by Lynne Jonell
Emmy watched as Professor Vole was handcuffed, put into a squad car, and driven away. She was still watching as the crowd gathered in somber knots, Joe’s father in the middle, and moved off.
“I know who can help us,” she said slowly.
“Emmy!” Brian looked nervously at the door. “Listen, my uncle might come back any minute.”
With a zipping sound and a tiny grunt, two heads poked out from Emmy’s backpack—one gray and furry, and one with a thatch of rumpled yellow hair.
Brian’s mouth hung open for a full minute.
“I think I’d better tell you everything,” said Emmy.
She sat down on the couch and went through it all. It sounded even more impossible when she said it out loud.
“So does this kind of thing happen often?” Emmy asked earnestly. “I mean, your back room is full of rats with tags that say they can do amazing things—”
“Back room?” said the Rat alertly. “Full of rats?”
Brian looked puzzled. “Listen, why does this rat keep squeaking? Does he think he can talk or something?”
The Rat looked annoyed. “What’s his problem? Wax in the ears?” he muttered and slid off the couch. “I might just check out these rats in the back room.”
“I don’t want to see any more rats,” said Joe. “Just unshrink me, is all I ask.”
Brian looked worried. “I don’t really know how,” he began, when the phone shrilled.
“The Antique Rat, may I help you?” said Brian. “Oh—hello, Uncle, I’ve been worried. You’re where? JAIL?” He glanced at Emmy. “Um hmm … uh huh … just a minute.” He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a pen and a piece of paper.
“Okay, I’m ready now—shoot. Um hmm … uh huh … in the blue case? No—okay—I see it.”
Brian scribbled down notes industriously. Joe, bored, began to do flips on the sofa cushion. Emmy leaned back and shut her eyes.
She wasn’t worried. Brian would never give them away, she knew, and maybe he could figure out how to fix everything. It was a relief to let someone else do the thinking, for a change. She was so tired …
“Emmy! Wake up, I’ve got to go.”
Emmy opened her eyes as Brian shook her shoulder. “Huh? Go where?”
Brian looked at the paper in his hand. “I’ve got a delivery to make to the old Addison place. And then I’ve got to find my uncle a lawyer.”
“The old Addison place? That’s my house!” Emmy sat upright. “You can give me a ride home.”
“But what about me?” Joe stood on the middle sofa cushion, looking very small.
Brian looked thoughtful. “Could you just go home with Emmy tonight? In the meantime, I can look around. Professor Vole has lots of notes and things. I’ll see if I can find directions for … for unshrinking—”
“SISSY!” shrieked the Rat from behind the velvet curtain. “I’VE FOUND YOU AT LAST!”
The Rat’s short furry arms clutched the Shrinking Rat of Schenectady through the metal bars of her cage. The two rodents, their gray fur damp with tears, looked identical except for the white patches behind opposite ears.
“Torn from the nest,” sobbed the Rat brokenly, his words half muffled in the other rat’s shoulder. “I never thought I’d see you again, my own dear Sissy.”
“That explains why she looks so much like Ratty,” Emmy whispered to Joe, who was perched on her shoulder. “She’s his sister! Do you suppose she can shrink people, too?”
“Come on, if you want a ride,” Brian urged, poking his head into the back room. “I’m late.”
The Rat leaped from the bank of cages to Emmy’s shoulder, nearly knocking Joe off. “You’ve got to set Sissy free!” the Rat cried, but Brian was already striding out the door, a blue carrying case in his hand.
Brian’s truck was old, loud, and rusty. Emmy, bouncing in the front seat, held Joe carefully. The Rat scrambled up to the driver’s headrest and perched there, shouting in Brian’s ear.
“Why can’t you let Sissy go?” the Rat demanded indignantly. “What has she done to you?”
Brian changed gears with a clashing noise. “What’s he saying?”
Emmy repeated the Rat’s words.
“Sorry,” he yelled over the roar of the truck’s engine. “My uncle left me in charge. I can’t just start letting the rats go, they’re his business.”
