by Nell DuVall
Encouraged, Cassie considered the synonyms for cur. “All right, yellow. Yellow ... cur ... mutt ... mongrel ... hound ... dog.” Jimmy looked woebegone. “I know, a yellow dog.”
“Doggone, Miss Blake, you’re too good. I’ll have to work harder.” He scuffed one toe of his tennis shoe over the other.
Cassie laughed. Maybe she should let Jimmy win one for a change. “How did your report on William Henry Harrison go?”
“Great, I got a B+.” He grinned from ear to ear, but then sobered. “Now I have to do one on Zac ... uh, Zachary Taylor.”
Smiling, Cassie nodded. “Another Indian fighter, a general in the Mexican War, and President of the United States.”
“Huh? Another President?” Jimmy stared at her.
“He saved Fort Harrison in the Indiana Territory and defeated Chief Black Hawk in Wisconsin.”
“Oh, he did? I never heard about him. That must have been a long time ago.”
Cassie grinned. “He served almost eight years after Harrison, more than a hundred and fifty or so years ago. Good luck on your report.”
“Thanks, Miss Blake. Next time I’ll have a harder riddle for you.”
Ready with her own riddle, Cassie dimpled, curious to see how well Jimmy did. “I’ve got one for you. What do you call a rabid rabbit?”
“A rabid rabbit? Say, that’s a good one.” Jimmy frowned. “What’s rabid anyway?”
“You go look it up in the dictionary.” His puzzled look made her consider a hint. “Try the Roget’s Thesaurus while you’re at it.”
She watched Jimmy walk off, mumbling to himself. At least the darn rabbit had resulted in something useful and would teach Jimmy about another library tool. Thinking about his sudden appearance, she reminded herself all the schoolchildren with assignments stopped by the library after school. She knew the cycle. Nothing mysterious or sinister there.
She rubbed her arms. The dreams and that crazy rabbit had shaken her. She’d followed Tula’s advice and warned Ian McLeod. Now, he had to take care of himself.
Turning back to her work, she began to read the various reviews of new children’s books and consider her recommendations for purchases. She loved this part of her job and especially when they received a lot of new books on approval. Children’s books used far more graphics, pictures, and even experiments and illustrations to teach and educate than adult books. Fiction books remained less affected, but spiffy cover designs made even these more colorful.
The library always bought several copies of the Caldecott and Newbery winners, but there were many other books to consider as well. Books by well-known authors and the major publishers were almost certain to be chosen. New publishers cropped up all the time and presented the biggest challenge. Some produced excellent books, but others focused on showy books without much value.
It gave her special pleasure to discover a new author. This month she was tracking down information on Margaret Mannus, who according to one review, had written a delightful fable. Produced by a small New England publisher, the book was not included among the approval books, nor did the distributors list it among their inventories. Cassie muttered to herself as she reread the review.
In The Barnyard Seer, Margaret Mannus has produced a charming fable of a fortune-telling pig, Henriette Le Cochon, and the ridicule she faces from the other animals who laugh at her prophesies. They regard her as just another Chicken Little, another false prophet. Henriette persists in the face of opposition to save the barnyard animals, but one obnoxious rooster loses his head and Henriette is in danger herself of becoming hams and bacon. In the end, she triumphs and saves Old Sam, an almost toothless yellow dog, and Windy, the garrulous cow. The illustrations by Bram Baker add just the right touch of whimsy. Not since E.B. White’s Wilbur have we had such a delightful porker.
Cassie felt a kinship with the visionary pig and wondered if Margaret Mannus had used Henwen from Celtic mythology as her model for Henriette. Cassie had always loved Lloyd Alexander’s Henwen in his Black Cauldron series. The personality of the clever white pig delighted her.
Stung by Rod’s desertion, she had reread Lloyd Alexander’s books and found some comfort in Henwen’s success. Dreams held too much of her attention.
