A moment later I felt a little tug on my pants. When I looked down I realized that Prowler was nudging me along, so as not to watch the red squirrel entering his nest, which would be considered mildly rude.
“Let’s go,” Ginny said.
“M-hmm,” agreed Stomper.
So off we started again, moving along through the shadows in our happy march until we’d reached Twitch’s tree. I gave him another peanut also, but where he was much less high-strung and far less paranoid than Barkrunner, there was no need to worry about upsetting him by watching him disappear into his tree.
“See you all soon,” he called, and in a flash he was gone from our sight.
“I’ll be moving on too,” said Bandit. “Good night.”
I turned around and saw him scampering away.
“We’ll see you in the morning,” said Prowler.
“Maybe, maybe not,” he called.
Don’t you want a peanut? I asked. Whether or not he heard me, I’m not sure. He continued on without responding and was soon gone from sight.
“Don’t mind him, Ethan,” Prowler said to me. “I mean … don’t take it personally. Bandit doesn’t trust humans in general. Any humans. Not just you.”
Why doesn’t he trust us? I asked.
“I’m not sure how to answer that,” said the raccoon. “I guess you could say Bandit’s not a terribly serious personality, but as you can see, the one thing he does take seriously is his distrust. Humans, from his point of view, are merely a nuisance. They leave food out by their houses, then get angry when someone searches through it.”
“It’s trash,” Ginny said. “Bandit makes a mess which humans then have to clean up.”
“Yes, yes, I see your point,” he said. “But I’m speaking of his perspective. Mostly he holds a grudge from being shot with a pellet gun a few seasons ago. That has been his experience, so that is where he gets his opinion from.”
I would never do something like that, I told him.
“No,” Ginny chimed.
“Hmm, no,” groaned Stomper. “Ethan would not be unkind.”
“No, not at all,” Prowler agreed. “But unfortunately you won’t soon convince Bandit of that fact. If you carried feasts out from your house and laid them before his nose, he would still be skeptical and cautious of you, even while treating all else in life as a joke. That’s just how he is.”
“For now,” Ginny said, “let’s forget about your brother. Will you be going to the house with us, or should we say good night now?”
“Ah, I should probably get some rest before morning,” Prowler thought aloud. Right then his nose made a little involuntary wiggle. As if being led by his sniffer, his head slowly turned until he was facing me and he said, “Say, Ethan, about those peanuts …”
Of course you can have more, I said. I took the last of the nuts from my pocket and took a quick count. There were eight left.
“Oh, what a treat, what a treat,” Prowler muttered as I counted.
You could share a few, I said as I held out my hand to the anxious raccoon.
“Oh, yes,” he mumbled through the sound of his hasty cracking of a shell and quickly chewing up the first peanut. “I could bring one to Barkrunner and Twitch, I suppose. They would both be grateful. M-mmm. Yes indeed. Oh, this is delicious. Yes, I suppose I could spare one or two to share with the others. M-mmm!”
Never mind, I said. By then I was grinning ear to ear at Prowlers deep love for peanuts. I have more in the house, I told him. I’ll bring some for the others tomorrow.
“If you insist,” replied the raccoon, quickly moving on to his second peanut. “M-mmm. Yum. I mean, whatever you say, Ethan. The matter is—crunch-crunch—entirely up to you.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Ginny said to Prowler.
“Yes, good night, good night,” he said without taking his eyes from his little feast.
***
We had gone a little ways further down the trail when I remembered the chipmunks. I looked back at Stomper ambling along, his head swaying, and realized the chipmunks were no longer on his antlers.
Where did they go? I asked Ginny.
“I’m guessing they stopped off to help Prowler with his peanuts,” she said.
We moved along briskly until we reached the edge of our backyard. There we stopped to look out over the yard, the house, and the view beyond.
“Hmm, a very big human lodge,” said Stomper of the inn. “It is a wonder that someone as small as you sleeps within such a large place.”
It’s not just for me, I explained. There’s room enough for many people to sleep inside.
“Ah,” he groaned, slowly nodding his great head. “As for myself, I enjoy sleeping in different places on different nights, according the weather and seasons. Hmm, tonight I might find a place soft with pine needles to bed down.”
I’ll find my regular old bed, I said.