“Have a heart!” the Rat cried. “She’s been in a cage for years! Your uncle has no right—”
“Give it a rest, Ratty, he can’t understand you,” said Emmy. “I don’t know why.”
Brian accelerated over a series of potholes, and the Rat’s voice cut off abruptly. He hung on to the headrest with all four paws.
“Joe! You okay?” Emmy asked.
“S … sort of.” Joe hung on to her thumb, looking sick. “Are we almost there?”
Emmy looked out the window. “Yes—I see my house. There’s Jems, driving out—”
She gasped. She had forgotten! With everything that had happened, she had forgotten. It was six o’clock, and Jems was driving to the airport to pick up her parents. She could see his taillights glowing at the end of the block.
Emmy stared out the window, unblinking. She had missed meeting her parents, the best part of all, and now she had to face Miss Barmy. Who knew what the nanny might do to punish her for being late and skipping gymnastics … she might not get to see her parents at all tonight. She sat in silent misery, a dull weight in her chest.
“Here we are!” said Brian cheerfully. “And there’s that mean lady, waiting at the back door. Emmy?” He bent over and peered at her beneath the dashboard. “Why are you hiding?”
“I can’t face her yet. I’ve got to think up a story.”
“Who? The mean—” Brian looked embarrassed. “Sorry, is she your mom or something?”
“No, my nanny, and she’s horrible—”
“All right, just stay there if you want. I’ve got to make the delivery, though.”
Brian grabbed the blue carrying case out of the back and went up the walk, whistling. Miss Barmy stepped out.
“You’re late.” Miss Barmy’s voice was murderous.
Emmy, under the dashboard, flinched.
“Sorry, ma’am. My uncle couldn’t come himself, but I thought you’d want your delivery anyway.”
There was a silence. “You thought correctly, young man. However, I am most seriously displeased, and I shall speak to your uncle about it. Give me the case.”
Emmy looked at Joe, whose tiny face looked as puzzled as she felt.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll come to pick it up in two hours.”
“Make it three,” snapped Miss Barmy. “And when you come back, park that noisy truck a block away and walk.”
The back door slammed. Brian got into the truck and wiped his forehead. “Whew!” he said. “She’s your nanny?”
“Yeah, worse luck,” said Emmy gloomily. “Brian—what, exactly, did you deliver?”
“Some rat,” Brian said. “My uncle had it all ready in the carrying case.”
“But what is she going to use it for?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Brian started the truck. “I don’t use ’em, I just deliver ’em.”
“Wait.” Joe tugged at Emmy’s sleeve. “Aren’t we getting out here?”
Emmy nodded. “I’ve got to find out what she’s doing with that rat. Will you help me?”
“I’ll do anything, as long as I don’t have to ride in this truck anymore. I’m about to lose my lunch.”
“I’m coming, too!” The Rat leaped onto Emmy’s backpack as she slipped out of the truck and ran for the bushes.
Emmy balanced carefully on an overturned bucket that the gardener had left out.
“Careful,” said Joe, crouching in her palm as Emmy lifted him over her head. “Don’t tip so much. Up a little more …” He stepped off her hand onto the kitchen windowsill.
The Rat scurried up a woody vine that clung to the stone.
&
nbsp; “Can you see anything?” Emmy whispered.
“I see a mixing bowl, and, um, part of a stove ….” Joe pressed his small face to the glass.
Emmy leaned against the stone wall. “Do you see Miss Barmy anywhere?”
“Yeah,” said Joe. “She’s rolling something around with her hands on the counter.”
“Rolling? Like a ball?”
“Yeah, like a big—a big ball of—”
“She’s kneading dough, you dim bulb,” said the Rat. “Don’t you know anything about baking?”
“Oh, like you do,” said Joe. “Seriously, I liked you better when you didn’t talk.”
“Well, if you would ever read … Nummi Gourmet always has a whole section on breads, it’s basic—”
“Rat,” said Emmy sternly, “shut up. Joe, can you see the carrier?”