She needed people in her life, but not a confining relationship such as the one Rod had forced on her. She had met only one of his buddies. Most often, they went to movies or watched football on TV. He idolized the OSU football team. It hurt to realize they only shared a bed and not much else.
He even avoided Tula’s parties. After he left, she had curled into herself and hibernated, too hurt to risk being with other people. Not healthy, not healthy at all.
She looked down at the Mannus book. Maybe she should post a query on Kidlit, one of the Internet bulletin boards, asking about Margaret Mannus and The Barnyard Seer. She could always count on getting a response from someone. Librarians shared information freely and liked helping others — the things she liked best about her profession. Once on Kidlit she had even gotten a response from New Zealand.
Five titles comprised her list for discussion at the book selection meeting tomorrow. She reread the list and added Margaret Mannus. By tomorrow, she should have some response from Kidlit, and if not, she could always delete the Mannus book.
At home that evening, as Cassie prepared for bed, she congratulated herself that tonight she would not have to worry about Ian McLeod. The note told him what he needed to know. Now it would be up to him. She settled down in bed, scrunched the pillow into a comfortable position, and closed her eyes.
* * * *
Fully relaxed, the dream caught Cassie unprepared. Ian McLeod’s face hung in the air before her, a sardonic smile on his lips. His auburn hair fell over one side of his forehead, just like Jimmy Wilson’s. Cassie wanted to reach out and brush it away.
No, she wouldn’t be drawn into this. “Take control,” Tula had said. She steeled herself to do just that.
“I sent you a note.”
McLeod raised an eyebrow. “What made you think I’d fall for a childish note? A friend’ You can’t get rid of me so easily. And a rabbit yet?”
“But you saw it. It attacked you. I acted, now get out of my dreams.” She pulled the comforter over her head.
“Stop the ostrich act. It won’t work.” He laughed, a rich, deep throated laugh.
“If you don’t do something, the rabbit or whatever will kill you.”
He sighed. “So you say, but rabbits don’t kill, and I have no enemies.”
“You do, that horrible rabbit...” She paused a moment. “He’s someone you know. I’ve warned you. What you do about it is your business. I want to sleep.” Cassie pulled the pillow over her head and put her hands to her ears.
“You can’t shut me out.”
“But I can wake up.”
“Can you? Try it.” The image, now a head and full torso, crossed his arms.
Cassie struggled to open her eyes. Someone had glued them shut. She opened her mouth to shout, but only a squeak came out.
“Blast it, let go of me. I want to wake up.”
“Cassie, Cassie, until you save me, I’ll haunt you.”
“Then I’ll ignore you.”
“You can’t.” He smiled at her with a warm, inviting smile. “Besides, if you do, think about what might happen to me.”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” She pulled the pillow back and snuggled under the covers.
“That’s not true, Cassie. You do care.” He gave her a knowing, seductive smile.
“Humph, I don’t even know you, so how can I care?”
“You didn’t know Ellie Latham either.”
As if he had punched her in the stomach, the breath went out of Cassie along with all the fight. She couldn’t survive another Ellie Latham. She lay still a moment, thinking and struggled to find a solution. A straw, any straw would do.
“Look, if I can talk to you like this, then you know as much as I do. I don’t have to do a
nything.”
“Uh, uh, Cassie, it doesn’t work that way. The conscious me doesn’t know, and shall we say, doesn’t want to know. That’s why it’s up to you.”
Angry and frustrated, she pulled up the covers, jammed the pillow over her head, and covered her ears with her hands.
A low rumbling growl filled the air. Her heart revved like a hyped up motorcycle. The rumbling, more ominous now, grew louder, a locomotive barreling down the track. No, make that two locomotives.
Neither the pillow nor the comforter deadened the sound. It enveloped her. She’d heard it before.
The black rabbit.
She peered out from under the covers to see it poised and ready to spring.
“NO.” Cassie sat up and batted at the creature.
It turned its head and opened its mouth wide. The large, sharp incisors gleamed. She froze, mesmerized by the shiny white teeth stark against the black fur. The rabbit’s narrowed eyes glowed with angry hatred.
