by Diane Rios
Silas leaned forward with a gleam in his eye. “Oh no, my friends. We don’t have to do that, for the mountain will move for us!”
An excited whispering broke out in the meadow.
“What did he say?”
“What was that?”
“He said the mountain will move!”
“The mountain will move?”
“What did Silas say?” squeaked the mice from below.
The old man pointed upward and said, “Behold our greatest ally!”
All eyes turned upward. The shining peak of the mountain was free of clouds and gleamed in the morning light, its icy peaks catching the sun.
Silas said proudly, “The Mountain Wy’east!”
The animals whispered again. “What does he mean?” “What can the mountain do?” “What did he say?”
“Quiet!” shrieked a rabbit, his voice piercing the air.
Silas explained, “The Mountain’s spirit is generous, and his love for you is great. He is an old friend of mine, and of yours, although you may not know it. We have been speaking, he and I, and reading the stars together. The stars told us to hold this meeting. You may remember the legend of how Wy’east fought with his brother Klickitat and destroyed the Bridge of the Gods?”
The animals knew the legend well—it had been told to them by their mothers in nest and den, burrow and thicket for generations—and a murmur of ascent rippled across the grass.
“Alas, that was only a temporary solution,” said Silas sadly. “The destruction of the bridge may have stopped men from getting to the north, but they continued their destruction of the south, and Wy’east agrees with us that it is time to do something about it.”
“Fight them!” roared the bears.
“Claw them!” screamed the mountain lions, baring their yellow teeth.
“Kill them!” bugled the elks, shaking their antlers.
“War!” piped up the mice as loudly as they could.
“War! War!” other voices joined them.
“War! War! War!” the call swelled through the meadow.
Silas looked out at them all silently, and his old eyes glistened with tears.
When the animals saw their beloved friend weeping, their angry calls trailed off uncertainly.
Silas said softly, “You want revenge, and no one could blame you. You have been mercilessly hunted, your families killed, your homes destroyed. There has been poison laid down for brother coyote, traps set for sister rabbit, snares placed, and hooks made to catch our brothers the fish and yank them from their waters. You have every right to want revenge!
“But war is a terrible thing indeed, my friends!” the old man said. “And once released, is a very difficult demon to get back into the bottle. War means destruction, with no predictable outcome. If we start a war, we must be prepared to die for it, for die we certainly will, by the thousands.”
There was a silence as all considered this daunting thought. Then a strange and unnerving vibration began under their feet. A soft thunder began to build as all of the animals began to stamp. It built and built until the mice were bouncing off the ground, and Lord Winchfillin clutched at the Artist’s sleeve.
“Whatever is it?” he breathed fearfully.
Then someone called out, “There are men in this meadow right now!”
CHAPTER NINE
THE TREE HOUSE WAS BUZZING WITH excitement as Chloe, Mrs. Goodweather, and Brisco set to work executing their plans for the gala. The first thing to make were the disguises. Mrs. Good-weather said if Brisco could find her some sort of fabric, any kind—she could whip up servants’ uniforms in no time for her and Chloe. Nobody doubted she could do it, and the carpenter set off early that morning to scout around for fabric she could transform into disguises.
A half an hour later the carpenter’s boots were heard outside, the door was flung open, and he stood triumphantly on the tree house doorstep, holding up his prize with a wide smile.
“Eureka!” Brisco beamed.
“It’s a miracle!” cried Mrs. Goodweather, and Chloe squealed in delight. In his hands were two perfect black uniforms, complete with white aprons.
“Brisco!” exclaimed Mrs. Goodweather wonderingly. “How in the world did you . . . ?”
Brisco laughed sheepishly. “I couldn’t find anything at first,” he admitted. “I looked and looked for any scrap of fabric for Mrs. G to work her magic on, but there wasn’t anything at all—not even a handkerchief. I was on my way back when I spotted a shipping blanket, on top of some crates, and would have nicked it, but just before I did, some workmen opened another crate and these were inside.” He grinned and held up the garments.
