Lexie was leaning on a crutch, kissing the nose of the lead husky, when she heard a scream. She dropped her crutch in fright.
Her mum was running towards her. Only it wasn’t the mother she remembered, but a bronzed stranger wearing a flowing purple-and-orange kaftan, a headband and a great many silver bracelets. Bringing up the rear was her father with an even darker tan. Weirdly, he was wearing ripped jeans, an orange T-shirt and a battered leather jacket.
‘Lexie, angel!’ cried her mother. ‘Oh, my poor, poor darling. Will you ever forgive us?’
She skidded towards Lexie and threw her arms around her, almost knocking her over in her excitement.
Lexie smiled shyly. ‘Careful, Mum, my leg.’
‘Hi, honey,’ said her dad, coming to her rescue and giving her a more restrained bear hug. ‘I can’t believe you broke your leg before ever setting foot on the slopes. That seems too cruel. Cool blue cast, though. But why aren’t you tucked up in bed?’
‘That’s what I’ll be asking Mrs Woodward,’ his wife said crossly. ‘If I’m not satisfied with how you’ve been treated, I’ll be writing to the school authorities to complain and demand answers. And I think you should stop petting those dogs, Lexie. They look dangerous.’
Lexie was indignant. This was so typical of her parents. They’d been at the resort approximately two minutes and already they were laying down rules and trying to stop her having fun. ‘These huskies are the kindest dogs in the whole world. At least they are if they know you. And you’re not complaining about anyone. I’ve had a better time with a broken leg than I ever had without one, thanks to Miss Hannah and the Chevaliers.’
She retrieved her crutches and turned round. ‘Mum, Dad, I’d like you to meet Nat, my best friend.’ As she said it, she realized it was true. In less than a week, Nat had come to mean the world to her. ‘Umm, and this is Nat’s father, Luc Chevalier. They’re the owners of these beautiful huskies.’
After hands had been shaken all round, Lexie frowned. ‘Mum, Dad, what are you doing here? I’d have been home by tonight. And why do you look so . . . ethnic?’
Her parents exchanged glances. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘Try me.’
On second thoughts, she waved a crutch to include Nat and Monsieur Chevalier. ‘Us, I mean.’
‘Our plane had engine trouble on the way to the Bahamas,’ her father began.
‘You were in a plane crash after all?’ burst out Lexie, thinking of her dream. She was in shock. The whole time she’d been thinking that life was so much more fun without her mum and dad and their rules and schedules, they were nearly dying in a blazing aeroplane. She’d almost been orphaned.
‘After all?’ Her father was surprised. ‘No, it didn’t come close to crashing. It was a misplaced bolt or something. At any rate, we were diverted to Western Sahara.’
‘The desert,’ her mum supplied helpfully.
‘Our plane was out of commission while they tracked down the special bolt and flight options were limited. We chose Goa.’
‘Only our luggage got lost on the way,’ continued her mum. ‘Our phones died because the charger was in the suitcase. Then the bank cancelled our credit cards because we’d told them we were going to the Caribbean and we ended up in India. We had to stay in a beach hut and eat street food with the cash we’d had on us when everything went wrong.
‘We never received the email about you breaking your leg until late last night when got to Heathrow and were finally reunited with our luggage. Naturally, we were devastated. We felt we’d let you down. We slept at the airport, caught a 6 a.m. flight to Geneva and here we are.’
Lexie’s mum looked down at her baggy orange-and-purple kaftan and smiled sheepishly. ‘Hence the funny clothes.’
‘I like them,’ said Nat.
‘While we were in India, we had an epiphany,’ said Lexie’s father. ‘A sort of revelation.’
‘What revelation? Don’t tell me, you want to buy a farm in Somerset and make cheese and ceramic pots.’
‘What? No. That would be crazy. But we realized that we’d lost our way a bit, got too caught up in the rat race. We had become obsessed with making millions in order to buy things we don’t need or want. That wasn’t who we were when we met and that’s not who we want to be.’