“Yes … yes, there it is. She’s opening it up now, she’s taking out this big bushy rat—”
“It’s a chinchilla, brainiac,” muttered the Rat.
“What’s she doing now?” Emmy fidgeted on the bucket.
“Okay, um—she’s got the chinchilla, and—oh my gosh!”
“What?” Emmy straightened. “I can’t see anything! What’s she doing?” She grabbed the ledge and stood on her tiptoes. The bucket teetered.
CRASH! Emmy fell through the shrubs. BANG! The bucket spun out and hit the side of the house.
“Ow!” cried Emmy as she landed, scraping an elbow. Too late, she clapped a hand to her mouth.
Above her, Joe and the Rat peered down from the windowsill.
And then, with a creak, the door opened. A metal-tipped shoe poked out. Emmy held her breath.
HONK! HONK HONK!
A yellow cab rolled up the driveway. The back door opened before the driver had time to set the brake, and Emmy’s parents spilled out, laughing and talking all at once.
“Emmy! Sweetheart, did you fall? Are you hurt?”
“Here’s my girl!” Emmy’s father reached her first and lifted her high. “You’ve grown! Keep that up and you’ll be playing basketball!”
Emmy laughed, almost giddy with joy. She was really too big to be lifted in the air by her father anymore, but she didn’t care. It felt absolutely wonderful.
“I get to hold her, too,” Emmy’s mother protested, and then they were all three hugging, Emmy in the middle and a parent on each side. Emmy was breathless by the time they set her down, but it didn’t matter. “Did you have a good trip?” she asked, beaming. “Are you going to stay home now?”
Metal-tipped shoes came tapping down the back steps. “Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Addison,” said Miss Barmy, fluffing her hair and smiling her tight-lipped smile. “I’m dreadfully sorry you had to take a cab—I did send Jems with the car. Was your plane early?”
“Nope, five thirty, right on time.” Emmy’s father nodded to the driver, who took the bags out of the trunk. “Jems wasn’t waiting, so we just took a cab. No harm done.”
Emmy glanced up quickly. So she had been right about her parents’ arrival time, and Miss Barmy had been wrong! And after all that fuss in Dr. Leander’s office, and having to swallow that stupid vitamin drink!
Emmy almost laughed. If she had come home at the time Miss Barmy said, and had ridden with Jems, she’d be sitting at the airport right now while her parents were home with the nanny.
Or was that what Miss Barmy had planned all along?
Miss Barmy came a step closer. “Emmaline has just had a fall. Perhaps she should lie down and rest.”
Emmy’s father looked at his daughter, who was shaking her head vigorously, and laughed. “She doesn’t look tired.” He patted Miss Barmy on the shoulder. “We appreciate your concern, though. It’s clear that Emmy is healthy and happy, and that’s the important thing.”
He wheeled around, looking up at the imposing stone house, the gnarled trees overhead, and threw an arm over his wife’s shoulder. “It’s great to be back, isn’t it, Kathy? Why did we ever leave in the first place?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Kathy Addison said cheerfully, brushing Emmy’s hair back from her face. “We must have been out of our minds. Let’s go inside, sweetheart. I want to hear all about school and everything else.”
Emmy turned to go in with her parents. But as she looked back over her shoulder, she saw that a muscle had begun to jump in Miss Barmy’s cheek.
“And then I got an A+ on this project, ‘Animals of India.’”
Emmy, seated on the leather couch between her mother and father, was enjoying their undivided attention. From time to time she’d reach into her binder and pull out more papers, and they admired and asked questions about every one.
Just now her father was looking through her math workbook, nodding approvingly and checking her answers. Kathy Addison was deep into Emmy’s latest book report, curled up against the sofa arm, her light brown hair falling forward against her cheek. Emmy leaned back, full of contentment.
The view outside the window was spectacular. A soft breeze moved fitfully through the big, graceful elms, making dappled and moving shadows on the wide, green lawn. Out on the lake, bright sails moved back and forth in Loon’s Bay.