“Why, you even took the hangers!” Chloe said, laughing.
“Of course!” said Brisco with a grin. “I couldn’t leave two empty hangers to tell them these were missing, could I?”
Mrs. Goodweather declared there never was a cleverer carpenter and that she was relieved she would not have to sew them herself, they would blend in perfectly this way. She was somewhat dubious about the size when she held the rather slender dress against her ampler frame, but alterations would be simple, and Mrs. Goodweather was certain that letting out a few seams would do the trick. Chloe tried her uniform on and found it a bit long. Mrs. Goodweather sat down to shorten the hem, and while she sewed, Brisco told them more about his scouting expedition, and how many more people were in line now, and about the woman he’d seen crying.
Chloe only half listened. While Brisco told of scouting around to the front of the hospital, she remembered the horrible things they had seen from behind the boulder. She thought of those long boxes sliding down that chute to the boat, and in her mind, she heard again the splash when their . . . contents . . . were dumped into the water. She shuddered, and felt a cold dread about her mother, and while Mrs. Goodweather pinned up her hem, Chloe’s eyes filled with tears.
Then she heard Brisco say something about a crying woman, and for a confused second thought he was talking about her.
“What do you suppose she was crying about?” Mrs. Goodweather was asking the carpenter. Chloe heard him answer that he didn’t know, but that she just seemed heartbroken and he felt bad for her.
“Why, Brisco, I do believe you have a little crush,” said Mrs. Goodweather kindly.
Chloe glanced at Brisco and saw that he was blushing bright red. Rather than saying anything to Mrs. Goodweather’s remark, he took a big sip of tea.
Suddenly, Chloe froze. Wait a minute! What had he just said? The woman was small, had brown hair, a purple dress that was patched at the hem . . . a vision of Celeste Hart swam in front of Chloe’s eyes. She had looked just like that when Chloe had seen her and her brother at the Cobbly Fair! Could it possibly be? But no, that would be impossible—the Cobbly Fair was far from here, and that description fit a thousand women. Why would Celeste Hart be here of all places? It made no sense, it couldn’t be her.
Still . . . the hospital. She was crying, Brisco said. And she was alone. Celeste Hart could be here because an ambulance had attacked her brother like all the others! There were many people here that were not from Fairfax, all brought here by terrible circumstance. It made some sense. It was possible.
Chloe lifted her eyes and interrupted the carpenter. “I’m sorry, Brisco, but did you say she wore a purple dress?”
The carpenter looked surprised. “Yes, I believe it was, why? What’s up?” Brisco startled as Chloe jumped up from her seat and stared at him.
She said, “I know it sounds crazy, but it sounds exactly like the woman I saw at the Cobbly Fair. I know it’s a long shot, and it’s probably not her, I mean—how could it be? But I just had the strangest feeling when you described her.”
Chloe went on, “I want to see her, Brisco. I want to see if it’s the same person. Her name was Celeste, and she had a very nice brother named Avery, and I’m sure they would help us if they could!”
Both Brisco and Mrs. Goodweather looked at each other in surprise
, and Chloe could see they were doubtful. But she just had to know!
“Please, can I go look for her?” she asked. “I promise I’ll be careful, no one will see me!”
Brisco looked at Mrs. Goodweather questioningly. The older woman drew in a deep breath and said, “Of course, you must go, my dear. But as you said, be very careful and do not be seen. Our plan might be ruined if we start any kind of an uproar now. We must do nothing to derail our plan because I have no more of the special blueberries to use. There is no starting over.”
Chloe promised she would take every care and caution, and would return to the tree house immediately after she had seen if the woman was indeed Celeste Hart. Silently Brisco guided Chloe around the back of the hospital to the wall where he had seen the woman before. She was nowhere in sight this time, and they moved to another hiding spot, under the trees and closer to the middle of the line. From there they could see the line almost in its entirety, and they scanned it carefully, looking for the woman.