‘We want to simplify things,’ said her mum. ‘Go for long walks on deserted beaches in Cornwall and Devon. Stop pressurizing you to take subjects that don’t interest you and encourage you to spend more time lying in hammocks with good books. Eat dinner as a family. Unplug from the internet. Get a cat or a dog. I’m beginning to wonder if my allergies are all in my head. If the worst comes to the worst, I can take some homeopathic tissue salts. I tried them in Goa and they worked a treat.’
Lexie felt quite light-headed. ‘A dog?’ she said faintly. ‘I’d love a dog.’
‘But don’t get a husky,’ put in Nat. ‘Huskies need epic amounts of exercise and they pull like trains. They’re only really happy if they’re flying through snow, pulling a sled.’
‘In that case,’ Lexie asked shyly, ‘can I share in yours occasionally?’
Nat’s smile was so wide it practically touched the Alps on either side. ‘You can come to stay whenever you like, for ever and ever.’
Monsieur Chevalier, who’d watched the family reunion with amusement, cleared his throat and addressed Lexie’s parents.
‘Monsieur, madame, would you like to join your daughter for some dog sledding? I have a friend who will lend us an extra team of huskies.’
Lexie’s mum was aghast. ‘I’m not having my child going dog sledding with a shattered fibula. That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.’
Lexie was grateful that the groundskeeper did not feel the need to enlighten her mum about the children’s midnight husky safaris.
‘Au contraire,’ he said. ‘Taking the air has been recommended by the best physicians for centuries. You might benefit from it yourself, madame – if you don’t mind my saying so.’
Lexie saw something stir in her mum. Perhaps it was a forgotten memory of nights under the duvet with a torch, reading White Fang or pursuing smugglers across the moors with the Famous Five.
‘Perhaps you’re right, monsieur. We could all do with taking the air, especially in this ravishingly lovely place. I’ve never tried dog sledding and today seems as good as any to start.’
She hugged Lexie to her. ‘I’m sorry, darling, In the midst of trying to prepare you for life, we forgot to schedule in the most important thing of all: adventure.’
Lexie rolled her eyes. Her dad grinned and interjected on her behalf: ‘Love, you might want to take the word schedule out of the equation.’
It was only then that Lexie recalled that one of her father’s favourite books was a true story about Alaska’s legendary Iditarod race. The thought of tearing across the mountains behind a team of huskies probably thrilled him to the core.
‘We’d be delighted to join you, sir,’ he said to Luc Chevalier. ‘Now that we’re here, we’re thinking of staying on for another few days so we can enjoy a holiday with Lexie.’
‘Excellent,’ said the Frenchman. ‘Well then, I invite you and your wife to climb aboard with Nat. I’ll drive the second team of huskies, accompanied by Lexie and—’
An unfamiliar frown darkened his brow. ‘Nat, where is the wonderful Madame Hannah? Did you pass on my invitation?’
‘Sorry, Papa, I forgot. I was knocking at Lexie’s door for ages before she answered and then she didn’t want to come at first and then Lexie’s mum and dad arrived and—’
‘There she is!’ cried Lexie, spotting her teacher wheeling her suitcase out of the lobby. The fire and fun that had shone from Rachel Hannah as the huskies and Monsieur Chevalier swept her across the mountains the previous night had drained away. Her shoulders were hunched and she appeared completely dejected.
At that very moment, Mrs Woodward shouted from the car park: ‘Where have you been hiding, Miss Hannah? You real
ly are impossible. You’re about to cause an entire planeload of children to miss their flight.’
Lexie rushed over to Miss Hannah and grabbed her arm. ‘Don’t go. Stay another day and come dog sledding with us.’
Her teacher paused. She looked longingly at the huskies, straining at their harnesses.
‘I’m counting to ten, Rachel Hannah,’ yelled Mrs Woodward, ‘then the coach is leaving without you! ONE, TWO, THREE . . .’
‘Stay,’ said Luc Chevalier, appearing at Miss Hannah’s side. He took her hand. ‘One word from you and my daughter and I will be happy to open up our hearts and home . . .’