“Good night, Stomper,” Ginny said. “Thank you for your help and your company.”
“Hmm, yes, it is a good night,” he replied. “I trust I will see you both in the light of day.”
You will, I assured him, and gave him a quick scratch on his shoulder. He leaned into the scratching a little, then noticed a dry oak leaf clinging to a nearby branch. He took a step, ate the leaf, and then kept on trudging.
“Mmm, farewell, Ethan and Ginny,” he said as he walked away.
We watched him stomp off into the darkness, hearing him groaning to himself, crunching sticks, and in general sounding like a small army marching in the quiet night.
“Now,” Ginny said when the moose had gone out of sight, “let’s get inside, get you warmed up, and get some rest.”
***
I walked carefully on the dusting of snow as we crossed the yard approaching the house. I was feeling tired and starting to get clumsy, and the longer I looked at the house, the more I wanted to be inside in my bed.
Remember, Ginny said as we neared the kitchen door, we need to be as quiet as possible. Now that we’ve been to the meeting, it won’t be so bad if we do wake your parents. But still, it would be much better for us to get to bed without them knowing anything till morning.
My hands were quite cold when I removed my mittens to open the door. The doorknob felt like an ice cube. With intense concentration, moving very slowly, I opened the door and got us into the house with as little sound as possible. I removed my coat and hat and boots while Ginny stood alert, her ears straining for the slightest sound from upstairs. Then we moved up the stairs as softly as we’d come down them earlier. Only after I’d closed my bedroom door and sat on my bed was I able to take a deep breath without the fear of being heard.
You did it, Ginny said. Well done, Ethan. I’m very proud of you.
We did it, I corrected.
All right. We did it.
Now it’s up to me.
Yes, you. But not only you. And now, before anything else, we both need our rest.
I lay back on my bed and got comfortable while Ginny was getting herself comfy on hers. It felt so warm in the house after being out in the cold, I didn’t even need my covers at first. After a minute I pulled them up anyway, burrowing down into the soft warmth. And as my head went round and round the numerous events of the night, I began to feel just how tired the walking and cold air had made me. I was asleep in a matter of minutes.
Chapter 9
The morning was clear and very bright. The rising sun shone sharply through the leafless trees with their branches coated in frost, reflecting sharply off the thin blanket of snow. The rays beamed through my window, filling my room with light.
When I opened my eyes, squinting out the glare, it didn’t feel like I’d been away long. No dreams clouded my thoughts. All I could think of was the fresh memories of my adventurous night, standing as clear and sharp in my mind as the sunlight now filling my eyes. I lay there for a while, motionless, lost in my thoughts. I thought of Stomper and Lobo and Prowler and everyone, wondering how t
heir night had been since I’d left them. The idea of seeing all my new friends again filled me with an excited energy.
I rolled over, kicking my feet out from under the covers and stretching the stiffness from my legs. As I rolled over I was instantly aware of Ginny’s presence. Even before I could see her clearly through my squinted eyes, I knew she was there, fully alert, waiting patiently for me as she always did.
Did you sleep well? She asked.
Yes, I told her. Like a rock.
I thought so.
And you?
Like a puppy, she answered. I’d love to sleep late, but I’m afraid this won’t be a leisurely morning for any of us. Your father has already gone out following our tracks, and your mother is here, in the room. She’s upset, just waiting quietly in the rocking chair for you to wake up.
I pushed my covers away and sat up partially on my side. I looked to Ginny, reached over and gave her a gentle scratch with my free hand. Then I looked slowly over at my mother.
Mom was sitting on the little chair by my little desk. Her expression appeared blank. She twirled her long auburn hair around one finger as she sat staring absently. It felt like a long time before she realized that I was awake. Once she did, she was instantly on her feet. She crossed the room in a few steps and knelt down by my bedside. She hugged me like we hadn’t seen each other in years.
“Hi,” I said softly. It was as close to saying “good morning, Mom” as I could get without difficulty.
“Ethan,” she said, her voice soft but unsteady with tension. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, Mom,” I whispered.
Several times over my mother began to speak. Each time I waited for her to scold me or to ask what had happened, but each time she stopped short of saying anything more than my name. I knew there must be a lot she was thinking of, a lot she wanted to say. In a way she was having the same problem that I was all too familiar with.
