Return of the Evening Star

by Diane Rios

  “I know, Mother,” said Chloe. “It was a terrible time for you.”

  Lady Ashton’s eyes focused and she sat a little straighter. She held Chloe at arm’s length and looked directly into her daughter’s eyes. “Darling . . . it was a terrible time for you. I am so sorry I did not see how this all affected you. I was so blinded by my own grief, and . . . oh my child, I am so sorry!”

  Chloe cried and hugged her mother, saying “Mother, please don’t be sad, I’m just so very grateful that we’re both all right, and together, and isn’t it wonderful, Mother—Uncle Blake has been caught, and he won’t ever harm us again!”

  “Yes, my darling,” said Lady Ashton said with a tinge of sorrow. “It is truly wonderful.”

  Chloe then introduced her mother to Celeste and Avery Hart, and Lady Ashton pressed their hands and kissed their cheeks in gratitude for their help and concern for her daughter. Mr. Mason and Mrs. Eames were hailed as heroes of the day for their timely and surprisingly effective arrival. Chloe hugged them all, tears streaming down her face. She had longed for this moment for so long.

  More wagons were sent for, and gradually all the patients were taken back up the hill. The white coats tied to the mast of the ship—including Uncle Blake—were loaded into a separate wagon, still roped together. Their faces were pale, and they looked terrified. They had seen the bears and the wolves, and their imaginations took a terrifying turn as they bumped back up the road to the hospital.

  The hospital itself was still burning in places, but Brisco had managed to douse the worst of the fire. Fairfax had no fire department, but some of the bears had found hoses and were clumsily holding them on the remaining hot spots. Their aim wasn’t great, but they managed to extinguish a good portion of the remaining flames. The bears were aided by small flocks of crows, owls, and jays that carried cups of water in their claws and dumped them on the embers. Soon the fire was extinguished and only the charred walls remained of the east side of the hospital. Where an hour before a splendid gala had taken place in an immaculate new facility, there now was only a blackened, smoking ruin.

  Everywhere people and animals milled about, the uninjured helping the wounded. A group of nurses had come over to their side and were doing what they were trained to do. The nurses had never approved of how the hospital was run but had been forced to work and threatened with gas if they did not obey orders. When Chloe and her friends and all the animals descended on the gala, the nurses had happily joined the fight, hoping it would finally bring an end to all the cruelty they had seen.

  Now THE KIND NURSES WERE helping man and animal alike. The medic units made up of small creatures worked alongside them, and soon they had a triage area set up on the lawn for the worst cases. Using undamaged medical supplies that had escaped the fire, the small animals and nurses carefully cleaned and bandaged wounds, found water and blankets for everyone, and handed out cocoa to whoever wanted it.

  Seeing the nurses reminded Mrs. Goodweather of the two nurses she had left in the silver pantry! Telling Chloe that she would return in a moment, Mrs. Goodweather dashed back into the hospital, down the steps to the kitchen, and to the silver pantry. When she threw open the door, both the young nurses looked up sleepily from where they had been curled up on a blanket with their charges. They had slept through the entire end of the battle, and their first question was “Did we win?”

  Mrs. Goodweather assured them that they had, and that it was safe to come out. She took one of the babies in her own arms and led the little group out to where the others were gathered.

  Lady Ashton was surrounded by the servants of Ashton House, who were making her as comfortable as possible, and arranging for a wagon to take them all home. They were all so happy to see her ladyship, so sorry about all that had happened, and they swore never to let her out of their sight again, and woe unto that rogue Mr. Underwood if he should try and come back into Ashton House! They would know what to do!

  Chloe’s mother smiled, and Chloe’s heart sang at the sight. She hugged her mother again, holding her thin hand against her cheek.

  “I’m so happy, Mother!” she whispered.

  “Oh, my darling,” whispered Lady Ashton, tears in her eyes as she caressed her daughter’s hair. “I am too.”

  “Mother . . . I love you.”

