Toward the end of summer, Root and Runnel confronted a new problem. Unfortunately, Chop had bragged to anyone who would listen about his encounter with Wawaywo, and now Puddlejumpers from near and far were jumping puddles to get their own glimpse of the baby. There were even a few who pilfered a sock, bootie, toy, or teething ring as souvenirs. Root and Runnel ran themselves ragged trying to keep everyone out of the house.
That’s when the notorious Buck arrived and quickly put an end to the commotion. He was a chief scout, like Cully, and the only Puddlejumper ever to escape the Most Dark. He had a jagged scar on his right cheek and a nasty claw mark that ran the length of his back, which few Puddlejumpers had actually seen, but all knew about. Upon his unlikely return from the Most Dark, he told about the many captive Jumpers he’d seen there, suffering, enslaved by the Troggs. But Buck didn’t tell about something else he’d seen in that place of darkness—something even more horrible than any Trogg. The secret was a terrible burden for one Puddlejumper to bear, but he didn’t want to frighten the others any more than they already were.
Buck rounded up the perpetrators in the hayloft, where he reminded them that the very future of the Kingdom was at risk. He promised consequences for any further trespassing, then sent the chagrined Jumpers skidding back to the Underneath. After that, he used clay, pinesap, and sundew mucilage from pouches on his belt to seal every puddle on the Frazier farm. In a few days’ time they would evaporate without a trace.
Buck immediately went to work. His first task was deciding how they would transport the Rainmaker. In a grove of oak, he and Cully selected a solitary maple tree. After beavers took it down, the Jumpers built three wagons sturdy enough to carry a human baby and all of his things.
Next, Buck chose six raccoons strong enough to pull their precious cargo. Jumpers had a long history of enlisting raccoons, beavers, foxes, and deer, even birds and insects, to help them in their work. Despite Buck’s fierce nature, he was the most skilled and patient when it came to working with other creatures.
After acquainting the raccoons with the harness, he trained them to pull in tandem, running through the forest and along the plateau, building endurance. As they gained experience, he added more stones to the wagons to simulate the weight of the baby. During practice runs, the wagons crashed more than once, and Buck’s crew needed to repair them several times. His final hurdle was teaching the coons how to jump a puddle. It took long hours of practice. One raccoon broke his leg and had to be replaced. But they finally got it right.
After mapping an escape route from the farm to a puddle deep in the timber, Buck walked the terrain to make sure there would be no surprises. And it wasn’t just planning how they would do it, but when. On clear nights, he rode the back of the farm’s great horned owl to the top of the tallest pine, where he could see the full panorama of the starry sky. Swaying in the wind, he studied the rotation of the planets to determine the optimal time.
While Buck prepared during the long hot summer, Root and Runnel continued to watch over their Rainmaker. Cully never ran out of nighttime stories, while Pav treated pinkeye and fended off a nasty case of cradle cap.
Those who spent time with Shawn were getting impatient because, in their minds, the baby was already theirs. But it wasn’t just them. The entire Kingdom was waiting for the homecoming, waiting until all things were right and ready.
The moment finally came on the day of the autumn harvest.
CHAPTER SIX
Kidnapped
RUSS AND SHAWN were up before daybreak. Russ made a big breakfast of scrambled eggs with garden vegetables, strong black coffee, and toast slathered in Betty Woodruff’s homemade rhubarb jam. For Shawn, he made pureed vegetables to eat with applesauce and milk.
Shawn was turning six months old that day and Russ was already in a celebratory mood. For him, the day of the autumn harvest was the most important day of the year, and surely the happiest. It was the day when his hard work came to fruition. He kissed his son on the crown of his head and said, “Time to get to work, little man.”
In the first light, Russ ran across the yard holding Shawn above his head, pretending he was an airplane. Making a loud sputtering sound, he spun him around and headed toward the barn. “This crazy pilot is flying backward!” he shouted playfully. Shawn, who was facing the house, squealed when he saw Root and Runnel bounding out the dog door. For them, today was a special day, too. It was the day they would harvest their Rainmaker.