‘FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN . . .’
‘. . . and spend a lifetime showing you our mountain paradise. And, it goes without saying, Lexie and her parents will always be invited.’
‘EIGHT, NINE, TEN!’ shouted Mrs Woodward. ‘You’re fired, Rachel Hannah!’
Miss Hannah waved goodbye as the coach rumbled out of the car park and picked up speed. As it went by, Lexie caught a glimpse of her dumbstruck classmates, faces pressed to the steamy windows.
Rachel Hannah smiled at Luc Chevalier. ‘One word is all you require?’
‘Just one word.’
‘Oui.’
Then she and Lexie took up their places in the sled and were whirled away on another husky adventure.
Michelle Magorian
Look, Old Teddy, see the snow
Falling on the window sill,
See it gliding to the ground,
Covering the road and hill.
Feel, Old Teddy, with your paw
The coldness of the window pane,
Watch me blow onto the glass
And draw a picture of a train.
See, Old Teddy, how the trees
Are bending under all the snow,
Even footsteps sound much softer,
Look how all the cars go slow.
Now, Old Teddy, here’s your coat,
Your stripy mitts and bobble hat,
I’ll wrap you up to keep you warm
And then we’ll both be snug and fat.
Old Teddy, if you hold your face up
And let the cold flakes touch your nose,
You can feel them melt away,
That’s what I like, when it snows.
Jamila Gavin
It had been the coldest winter ever when, one morning, Luke was throwing out the remains of foodstuffs to the pigs and glimpsed a figure within a swirling white mist. There was a small child, motionless in the falling snow, covered in white from head to toe, its hair standing on end, stiff with frost.
Luke was startled, not just by the child, but by the tune; the tune which had been churning round and round in his head suddenly stopped. There was silence, like the silence of falling snow. For a moment, it was as though he’d gone deaf – deaf even to the sounds inside his brain. He poked a finger in his ear, and shook his head as if trying to shake out the silence.
The figure raised an arm in greeting.
Luke called, ‘Who are you?’
The figure replied, ‘I am Everychild.’
The snow fell harder, and the child began to fade into the whiteness, and the tune in Luke’s head returned. When he backed into the kitchen, it was churning and churning on and on, just as it had done ever since the Piper came to town; a tune which blotted out all other desires except the desire to get into the mountain.
It was hard to believe that the previous summer had been blisteringly hot, and the town had been plagued with rats that had overrun every room in every house, and every dwelling. Not only crawling into babies’ cots and nipping them; not only swarming into the larders and eating all the food; not only getting into the barns and ruining the grain stores, but bringing disease. People were dying and everyone was desperate.
And then a piper came: a pied sort of fellow, dressed from his feathered cap, down to his pointed toes, in an outfit of every colour of the rainbow, who had said he could rid the town of its plague of rats.
‘And how will you do that?’ asked the mayor, dabbing his perspiring brow, looking distastefully at this dancing, prancing fellow.
‘With my pipe,’ the piper replied.
‘Well, go ahead and try,’ said the mayor, ‘though why you think you can succeed where we have failed is beyond me.’
‘And what will you pay me?’ the piper had asked. ‘I have to earn a living.’
‘Pay you?’ the mayor sneered. ‘Pay you? For playing your pipe – and you weren’t even asked?’
‘It’s up to you,’ the piper said, and began to skip and dance away from the town gates.
‘What if he can make the rats go away,’ someone murmured. After all – these were desperate times and nothing so far had worked.
‘Oh, all right, I’ll pay you. Will three bags of gold do?’ laughed the mayor sarcastically.
‘Is that a promise?’ asked the piper, whirling round and fixing him with a glittering eye.
‘It’s a promise,’ declared the mayor, winking at his town councillors.
But the mayor hadn’t kept his promise; he didn’t give him his three bags of gold even though the piper had done exactly what he had said he would do; he had rid the town of rats by luring them down to the river where they drowned – every single one of them. The mayor just shrugged. ‘It’s a coincidence,’ he sneered. ‘You’re not telling me your silly, piddly piping was responsible for the rats leaving? Here’s a shilling for your trouble,’ and he tossed the piper a silver coin.
