt Melly went on. “I should have told you to take some time out to play. I can’t bel
ieve you worked straight through!”

  Joe looked proud of himself. Emmy tried not to laugh.

  Aunt Melly gazed out over the lawn and down to the boathouse at the water’s edge. “It’s too late to rig the sailboat, but you still have over an hour of sunlight left. You could put the little canoe in the water and try it out, if you like. It’s meant to hold just one adult, but I don’t see why it couldn’t hold two children. Your father told me you are comfortable with boats, Emmy?” Aunt Melly looked down at her great-niece, then stiffened as she caught sight of the letter in Emmy’s hand. “Dear me. I started to tell you this yesterday, but then—well, I’m afraid what with Ana shrinking and growing, and rats talking, and bats coming to the window, it just went right out of my head.”

  She unfolded the letter and looked at it with such a worried frown that Emmy hastened to reassure her. “It’s okay that you forgot you invited me, Aunt Melly. I understand.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t understand,” said Aunt Melly. “That is not my handwriting. I did not send this letter.” She set it down on a small table.

  The sound of crickets was suddenly loud in the stillness.

  “I thought there was something funny about it!” said Joe. “And look here.” He laid Ratmom’s two tiny notes next to the letter that had been sent to Emmy’s parents.

  Emmy squinted at the spidery writing, and then went rigid. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice that.”

  “You probably never compared them side by side before,” said Joe, smoothing the letters flat.

  “What’s wrong?” cried Raston from the railing.

  “It’s exactly the same handwriting,” said Emmy, “only different sizes. And look—there’s some more of that glitter you guys used on Squippy’s card.” She pointed to a small sparkle, caught in a crease. “I wish you hadn’t dumped the whole bottle on, Ratty. That stuff got into everything.”

  Joe bent over the letter again, frowning.

  Raston reared back on his hind legs. “Are you saying that Ratmom wrote the big letter, too? Are you trying to blame everything on my mother?”

  “Calm down, Ratty,” said Emmy, looking down again at the letters. “We don’t know that. We’re just saying that the same person—or rodent—wrote all three.”

  “But who?” asked Aunt Melly. “Who would want to bring Emmy to Schenectady, just to leave her at the station with no one to meet her? What would be the point?”

  “Maybe Manlio Bat heard how beautiful Sissy was and set it all up so he could meet her,” Raston said darkly. “Oooh, if I ever get my paws on him—”

  Ana shook her head. “If some bat wanted to see Sissy, why wouldn’t he just fly to Grayson Lake? And why would he write to Emmy’s parents?”

  “They’re postal bats,” said Emmy. “They’re paid to deliver messages and things. Maybe we should be asking who hired the bats. And why.”

  “Good question,” Ana said. “Why would anybody want you to leave home and go to Schenectady?”

  “Maybe Miss Barmy wanted to get you out of the way,” suggested Raston, “so she could mess up your room again and get you in even more trouble.”

  “But that doesn’t even make sense.” Emmy’s head was beginning to hurt. “My parents couldn’t possibly blame me for anything if I was out of town.”

  “Excuse me,” said Aunt Melly, “I don’t understand everything you’re talking about, but it seems to me that the whole point wasn’t to get Emmy to Schenectady, but Sissy Rat. After all, she’s the one the bats came to pick up.”

  “That’s true.” Emmy twisted a lock of her hair around her finger. “But why would someone want Sissy?”

  “Well,” Aunt Melly said, looking like a teacher again, “let’s think. What’s special about her?”

  “I know! I know!” The Rat leaped up. “She won the Rodent City beauty contest last month!”

  “Er … that wasn’t exactly what I meant.”

  “And I bet Ratmom heard about it,” Raston went on, speaking over Aunt Melly’s objection, “and is going to enter her in the Miss Schenectady contest!”

  “Really, Raston, I hardly think—”

  “And that’s why I wasn’t invited,” said Raston. “They’ll be doing girly stuff now, make overs and dresses and things, and I’d just be in the way. But when they’re done, they’ll send the bats back for me, too! Oooh, Ratmommy was clever to write all those letters and get you to bring us here!”

  Full of enthusiasm, Raston leaped from the railing, his feather duster fluttering, and scampered to the doorway. “While I’m waiting for them to come back, I might as well get flabulous!” He dropped to all fours, did a few leg lifts to warm up, and began a series of wind sprints down the length of the hall.

  “That is one weird rodent,” said Joe at last.

  Emmy watched the little scampering form. “Raston might be deluded—”

  “No kidding!”

  “But somebody went to a lot of trouble to get Sissy here and then get her away from us.”