In the barn, Russ nestled Shawn in the hay, covered him with his red quilt, then focused on his old John Deere tractor, its green paint chipped and faded. It was on its last legs, and he hoped it would get him through another season. He fetched his toolbox and prepared to battle the quarrelsome engine one more time. He tweaked the timing with a screwdriver, then fiddled with the carburetor, adjusting the flow of gas. When he looked up from his work, Shawn had kicked off the quilt.
Afraid his son might get a chill, Russ set his tools aside and went over to cover him, but when he got there, the quilt had been neatly retucked right to Shawn’s chin. Mystified, he was staring at his giggling son when he heard what sounded like a tiny sneeze. Unnerved, he saw two pair of turquoise eyes looking up at him from inside the hay. There was a possum family living in the barn, but possums didn’t have eyes like that. He grabbed a pitchfork to shoo away whatever it was, when, behind him, the tractor sputtered to life. Russ rarely cursed, but this time he did. “Godzilla!”
Spooked, Russ went over and turned off the engine, but when he returned to the hay, the eyes had disappeared. He gathered up Shawn and buckled him into his special homemade seat atop the tractor, which adjoined his, but faced backward. He climbed aboard, not noticing that Root and Runnel, with hay still stuck in their hair, were now concealed under the fender. Shifting into gear, he steered the noisy tractor out of the barn and headed for the north slope. He looked back at his son with a resigned smile. “They don’t call ’em Johnny Putt-Putts for nothing.”
In the empty barn, the toolbox creaked open and a nine-inch, grease-stained Puddlejumper emerged. Chop wasn’t going to miss the big day, no matter what he’d been told. He convinced himself it was a good thing he’d come. After all, he’d just saved the day by starting the tractor. To reward himself, he feasted on milk from the big black-and-white cows.
Once Russ lowered the cutter and began to harvest, he felt again the simple pleasure of knowing he’d found his place in life. He admired the trees along the boundary fence, especially the oaks and maples dressed in their fall colors. He took a deep breath. There was a sweet crispness in the air that promised winter but remembered summer.
The hours passed quickly as the tractor made its way back and forth across the field. Russ sang and told Shawn stories, his own versions of Jack and the Beanstalk and Pinocchio. At the top of the knoll, he pointed to the woods beyond the boundary fence. “Paul Bunyan himself asked me about cutting down that timber. He was riding Babe, his big blue ox,” said Russ. “But I told him, ‘Not on your life, Mr. Bunyan, I’m saving those woods for Shawn.’ When you get a little older, we’ll go up there and I’ll show you all my favorite spots.”
Shawn giggled and Russ laughed. He was sure his son was responding to what he’d said, but Shawn wasn’t even listening. He was watching a tiny Puddlejumper skittering across the field, staying close. Russ turned to check on his baby just as Chop vanished under the mown wheat. The only thing he saw was how much Shawn seemed to be enjoying the harvest.
In near darkness, a score of Puddlejumpers watched from their roost along the rafters of the barn as an exhausted Russ, with Shawn in his backpack, fed and watered his cows, pigs, and horses.
When he was finished, Russ closed the barn door and started across the yard. A brisk wind stung his cheek and rain began to patter the ground. “Looks like we might see some big rain tonight,” he said, hustling toward the house as dark clouds gathered in the twilight.
Russ prepared a bottle, then, humming a lullaby, laid Shawn
in his crib. He flicked on the Snow White lamp, illuminating the elfin mobile dangling just above the baby’s head. He washed his son with a warm moist cloth, then blew his lips in a noisy sputter against the baby’s belly, which made Shawn giggle.
Outside, a steady rain was falling.
“If this rain ever quits, we’ll get the rest of our wheat in—what do you say?” asked Russ, knowing that the long-grain wheat in the field south of the barn still needed another week in the ground. He shook a few drops of milk from the baby bottle onto his wrist to make sure it was the right temperature. Shawn babbled as if trying to talk with his dad.
“No, you cannot run the tractor,” Russ teased. “Maybe next year if you walk the straight and narrow.” He kissed his baby, then gave him the bottle. “Okay, my little farmer, go for it.”
A sharp knocking rattled the kitchen door.
“Coming,” he called, then snugged the quilt around his baby boy. A persistent RAT-A-TAT-TAT echoed from the kitchen. Russ tapped the mobile, which sent the carved figures dancing chaotically around the Crystal Acorn. Shawn pumped his legs and squealed with delight. “You sure like those little guys, don’t you?”