She opened her mouth to scream, but only a hoarse croak emerged from her tight throat.
The muscles of the rabbit’s haunches tightened. Its claws dug into the bed. It sprang toward her. The fur on its muzzle stood on end. Its lips pulled back in a tight rictus. She smelled the metallic tang of blood on it breath.
“NO,” she shouted. “NOO.”
* * * *
Cassie woke up, shaking. The dreadful image had gone, but the terror remained. Her hands and feet ached with cold. She pulled the comforter close, trying to warm herself.
As warmth returned, her muscles relaxed. She hated that nightmare creature, and now she hated Ian McLeod, too. She had tried to help him, but now the rabbit had turned on her. McLeod could save himself. It wasn’t fair to lay the burden on her.
For a long while, she sat huddled in the comforter staring at her feet and then got up at last to brew a cup of chamomile tea. The hot beverage eased her nerves. In the bright light of the kitchen, the images of Ian McLeod and the rabbit faded. She scolded herself for letting a dream terrorize her. It had nothing to do with her. Ian McLeod could save himself.
“He can’t,” a small voice echoed in her head, “that’s why he’s asking you to help. You have to act.”
“Not tonight. I’m going to bed, and I’m going to sleep.” Cassie went upstairs and took a Nytol. At least it would keep her from dreaming.
* * * *
The next day, Cassie went to the Tea Room for an early lunch. Tula smiled when she saw her enter and hurried over with a pot of Tula’s Special. Cassie waited until Tula poured them each a cup and handed one to her. The familiar mixed scent of cloves and mint soothed her.
She savored the aroma for a moment before taking a quick sip. She set her cup down. “So, what’s the latest with you?”
Grinning, Tula eyed Cassie. “Me? What do you mean?”
“You and the newest man.”
“Oh, him, he teaches anthropology at OSU. He’s fine, better than the last one.”
Cassie laughed. “That’s what you always say. I’d like to meet him.”
“At my next party — that way you’ll have to come.” Tula searched her face with a frown. “Okay, Cassie, That’s not what you want today.” She paused a moment and waited.
Cassie said nothing and rubbed one hand over the other.
“Another dream?”
She looked down at her hands and then back to her friend. “Tula, despite the note I sent Ian McLeod, the dreams haven’t stopped.”
Her friend pursed her lips and nodded . “The same dream?”
She shook her head and stared down at her cup. “No, last night he talked to me.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me I had to convince him. He called my note childish.”
“Childish? Knowing you, maybe it was" Tula’s expressive eyes turned somber. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
“What can I do?” Cassie began picking at her cuticles. “If I approach him, he’ll just dismiss me as a kook or a crank. What would you do?”
“Act. You’ll have to confront him, Cassie.”
“I ... I can’t. He more or less said that. I’m no good at doing that. I’d make a mess of it.”
Fingering her sun pendant, Tula stared off into space for a moment, her eyes unfocused. “Go see McLeod and just tell him about the dream.”
After a pause, she looked back to Cassie and skewered her with intense eyes. “You have to work out what that rabbit means. Things aren’t always what they seem. Look beyond the image to its meaning. The rabbit isn’t a real rabbit. It’s just what you mind shows you. It stands for something or someone. You have to figure out who or what.”
“Sure, that’s easy to say.” Cassie snorted. “Do you have any suggestions?”
“Me?” Tula laughed and patted her hand. “You’re the reference librarian. Read up on rabbit lore. Who knows what you might learn.”
“At least it’s something to do.” Cassie considered the advice. She had hoped for more from Tula, but sharing her dreams helped a little, even if Tula couldn’t or wouldn’t tell her what they meant.
“Thanks.” She flashed her friend a smile, and Tula returned it.
The bell at the front rang, and Tula hurried off. Cassie finished lunch and decided to learn all she could about rabbits. Somewhere, somehow, she would find the answer to the creature. She left the Tea Room with renewed energy and determination.