My head began to swim with memories and thoughts and all the words I wished I could say to her. I wanted to blurt out everything as fast as I could, tell her everything that had happened, and I wanted to do so as simply as I spoke with Ginny and the other animals. But the fact remained that I couldn’t. All I would end up doing was stumbling over myself, stuttering, and ultimately expressing a small fraction of the words that were racing through my head. That was the sort of frustration that kept me in my own little world.
“Ethan,” my mother finally said, pulling back from the hug, “don’t take off like that again. Do you hear me? Do you know how scared we were when we saw your tracks in the snow?”
I hugged my mother tighter and looked over her shoulder at Ginny.
She’s much more upset about selling the inn than she is about our walk, Ginny told me. She and Dad are both sick about it. Seeing our tracks in the snow first thing this morning was just the icing on the cake.
“Sorry,” I told her.
“You should be,” she replied.
“I’m hungry,” I told her next, and it was no random statement to distract her from lecturing me. My stomach was suddenly grumbling a loud complaint.
“All right,” she said, letting me go and leaning back from me. “Get dressed and come down for breakfast. You can do your explaining once … when your father gets back from tracking your little trip. Maybe you can write it down while you eat. How’s that?”
I nodded. She left the room quickly. I looked over at Ginny.
Don’t worry, she said. This is good news for us. They don’t really want to sell this place, and they are dreading having to break the news to you. That’s much more upsetting to them than our little adventure last night.
Did you try talking to Dad this morning? I asked.
I did. As soon as they opened the door to look in on you, I tried to get his attention. He looked right at me, and for a second I thought he might have heard me. But then the moment passed and he said, “How could you let him do something like that, Ginny?” Then they closed the door.
We’ll just have to keep working on him, I replied. Like Lobo said.
That’s right. Now, get dressed so we can have our breakfast. I’m as hungry as a horse.
***
My midnight excursion evoked a ferocious appetite in me. On an average morning I would eat two big blueberry pancakes and be so full I could barely finish my hot cocoa. That morning, however, after downing my third cake and chugging my cocoa, I lifted my eyes to my mother with a hopeful gaze. She stood leaning against the counter, eyeing me with an expression of both suspicion and awe.
“That’s all the batter I have ready,” she said. “You’re actually still hungry, after all that?”
I nodded, looking down at my empty plate. I’d already scraped up every trace of leftover blueberries and maple syrup. It barely needed to be washed.
“I’m planning to make Dad some eggs when he gets back,” she offered. “Would you like some?”
I shook my head. No, thank you. I was a devout pancake enthusiast. No egg could ever come between me and heaps of hot blueberries surrounded in a fluffy cake and topped with the maple sugar of our own trees. Not in a million years.
“Well,” Mom said as she stepped to the table, she lifted my plate with one hand while refilling my mug from the steaming pan of cocoa with the other. “You’ve had a good breakfast. Now get to your writing. I can’t imagine that your father will be gone much longer.”
***
Most kids aren’t lucky enough to have a dog as great as Ginny. Fewer still are lucky enough to be able to speak silently with them, like me. As my mother said, I did have some important writing to do, but unlike most people, I didn’t have to go it alone. For the next half hour Ginny helped me organize a brief summary highlighting what we believed to be the most important points of the larger issue at hand. This is what we came up with:
MOM AND DAD,
I CAN TALK TO GINNY. SHE CAN TALK TO ME. WE TALK SILENTLY ALL THE TIME. WE WENT OUT LAST NIGHT BECAUSE THE WILD ANIMALS WERE HAVING A SPECIAL MEETING. GINNY AND I WERE INVITED TO THE MEETING. I KNOW WE ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO GO OUTSIDE TO PLAY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. I ONLY DID IT BECASUE THIS MEETING WAS VERY IMPORTANT. THE MEETING WAS ABOUT OUR HOUSE AND OUR LAND. A CAT NAMED MAXWELL CAME TO THE MEETING AND HE KNEW EVERYTHING. UNCLE CHUCK DOES NOT WANT TO HELP US. HE WANTS TO SELL OUR HOUSE SO HE CAN BUILD LOTS OF SMALLER HOUSES ON OUR LAND. THEN ALL THE ANIMALS THAT LIVE HERE WILL BE HOMELESS. THERE ARE A LOT OF ANIMALS LIVING IN THE WOODS. I MET LOTS OF THEM LAST NIGHT. I MET SO MANY IT’S HARD TO REMEMEBR ALL THE NAMES. I MET STOMPER THE MOOSE AND PROWLER THE RACCOON. MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL I MET LOBO THE WOLF. THE OTHER ANIMALS ALL LISTEN TO LOBO AND DO WHAT HE SAYS. HE IS LIKE THE LEADER OF ALL ANIMALS. LOBO SAYS IT IS VERY IMPORTANT FOR HIM TO SPEAK WITH DAD. HE SAID YOU CAN SPEAK WITH ANIMALS JUST LIKE ME. YOU MUST HAVE FORGOT HOW. YOU JUST NEED TO REMEMBER NOW.