As soon as his father left the room, Shawn dropped his bottle and reached for the dancing elves.
Annoyed by the persistent knocking, Russ hollered, “All right, already,” as he hurried through the kitchen. When he opened the door, no one was there, but his cows and pigs were wandering around the rain-swept yard. Pitch snapped at their heels, trying to herd them back into the barn. One of his horses was trotting up the muddy drive toward the highway.
“God-zilla!” cursed Russ as he dashed out into the storm.
In the nursery, Shawn giggled as Root and Runnel pattered along the railing. Runnel jumped into the crib and stuffed a teething ring into the baby’s mouth to keep him quiet. Root drew a sharpened stone from his belt and slashed the Crystal Acorn from the mobile, then held it up to signal the others.
Pandemonium ensued as Buck and Cully pried open the window and led a gaggle of Puddlejumpers into the room. Dashing every which way, they stuffed a burlap sack with toys, teething rings, bottles, clothes, and the Snow White lamp, setting the loot aglow.
At the window, Chop pulled his chin up to the sill and peeked inside, his eyes wide with excitement. Convinced he could help, he vaulted into the room and joined the fray, but he was one too many Jumpers thrashing through the bureau. It tilted off its axis, wobbling dangerously back and forth.
Outside, Russ was returning his horse to the barn when a crashing sound from the house snapped him to attention. Abandoning the animal, he sprinted for the porch and hurdled the steps in a single leap. He raced through the kitchen, down the hall, and banged open the door. His baby’s room was in complete disarray—the bureau toppled and clothes strewn across the floor. The window was open and the curtains, wet with rain, billowed inward. What he saw next was more terrible than any nightmare.
The crib was empty.
“Oh God, please no!” he prayed. The Crystal Acorn was gone, too. Only the dancing elves remained.
Backing away from the crib, Russ stepped on something under the rug. It was Chop, the only Jumper who hadn’t made it out. His shrill cry sent Russ’ heart to his throat and he stumbled into the wall, barely glimpsing a shadow leaping out the window. He rushed to the sill and peered into the dark. Just beneath him, Chop pressed against the house, shivering in fear. Thunder boomed and lightning streaked the sky. Russ saw a glowing bundle disappear into the wheat and heard a chorus of high-pitched hooting. “Hooty-hoo! Hooty-hoo! Hooty-hoo!” It sounded like a cross between an owl’s eerie call and a loon’s mournful cry. It was a sound he’d never heard before.
Russ leapt out the window and bolted across the yard. “No!” he screamed. “Shawn!”
But the Puddlejumpers had no intention of getting caught as they careened through the wheat aboard the wagons drawn by their raccoons. Squinting into the hard rain, Buck commanded the first wagon with a skittle of Puddlejumpers crammed in the back. They hung on tightly as their wagon bounced over the muddy furrows and up the slope. Root steered the second one, Runnel riding behind with the baby. She did her utmost to keep Shawn comfortable, but he kicked and screamed, testing her already frayed nerves. Cully piloted the third wagon, hauling the sack of glowing loot.
At the top of the ridge, where Russ’ farm ended and the woods began, Buck shouted a warning and the Jumpers ducked as their wagon shot under the split-rail fence. Root reached back to make sure that Runnel stayed low. Cully ducked, too, but his wagon slammed to a halt. He somersaulted over his coons and landed hard on his back. The overstuffed sack had wedged against the lower rail.
Buck and Root dashed back to help Cully to his feet. He stumbled groggily, but Russ’ shouts and Pitch’s barks from the other side of the rise quickly revived him. The Jumpers pulled and pushed and squeezed the sack in a frantic effort to get it under the rail. Finally Root yanked out the quilt and the wagon barely cleared the fence. Unwilling to leave anything behind, he dragged it back to his wagon and they were off, the quilt flapping like a flag in a tempestuous wind.
The Puddlejumpers raced desperately through the trees, searching for the hatchway. Glancing behind, Buck saw the dog bounding over the fence and charging after them. Pitch was closing in fast when Buck finally spotted the puddle beneath a giant oak. He smacked into the water like a falling star, straight and true. Root ramped off one of the tree’s exposed roots, tipping so steeply that he lost hold of the quilt before he could recover his wagon and make the passage. Cully’s wagon jumped right behind, disappearing down the puddle’s black hole into the earth.