  “But who—”

  Emmy put up a hand. “Aunt Melly asked what was special about Sissy, but we all know that. She reverses Ratty’s bites.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Listen.” Emmy leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Anybody who gets shrunk, or turned into a rat, just asks Sissy to kiss them, right? It’s easy. But there’s somebody who had trouble growing, remember? Somebody we hope doesn’t grow …”

  There was an appalled silence.

  “Miss Barmy,” breathed Ana. Her fingers curled. “But why would she want Sissy in Schenectady—Oh! You think she’s here!”

  “I just bet she is,” said Joe. “And look here.” He pointed to the letter. “This isn’t glitter. I think it’s a bit of Scaly-Tailed Squirrel Dust.”

  “You can tell the difference?” Emmy looked closely at the tiny scales.

  “I spent half a morning dumping glitter all over that stupid card,” Joe said. “Glitter has a different shine and a regular edge. This isn’t glitter.”

  Emmy tipped her head back, her eyes half closed, remembering how the sparkling glitter had swirled over her parents’ heads at the party, landing on their shoulders, their hair, as they read the letter Mr. B had given to them. But of course it hadn’t been glitter at all. It had been Scaly-Tailed Squirrel Dust, and it had made them want to believe everything in the letter, no matter how improbable.

  Joe and Ana were busy working out how all the pieces fit together—the fake letters, Mr. B, the robbery at the Antique Rat—but Emmy shut her eyes and put her fingers in her ears. She had to think. If Miss Barmy really had used the bats to kidnap Sissy—if Miss Barmy had Sissy right now—they had to find her, and fast. But how? They couldn’t very well fly into the air after the bats …

  Emmy stood abruptly and walked to the railing, leaving Ana and Joe’s conversation behind. She stared out at the river.

  Manlio Bat had waited for them at the train station. She doubted he would be waiting around there anymore, but it was at least one place they could check. But there must be other places … Where did bats hang out? An unformed thought nagged at the corner of her mind, as if she had forgotten something important, but she couldn’t quite remember what it was.

  What they really needed to do was to find the rodents of power in Schenectady, if there were any left. They might be willing to tell Raston if there were new rats in town and where they were hiding. And at the very least, they would know where to look for Manlio and his bats.

  “Aunt Melly,” said Emmy, “can we still use your little canoe? I have an idea.”

  18

  “EASY—KEEP IT STEADY with the paddle while I get in,” said Joe, shoving the small canoe holding Emmy and Raston a little way out from shore.

  Emmy jammed the double-bladed kayak paddle into the rocky bottom of the river and held the floating canoe in place. “Step in the middle,” Emmy reminded him. “Ratty, get out of Joe’s way—yeeouch!”

  “You said to get out of the wa
y,” said the Rat, who had run up her bare arm to her shoulder as Joe stepped into the canoe. “I can’t help it if my claws are sharp.”

  “You didn’t have to draw blood,” said Emmy, examining her arm tenderly. The boat rocked suddenly as Joe sat down, and Emmy pushed off with the long, double-bladed paddle.

  She looked back at the house, its west side bright in the late sun. Ana had stayed indoors, naturally. With the police looking for her, it seemed wise. But Aunt Melly had shown her the piano, the bookshelf, and the antique dollhouse, and had even dug out her father’s old medical kit so Ana wouldn’t be bored.

  No one had told Ratty their suspicions about what had happened to Sissy, because no one could bear to break it to him that his sister might have been kidnapped. But Emmy had suggested that they try to find his old neighborhood, just for fun.

  “Okay, Ratty,” Emmy said as they glided smoothly past the boathouse. “Mrs. Bunjee said your old nest was by the river, right? What else do you remember about it?”

  The sun reflected off the water in pockets of liquid gold, sliding over the dimpled surface of the moving river, and Ratty shifted restlessly on her shoulder. “I think I remember … tree roots.”

  “Hey, great clue.” Joe pointed down the main channel of the Mohawk River, lined with stately trees as far as the eye could see. “We ought to find your old nest in—what do you think, Emmy, ten years or so?”

  Raston hung on to Emmy’s ear for balance. “And I suppose you remember everything about your nest when you were a baby?”

  “Well, I didn’t have a nest, exactly …”

  Emmy dug in her paddle, up and down in a rhythmic motion, and the drops flew off the ends in glistening arcs. “Keep a lookout, Ratty, and yell if you see anything that looks familiar.”

  The stately houses on the shore gave way to a long green park with swings and a teeter-totter and a cannon, which looked as if it came from the Revolutionary War. Looming ahead was a high bridge, and Emmy, needing a rest, pulled in next to the stone abutment.

  The canoe was large enough to hold two children and a rat, but small enough to slide in beneath some overhanging branches near the surface of the water. Joe grabbed an outer branch, then an inner, and hung on. In a moment the canoe was almost completely hidden, floating quietly under a tent of dense green leaves.