THAT IS WHAT WE DID LAST NIGHT. IT WAS VERY COLD OUT BUT IT WAS A LOT OF FUN. GINNY MADE SURE I WAS BUNDLED UP AND SHE TOOK GOOD CARE OF ME.
P.S. DAD, WAIT UNTIL YOU MEET STOMPER! HE IS THE BIGGEST MOOSE EVER! BUT DON’T WORRY BECAUSE WE ARE FRIENDS. HE WILL NOT STOMP ME OR YOU OR ANYONE WHO IS HIS FRIEND. STOMPER DOES NOT LIKE UNCLE CHUCK. HE MIGHT STOMP HIM.
***
Mom made me a piece of cinnamon raisin toast while I was writing. I ate it slowly, savoring it while I was crafting my letter. I snuck a little bite to Ginny while Mom had her back turned. Once I was finished—after reading it back to Ginny for her final approval—I proudly handed it to my mother and then sat back at the table. Ginny sat beside my chair. We stared at Mom, both of us wearing bright, hopeful expressions, while she eyed us suspiciously in return. It was sort of like the look someone has after the point of a joke has flown right over their head.
At last she lowered her eyes to my letter. With her hip leaning against the counter, she read it silently, twirling her hair with her free hand as she read. I think she must have read it several times over, because it seemed like a very long time before she lifte
d her eyes from the paper. When she finally did look up to meet my watchful, hopeful stare, her suspicious expression was gone. Now she looked completely lost.
“Ethan,” she started to say, but she trailed off at a sudden sound from outdoors. It was the thump-thump of my father kicking snow from his boots against the steps.
My dad came in quickly, closing the door fast behind him. A wave of cold air crossed the kitchen as the door closed. He was breathing deeply after walking briskly in the cold, and his cheeks seemed very red in contrast to the fresh growth of stubble lining his jawline. Dad always started growing his winter beard a week or so before Thanksgiving. He said the guests always seemed to like it and that it helped keep him warm in the winter, but Mom and I both believed that was only an excuse to avoid the hassle of daily shaving.
“Well, well,” he said looking at me. “Look who’s awake.”
I sat rigid with expectation, smiling excitedly as he spoke to me. Within minutes I believed he’d read the letter and understand perfectly well why we’d gone out last night. His memories would kick in, he’d recall his younger days when he could speak with the animals, and from there on, all our problems would be on the way to being solved.
“My little explorer and his trusty sidekick,” he continued as he unbuttoned his wool coat. “You must be pretty worn out after your hike last night. You covered some serious ground.”
I’m not too worn out, I said to Ginny.
I believe he’s being sarcastic, she told me. You know … because we’re not supposed to be roaming around in the middle of the night.
Oh, I said.
But then again, she went on, older people do get tired quicker than younger people. Maybe there is some truth mixed in with his sarcasm. It’s hard to be sure.
By now Dad had hung his coat on a hook over the bench for putting boots on and off which stood by the doorway. He rubbed his cold hands together briskly as he turned again to face us. “Don’t move,” he said with a quick point of his finger, as I had just started to slide out of my chair. “You’ve got some explaining to do, buddy.” The tone of voice he used made it very clear that I should comply with his order, so I slid back into my chair to wait. He wasn’t terribly angry or anything, but he sure wasn’t joking either.
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