  “Oh, my darling, I love you too, so much. We must change everything at home,” said Lady Ashton brightly to her daughter. “We must make it a happy place once again! A place your dear Papa would have been proud of!”

  “Yes!” cried Chloe, clapping her hands. “We will put it all back, even better than before! Oh, mother, we can have a big welcome-home party to celebrate! Oh, we’re going home, we’re going home!” The girl danced around her mother’s chair, unable to contain her joy.

  Ashton House. Chloe absolutely could not wait to get home to the great house and its beloved gardens. With her awful Uncle Blake gone, it would be the home she remembered, and now she could bring her new friends there, too. Chloe looked around anxiously for any sign of the Artist or Brisco or Mrs. Goodweather, and then she suddenly remembered—Silas! Had Silas come? Where was he? And where was Greybelle?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  SILAS THE STARGAZER WAS STANDING ON A log on the hill behind the hospital. He was thanking the animals that had fought so bravely.

  A line of creatures filed past him, each dipping a head or paw in respect to the old man, who in turn would give each one his solemn thanks. Some of the animals began to disperse into the woods, away from the battle site. They did not want to linger; they had survived the war, and it was time to return to their dens, nests, and families.

  The silver horses from the north pranced nervously at the edge of the hospital drive. Their mission accomplished, they were uncomfortable remaining so far south and were very anxious to return home. Greybelle stood with them, nickering gently to these long-lost family members, who felt like a dream come to life. A dream her mother had told her many times as a foal. She did not want them to go, when she had only just discovered them.

  Paloma, a dappled cousin of Greybelle’s, said, “Cousin, you are bleeding.”

  Greybelle looked down at the red stain on her leg and lifted it carefully. It seemed fine, only a shallow scrape.

  “I’m all right, thank you. Dear cousin,” Greybelle nickered gratefully, “what would we have ever done without you?”

  Paloma tossed her mane and said, “No, Greybelle, the question is, what would they have done without you?”

  The silver mare pointed to the other animals with her nose. “It was your presence with Silas, at the Bridge of the Gods, that convinced us to come. It’s been three hundred years since anyone has crossed into the southlands, and we certainly had no desire to do so. If you had not accompanied the old man, and we had not heard of it . . . we may not have come at all.”

  Greybelle was overjoyed. She had helped her family and helped herself, and she had kept her word to Chloe. From the vagabond camp in the forest to the victory at the hospital, Greybelle had kept her promise to help the child, and now they had both come home.

  The mare whinnied, looking around for Chloe. There! Chloe was there! Greybelle saw the girl, walking across the driveway. But wait . . .who was that with her? Mr. Mason? And Mrs. Eames, too?

  Greybelle snorted in surprise at the sight of the servants she remembered well from Ashton House, coming toward her with Chloe among them. The mare trotted eagerly forward, and Chloe squealed in delight at the sight of her dear friend.

  “Greybelle!” She ran forward to throw her arms around the silver mare’s neck.

  “Dear Chloe! I’m so glad you’re all right!” whickered the mare into the girl’s hair.

  “We’ve done it, Greybelle!” cried out Chloe joyfully. “You’ve done it!”

  “We’ve all done it, my dear!” answered the mare fondly.

  “And it looks as though you found some old friends to help!”

  Greybelle laughed out loud at the expressio
n on old Mr. Mason’s face at the sound of the mare talking. More introductions were made as the Artist, Brisco, and Lord Winchfillin joined their little group. Besides a few bruises and scrapes, everyone seemed relatively uninjured for which they were all very grateful.

  Behind them, Silas stood on top of the log and held his hands up for attention. He cleared his throat of the soot and dust and fight of the battle, and then called out to all that could hear him, “YOU!”

  The crowd went quiet.

  “You have won a great victory today!”

  “Huzzah!” screamed the animals, rejoicing.

  The old man’s eyes were shining. Silas looked wild and fierce, and very proud as he stood on the log, his hair standing out wildly around his head. He raised his arms high.