Just as fast as it opened, the hatchway closed. Raindrops pattered the puddle’s surface as if nothing had happened.
Russ jumped the fence and entered the woods at a full run. Under the dark forest canopy, he stumbled and fell, scraping his chin. How can this be happening? Who would do it? He picked himself up and continued on. Why would they do it? Why?!
Up ahead, Pitch was circling a puddle beneath one of the big oak trees. When Russ caught up, he saw that she had something between her teeth. Shawn’s quilt. He stifled a sob, his body shivering in the rain. “Drop it,” he said quietly. She obediently let Russ take it. “Good dog.” Breathing hard, he crouched to scratch her behind the ears. She whined and prodded him with her nose. “What is it, girl?” He scanned the woods, hoping to glimpse the light flitting through the trees. He put the quilt to his dog’s nose. “Okay, let’s go—you find him, you find our boy.” He started off, but the dog didn’t budge, barking and pawing the water. “Pitch, come!” Russ commanded.
The dog barked a final time at the puddle, then joined her master running through the dark. But with the glowing light no longer ahead, there was nothing left to pursue. Russ ran anyway, shouting his son’s name, wishing the trees could answer.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Water Kingdom
JUST BENEATH the forest floor, the Puddlejumpers listened as the father’s shouts drifted farther and farther away. Once it was quiet, Pav and other Puddlejumpers waiting at the rendezvous offered hushed congratulations while making sure that everyone was all right. Although the babynappers had tumbled through the puddle hatch onto beds of thick fleece, it had been a rough landing. The sack had split open, and toys, teething rings, bottles, and clothes lay scattered across the cobblestone tunnel. Shawn was so startled by it all that he stopped crying, and Runnel could finally uncover his mouth.
The Puddlejumpers nestled the baby into a birch-bark canoe moored in a nearby stream. Runnel held him close as Pav fed him a gourd of milk spiked with pollens and spices. Buck freed the raccoons from their harnesses while Cully supervised the loading of Shawn’s belongings into other canoes. They were about to set off when a muddy and disheveled Chop came tumbling through the puddle. Staring wide-eyed at the startled Jumpers, he blurted, “Na-kwe-lay kazinga,” which, roughly translated, meant, “Well, I made it.”
Reli
eved, everyone pressed around him, pushing and prodding and pinching in playful reproach.
As the Puddlejumpers launched downstream, they couldn’t help but hoot with anticipation.
They were almost home.
Lanterns embedded in the walls brightened the otherwise dark passage as seven birch canoes navigated the tumultuous watercourse. A thick green moss blanketed the walls and roof of the tunnel. Here and there tangled roots poked through the dirt. There was a clean and loamy fragrance in the air. Buck paddled the lead canoe with Chop perched at the prow. Cully and Root oared the second canoe, where Pav and Runnel tended the baby.
Spurred along by the turbulent water, the birch canoes wound deeper and deeper into the earth. After descending the four major rapids—Wapata, Bootenay, Sisbaba, and finally Tittabuwasi—the water flattened out and the Puddlejumpers floated down a deep river. Soon they came upon a veil of lush ivy draped like a curtain across the water. One by one, the canoes threaded through a break in the greenery.
On the other side, the river opened into a cobalt-blue lake. This was their home, the Cavern of Pools, an underground hollow that sparkled like a radiant jewel. At the center of the lake stood Grandfather Oak, an ancient giant that reached three hundred feet to the ceiling of the cavern. A thousand ice-blue crystal acorns shimmering on its branches bathed the cavern in the ethereal light of dawn. From the oak’s every leaf, twig, and branch, water poured down, a perpetual rain that pattered the surface of the lake. All around the cavern, waterfalls tumbled from the upper elevations. These waterfalls formed streams, which flowed down the gentle slopes of moss and clover, past hundreds of small shining pools dotting the meadows. The pools reflected the dome of the cavern, where rainbow-colored stalactites sparkled like generous constellations.
To signal their return, Buck shouted a victorious “Hooty-hoo!” Chop emulated the great scout with his own excited cry. Buck gave him a helpful shove into the water, but Chop didn’t mind. He swam at the prow like a dolphin romping at sea.
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