Finally, Chloe spotted the same brown head, small shoulders, and kind face she remembered even in the dark of the Cobbly Fair. It was Celeste Hart after all! It was all Chloe could do not to run forward and embrace her. She felt like she already knew Celeste very well, although they had only seen each other that one time, in the dark.
Chloe whispered happily to Brisco, “It is Celeste! The same woman I saw at the fair. I don’t see her brother Avery though. He must be inside.”
Brisco’s face lit up when Chloe revealed that she did know the beautiful woman, after a fashion. Gleaning instantly that he recognized Celeste too, Chloe teased, “Brisco!”
The carpenter’s eyes jumped guiltily away from Celeste, breaking his spell. The carpenter made a motion that they should go back, and remembering her promise to Mrs. Good-weather, Chloe agreed and followed him back along the line of little pines to the cover of the forest behind the great building.
Chloe was bubbling with excitement when she reentered the tree house. She sat down at the table and Shakespeare jumped onto her lap.
“It was her, Mrs. Goodweather, it was Celeste Hart!” Chloe’s eyes were shining. “I wish I could talk to her. I just know Celeste would help us! And I’m sure she would do anything to help her brother. They were so kind to me. I know we can trust them!”
Mrs. Goodweather said cautiously, “Well . . . I don’t suppose there would be any harm in trying to talk to the woman. We do have some time before the gala, and perhaps it would make her happy to see that you are safe, child. And, maybe she can be of help to us, after all. We don’t have another uniform, but she could be a good lookout for us.”
Brisco needed no encouragement. He was all for going straight up to the beautiful woman right this minute and escorting her directly to the tree house, and he volunteered himself for this duty. Mrs. Goodweather laughed at the carpenter’s obvious infatuation. She suggested instead they find a more discreet way of contacting Celeste. It wouldn’t do to have a strange man approach the woman in front of all those people and just . . . escort her into the trees. It would be noticed, and someone might try to follow them. Chloe couldn’t go, but perhaps Mrs. Goodweather could? They discussed the difficulty of getting the woman away from the line without being noticed themselves, but it didn’t seem possible for any of them to get away with.
Chloe sat quietly petting Shakespeare when her eyes suddenly lit up. “I’ve got it!” she cried out excitedly. “We’ll send Shakespeare!”
CHAPTER TEN
SHAKESPEARE?” BOTH BRISCO AND MRS. Goodweather exclaimed at the same time. Shakespeare squeaked.
“Yes! He would be the perfect messenger!” said Chloe. Turning to the rat, she petted his head between the ears where he liked it best, and crooned, “We’ll send you with a message for the pretty lady.” She looked teasingly at Brisco.
Mrs. Goodweather clapped her hands. “Of course! How clever of you, Chloe dear! He, more than any of us, could get to her unnoticed. The only trouble might be . . . well, might she be afraid of a rat? It’s quite possible, you know. She may not let him get anywhere near her, and he would be quite unable to deliver his message,” she said. “Well, there’s only one way to find out. Why don’t you write out a note, Chloe dear, and we’ll give it to Shakespeare, and we’ll see what happens, hmm? If it doesn’t work, no hard done, and we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Chloe agreed. She looked at the white rat. “You remember the lady, don’t you, Shakespeare?” she asked him. “You saw her that night at the Cobbly Fair. She was the woman with the purple dress. You would recognize her again, wouldn’t you?”
Shakespeare squeaked in the affirmative. Chloe knew he must be remembering the lady and her brother. He would not have forgotten that they had tried to help his mistress in that dark place. He would be happy to find the woman again and deliver the note.
Mrs. Goodweather reached in her bag and produced a folded piece of paper. She unfolded it and tore a small square from one corner, which she handed to Chloe for her note. Brisco surprised them all by inexplicably pulling a quill pen from one inside pocket and an actual inkpot out of the other. Chloe beamed at the carpenter. Wasn’t that just like Brisco, to have just what was needed, at the moment they needed it? She sat down at the little table to write out the note to Celeste. Chloe wrote carefully so that the ink would not blotch:
Dearest Celeste,
I’m so glad I found you—this is Chloe Ashton, the girl
from the Cobbly Fair. I am hiding nearby. This rat is my
friend. Follow him to meet me. We might be able to help
you, and your brother.