  “You have saved the land!” he cried out joyfully.

  The hospital drive and surrounding area erupted in cheers. Everywhere, the animals stopped what they were doing, laying down whatever they were holding in their paws or claws, and cheered and clapped and flapped and thumped on the ground as loudly as they could.

  The wounded cheered too, as well as they were able. The Badger raised a bandaged paw from where he lay, being treated by the nurses. A group of wounded foxes yipped in a chorus, waving their crutches.

  “You have truly outdone yourselves!” called Silas from the log. “You are all brave warriors, and you have won the day!”

  “Hip, hip, hooray!” cheered the crowd of people and animals together.

  There would be peace in the land. Everybody began talking, and dancing and laughing. New friendships were instantly forged as man and animal celebrated together, right where they were. Everyone began to think about food, and drink.

  Behind the hospital, the horses from the north prepared to leave. Whirling as one, their manes and tails flying together in a silver wave, they whinnied impatiently to Silas.

  Silas jumped down from the log and came over to where Chloe and her friends were standing. He patted the mare fondly on the neck. “I must go north. Now that the bridge is open, there is much to do.”

  He turned to Chloe and put out his hand. “I am very glad to finally meet you, Chloe.”

  Chloe reached out to shake the old man’s hand. It felt remarkably smooth and soft, and warm.

  “And I you, Mr. Stargazer, sir,” she said respectfully.

  “Silas, please, dear girl. Call me Silas. I know we will be great friends. I have heard much about you, and I would like to know more. Perhaps we will talk someday.”

  “I’d like that very much sir . . . er . . . Silas,” Chloe said bashfully.

  The old man gestured to Paloma, who came near him and dropped her shoulder toward the ground, offering him an easy climb to her back. Silas swung himself up, and the silver mare danced in place, happy to carry the Stargazer.

  “I will send word to you, this spring,” he said to the little group. “I want to call another meeting.”

  Lord Winchfillin groaned. “Another meeting! Does it have to be up a mountain, old chap?”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Not this time, dear Lord Winchfillin.” Silas chuckled. “And it certainly will not be a council of war. No, I see a high summer meeting, deep in the cool Valley of Bree. It should be very pleasant. I hope you all can come.”

  Silas moved Paloma down the drive. “My friends!” he called to the remaining animals as he went. “This day will never be forgotten! We will write songs about this day, and we will sing them this summer!”

  The animals cheered again.

  “You must all come north this summer!” Silas called. “We will have a great celebration, and you are all invited!”

  A huge hooray came from a large group of field mice, recovering under the trees.

  “Until then my friends, goodbye!”

  Paloma reared and snorted and Silas waved goodbye from her back. The beautiful silver herd wheeled and galloped up the hill, away from the hospital, and into the cool cover of the trees. As they went, the silver horses called back in musical tones, “Goodbye! Goodbye! Until we meet again!”

  Greybelle stood for a long moment after her family disappeared, her head held high, and her ears pricked forward to hear the last sounds of their departure. The mare’s sensitive nostrils fluttered, reaching for the last scent of her family, and when they were completely gone, she whinnied a long, loud call—full of longing, and of love. The faint, musical notes of her answering family came floating back on the wind to her, and then they too, were gone.

  The Artist and Chloe came up to her and draped their arms around their old friend’s neck.

  “You have the most amazing family in the world!” said

  Chloe. “I’ve never seen such beautiful horses in my life. Well, except for you, of course!” She hugged her dear friend, and the mare whickered back.

  Lord Winchfillin came up, limping on one shoe, his eyes streaming with tears. When they looked at him questioningly, he began to cry in earnest and, barely managing to get out the words, sobbed, “Ra . . . Ra . . . Raja is dead!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  THE LITTLE LORD WEPT, BURYING HIS FACE IN a torn, sooty handkerchief, his small shoulders shaking.

  Raja, dead! How could it be? The old gelding had been fighting like a hero the last they had seen him, the earl on his back like a tiny Napoleon, fending off all foes. When had it happened? How had it happened?