Back at her desk in the library, she found the list she had prepared the day before and remembered the Book Selection Committee that afternoon. She sighed. The rabbit would have to wait. She checked Kidlit for messages. Answers had come back from the Barrington Public Library in Maine and Chilton Library in Lexington.
I read and loved The Barnyard Seer and can heartily recommend it. I’m looking forward to Mannus’ next book and further adventures of Henriette. Do buy it. The kids will love it. Nancy
I’m not into fortune-telling, and small children may be disturbed by the death of Jean Le Coq, the rooster. The illustrations are the best part of this silly book. Jennifer
Well so much for Kidlit. More uncertainty. Why couldn’t things ever be simple? She reread the messages and erased the question mark next to Mannus. Nancy’s response struck the right note. She didn’t like the tone of Jennifer’s answer at all.
Cassie stored Nancy’s email address in case she wanted to contact her later. As she looked at her watch, she realized she still had time before the book selection meeting to look up rabbits.
After checking the catalog for books on rabbits, she went to the shelves. She glanced through several books and kept the most promising ones. These she carried back to the Reference Desk to read while she worked.
Until three, only homemakers and retirees occupied the library. Usually after lunch, a lull fell on the readers, a few even nodded off to sleep. After three, the schools let out and the kids flocked in to work on homework or just socialize. Once they arrived, Cassie had to spend as much time on discipline as she did answering questions. Until then, she intended to learn as much as she could about rabbits.
Cassie read and made notes from encyclopedias, dictionaries, and other books. She checked entries under rabbit, hare, Leporidae, and Lagomorpha. With Easter coming up, someone would be looking into rabbits so she might as well save them the work. The department could always use an annotated, mini-bibliography on rabbits and the lore associated with them.
The mythological importance of rabbits surprised her, but none of the myths made much sense nor could she see how they applied to the black rabbit. Maybe Tula would see something she had missed. Besides, since she hadn’t known this much about rabbits before, she failed to see how her subconscious could use this information to communicate anything meaningful. She shoved the notes into her purse to discuss with Tula later.
Jimmy’s word puzzles made a lot more sense than all this jumble from natural history, scientific facts, and mythology. The data only confused her more.
; She picked up the books and reshelved them. None of the information provided any insight on how to deal with Ian McLeod. Her stomach knotted again as she remembered her promise to Tula to visit him.
She didn’t want to face him and tell him about the dreams. He would react just as Rod had. He wouldn’t believe her.
Then what? Would he haunt her dreams if she didn’t go or worse might he be killed? She didn’t want that either. She couldn’t stand another death.
At least her dream implied he had read her note, but ignored it. Why? Surely if what she sensed about him had any basis in reality, he should be aware of the menace surrounding him. He shouldn’t need her warning.
She sighed. Tula’s reminder of the responsibility she carried as a dreamer pricked her. Responsibility. No matter how she twisted and turned, she couldn’t run away from that. It stuck to her like a sandburr. She couldn’t escape her dreams.
Blast. She would confront Ian McLeod tomorrow and end it. After that, he was on his own.
Chapter Nine
Cassie spent the morning trying to convince herself talking to Ian McLeod wouldn’t be so bad. So what if he reacted the same way Rod had? He meant nothing to her.
The memory of his gaze when she thought he meant to kiss her in her first dream returned. He could mean something to her. Even Tula thought so. However, first she had to convince him to take her dreams seriously. If he didn’t, he would die just as Ellie Latham had.
Cassie shook herself. Stop this morbid musing. If she expected to convince Ian McLeod, she had to be calm, cool, and collected.
With the phone book address and Google, she had no trouble locating the Worthington complex where McLeod had his offices. The complex contained four buildings. She drove through the almost park-like setting with trees and shrubs separating parking areas and lining the edge of the property. Pale green haloed the trees. The owners had ensured each building sported a large sign with the street number. At this time of day, all the parking places were filled.