In every corner of the world, a promise is a promise. The piper gave a howl of rage. ‘Give me my three bags of gold as promised or you will pay dearly for your treachery.’
‘Get out of my town,’ ordered the mayor, ‘before I have you thrown out.’ He turned on his heel and went back into the town hall.
And so the piper had begun to play his pipe again. It was a different tune from the rat tune; this was a tune full of the joys of youth and play and expectation; full of magic and merriment. It was a tune which wove its way into every room in every house; a tune which brought children leaping to their feet. This time, it wasn’t rats that came streaming out of the houses, and barns, and woods, and fields; it was children.
It took a while for the mothers and fathers of the town to realize what was happening and, strange to say, they were paralysed; they could do nothing as their children – every single one of them – went pouring out of the city gates and down the road, following the Pied Piper.
Luke, too, had grabbed his crutches and tried to follow and, at first, he had kept up with his little sister, Susanna. For a short time she’d skipped beside him as he lolloped along, swinging his crutches as fast as he was able. Then she had slipped away, and danced ahead, crying, ‘Keep up, Luke! Keep up, keep up!’ But he couldn’t. Though she was only four, she had left him behind, and had run hard enough to catch up with their older brother, Bruno. ‘Keep up, keep up!’ Bruno had called as he and Susanna rushed by. ‘Keep up!’ shouted his younger brother, Wolfgang.
‘Wait for me!’ wailed Luke. But neither Bruno, Susanna nor Wolfgang slowed down for him, and they never looked back. They never looked back, and that’s what had hurt him most of all.
Still Luke kept going, even when the children of the town had streamed past him like a singing river, because the piper’s tune was in his head. The music brought alive some kind of children’s paradise, and the paradise was inside that mountain. ‘Come on, come on!’
Luke was weeping now as he fell further and further behind until finally, he was alone; the others were far, far ahead, and the piper a mere speck at the front leading them inexorably towards the mountain.
At the foot of the mountain the piper stopped, the children stopped, Luke stopped, even though he should have kept going. But he couldn’t take his eyes off the Pied Piper, who tipped back his head, lifting his pipe skywards, and played his magic tune. A vast door slid open in the side of the mountain and the piper led the joyful children inside
.
Frantically, Luke had started moving again, swinging along on his crutches. He got there just in time to see the last child skip through.
‘Wait for me!’ he wailed. Too late, the great door in the mountain closed and he was left outside. There was nothing to show there had ever been a door. Bruno and Wolfgang and his little sister Susanna had gone; his friends, too – all gone – and Luke was left with the piper’s tune revolving incessantly round his brain.
Now his mother joined him in their garden, leaning on their kitchen gate, staring down the road to the mountain beyond. She, too, was grieving, but she realized his grief was different. He didn’t weep for his brothers and sister to come home as she did, he wept because he had been left behind. She often heard him moaning in his sleep: ‘Why didn’t you wait for me? I went as fast as I could on my stupid crutches. Is it because I was cursed by heaven – born lame; imperfect; useless?’
‘How can we get them back?’ whispered his mother.
But he just turned a blank face to her, his eyes as dead as pebbles.
Every day, Luke set off again for the mountain, stumbling on the hard ground at its base, humming tunelessly, his exploring hands reddened and raw with cold, tearing through thorny shrubs, and pushing past boulders, searching for any clues which might reveal where the opening was.
There was one other child who had been left behind; another child who had tried to follow the piper. Elfie had been dying from the plague the summer the piper came. Her mother had already died, as had half the town. But her brother, Erik, had dashed out to follow the piping tune.
In a way, Elfie could say that the tune saved her life: it had entered her feverish mind and mingled with the blood flowing through her veins, bringing a kind of energy, which had got her tumbling from her sickbed. How desperately she had crawled towards the open door into the street, begging her young brother to wait for her. But he didn’t, and she was too weak to get to her feet and follow.
Winter Magic Page 20