  “He . . . he was charging toward the west door, bravely going to help where he could, when . . . wh . . . when . . . he was hit by an ambulance!” sobbed Lord Winchfillin.

  The Artist stood still, his face white. “Take us to him.”

  Lord Winchfillin led them to a dark shape lying in the road on the side of the hospital. Old Raja lay there, his eyes closed and an ugly wound visible in his side. The Artist laid his head down close to Raja’s heart, listening for any sign of life. When he gently touched the old horse’s throat for a pulse and found none, he was forced to accept that his dear friend lived no more. Overcome with grief, the Artist laid his head on Old Raja’s cheek and cried.

  It was a somber gathering that collected in front of the hospital that night. The joy of reunion and the thrill of victory were dampened by the tragic losses, which were considerable on both sides. The nurses and animal medics were hard at work, sorting the wounded from the dead. They worked quietly, quickly, and very efficiently to guide the wounded back into the undamaged wing of the hospital for real treatment. No masks, no gas, and everyone was welcome to accompany their loved one into their rooms and stay as long as they liked.

  Mr. Mason and the servants of Ashton House took it upon themselves to arrange the burial of the dead. The Badger, with a bandage over one eye, called in all the burrowing animals, who immediately set to the sad work of digging graves. The Badger called out orders and encouraged the others to “make it a good and fitting bed for their fallen comrades.”

  Mr. Mason volunteered his services as chaplain. “I was a captain in the British navy when I was a younger man,” he explained. “And that makes me as good as a chaplain, at least in the eyes of the law.”

  A simple, heartfelt service was said for all the fallen that night. Everyone stopped their work and gathered at the gravesites, where man and animal laid bowers of wild flowers, and the nurses brought out a few candles that survived the fire to light the sad service. All those who could walk or stand or be carried along came to pay their respects. Lady Ashton was there, wheeled in a chair by a nurse and holding Chloe’s hand. Avery Hart stood on his feet with the aid of a cane and his sister Celeste’s arm. Brisco Knot was there, as was the Artist, who stood with his arm around Greybelle. Lord Winchfillin, who had grown extremely fond of Old Raja, sat on a log and wept into his filthy lace handkerchief, and Mrs. Goodweather did her best to comfort him.

  Mr. Mason waited until everyone was assembled and stepped forward into the flickering candlelight. The old butler stood over the graves, his white head framed by the stems and blooms the animals had
brought to honor their dead.

  “Here lie great heroes,” Mr. Mason began softly.

  Not a soul moved. Not a whisker twitched. Everyone listened intently to the old man’s surprisingly eloquent words.

  “This has become hallowed ground,” Mr. Mason continued. “Our friends and loved ones have consecrated this place by their great sacrifice. But the blood that has been so tragically spilled here has not been spilled in vain.”

  All of the animals and people gathered there took a deep breath and nodded their heads in agreement with the old butler.

  “For their sacrifice has brought us all freedom. Their courage and bravery has brought peace to the land. Our children are safe, our families are safe, and we owe it all to them.”

  The field mice made a small, sad cheer but were quickly shushed by the Badger.

  Mr. Mason bowed his head. “Now, we relinquish our dearly departed to the heavens. May they be called home to a place where there is no fear, no pain, and no death. We will never forget them. We will think of them every day. And we will look forward to one day meeting them again.”

  There was a general sigh in the crowd. The Artist stepped forward and pulled his flute from his coat pocket. His eyes were wet with tears.

  “Allow me to play a song for my friend, Raja,” he said softly. “Many was the time on the road when I would play it and he would nod his head along in time with the tune. It was always one of his favorites, and I think he’d be glad to hear it now.”

  The Artist closed his eyes and raised the flute to his lips. It was an old song, and some of the people gathered knew it well. They softly started to sing the words, swaying back and forth in the candlelight.

  Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,

  Long, long ago, long, long ago,

  Sing me the songs I delighted to hear,

  Long, long ago, long ago,