With love, Chloe
She folded the note into a small square and tied it with a string around Shakespeare’s neck. The white rat looked slightly comical with the package attached to his back, but he took his job seriously and stood at smart attention until his mistress dismissed him. When she did, the rat quickly scampered down the tree to the ground and ran off toward the hospital. They could see his small white form for only a few seconds before he vanished into the underbrush. Now they could only wait.
SHAKESPEARE RAN QUICKLY THROUGH THE BUSHES LINING the hospital drive. He reached the end of the hedge and waited there to catch his breath. His sharp eyes scanned for a good place to hide along the wall, and when he spotted one, the rat dashed forward into its protective shadow. From the end of the wall he could easily see the line of people and made another dash to an urn holding decorative topiary. Shakespeare paused here a moment to catch his breath and to look for the woman he remembered from the Cobbly Fair.
He spotted her. In an instant the rat recognized the same slim form in a patched purple dress, and when she looked up, he saw the same small, pale face under the same worn hat. Luckily, she wasn’t far away, just a few yards down the line. Shakespeare thought if he could just get to the next topiary urn, he might be able to get her attention.
Shakespeare looked to see that no one was looking in his direction and then took off for the next urn. Straight and true he ran, the package still tied tightly to his neck, and reached the safety of the urn’s shadows. There he sat panting, watching the woman and wondering what the best way would be to get her attention.
He decided he would have to be bold. He would have to risk being seen by others. Perhaps if he dropped the note on the ground beside her, she would see it and pick it up. He would try.
Shakespeare gathered his nerve and stepped out onto the road. He crept slowly but steadily, not wanting to attract attention. He reached the hem of Celeste’s skirts unnoticed and was just about to drop his note when the woman standing next to Celeste stepped squarely on the rat’s tail.
Shakespeare shrieked in pain, and the woman jumped high in the air, drowning out the rat’s shriek with her own horrified scream. Shakespeare was tossed in the air when she jumped and was caught up in her voluminous skirts. Fearing being trod upon again, he clung as tightly as he could to the wire hoop that held out the skirts, while the woma
n beat at her clothes to dislodge the rat. The people around them hurried away, and the woman hopped and jumped about, thumping on her skirts and just missing Shakespeare’s head. When nothing was dislodged, or appeared, or fell from her person after a moment or two, the woman began to calm down, believing whatever it was to be gone. The line gradually re-formed as the people around her laughed off the startling incident and returned to normal.
Poor Shakespeare had been bludgeoned and bumped and bruised by his wild ride in the woman’s hoopskirts. He waited painfully, still clutching the wire hoop until all was quiet before carefully dropping to the ground. He peered out from under the hem, and saw the note lying on the ground. It must have fallen off during his wild ride! He thought he might have to pick it up in his teeth to prevent anyone other than Celeste from finding it, but before he could do this, Celeste herself happened to glance down toward the ground . . . and her eyes met Shakespeare’s.
Celeste Hart was not afraid of rats or mice or even of snakes. As a girl she had spent so much time exploring her family’s forests with her brother Avery that she held a deep respect for all animals. She was very pleased to see the rat was unharmed, and gave him a friendly look. Shakespeare crept out from beneath the other woman’s skirt and pushed forward the note on the ground with his nose. He looked back up at Celeste who was watching him with wide eyes. What was this? A rat with a note!
Celeste quickly leaned down and picked up the note. Once Shakespeare saw that she had the note in her possession, he took a chance and dashed back to the shadows of the urn. One or two people saw the white rat running across the road and pointed after him saying, “There he goes!” The woman with the hoopskirt gave another scream and gathered her skirts again in horror, but Shakespeare was safely hidden.
He watched Celeste read the note, and he saw her gasp. She looked pale, but excited. The woman forced herself to remain calm and walked casually over to the urn where Shakespeare was hiding, and leaned against it.