It wasn’t quite like the old days, when they had all lived in the little apartment above the bookstore that Emmy’s parents had owned. The view, in those days, was of a scraggly tree and a busy street. They hadn’t had any leather couches, and their one carpet had been faded and threadbare.
Emmy pressed her feet into the thick Oriental rug and looked around at the gleaming grand piano, the fresh flowers in polished vases, the crystal chandelier. It was all very nice. Very, very nice, but—it just wasn’t very important. What was important was sitting on either side of her, and that, at least, was just like the old days.
Emmy leaned against her father’s shoulder. “Dad? Are you going to get the sailboat out this weekend?”
Jim Addison studied the lake. “I don’t see why not. The water’s a little cold, but the air is warm enough … oh, Jems, there you are!”
Jems was standing in the doorway, chauffeur’s cap in hand. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said in his dignified way. “I was told the wrong time to pick you up. I should have checked on it myself, sir.”
“No problem,” said Emmy’s father, getting up. “Say, Jems, I’d like to get the sailboat in the water tomorrow. Are you free after breakfast?”
Emmy’s eyes widened as she watched Jems walk to meet her father. Clinging to the chauffeur’s trousers, with his back paws anchored on one well-shined shoe, was the Rat—and hanging on to the other cuff was what looked like a blond action figure in a blue jersey.
She had forgotten all about Joe and the Rat, stuck on the windowsill. They must have climbed down the vine, but what were they doing hanging off Jems’s pants leg?
“Mom?” she said quickly. “Here are more reports to read, when you’re done with that one.” She added to her mother’s stack, watching her eyes.
“Mmm,” said Kathy Addison absently, turning over a page. Emmy relaxed inwardly and glanced back at the chauffeur’s ankles—but Joe and the Rat were gone.
“Psst! Don’t eat them!”
Emmy jerked her head around and saw the Rat sliding down the back of the sofa.
There was a small but decided tug on her socks. Emmy bent over as if to look in the backpack she had left on the floor—the rat pee had dried by now—and found herself staring at Joe’s tiny, worried face.
“Listen, Emmy—don’t eat them! And don’t let your parents eat them!”
“Eat what?” Emmy whispered. She glanced up through her bangs as Miss Barmy’s cane tapped into the room.
Behind her, Mrs. Brecksniff held a silver tray in her hands. And on the tray was a coffee service, with cups, plates, jam, butter, and—
“Grandmother’s potato rolls!” announced Miss Barmy.
Emmy’s mother looked up. “Oh, Miss Barmy, you shouldn’t have.”
Jim Addison chuckled. “It would hardly feel
like coming home if we didn’t get those rolls, Miss B. You must have made them for us after every single trip we’ve taken.”
“I know they’re old-fashioned,” said Miss Barmy sweetly, “but there’s nothing like the taste of bread made by loving hands.”
Mrs. Brecksniff, closely followed by her cat, set the tray on the coffee table with a thump. Muffy meowed, looking attentively at the tray.
“Sit down, Miss Barmy; you should at least enjoy the rolls with us.”
“Of course,” said Miss Barmy. “I should be honored to join you during Emmaline’s quality time.” She seated herself on a wing chair, crossing her legs at the ankles.
Emmy felt cold. It was like watching a cobra rising, getting ready to strike. What was in those rolls?
Muffy rubbed against her leg, purring. Emmy ignored her.
It didn’t matter what was in the rolls. She just had to get rid of them. But how?
The cat meowed, sounding muffled. Emmy looked down. Muffy had her head right in the backpack …
“Muffy, no!” Emmy shot off the sofa and grabbed the cat by the hind legs.
Muffy dug in her claws, looking bored. Emmy dragged her out. Relieved to see that the cat hadn’t gotten Joe or the Rat, she was about to let her go—and then she had it. Her solution.
She pinched the cat.
“Mrrrrraaoow!”
Hissing, spitting, and furious, Muffy twisted violently in Emmy’s hands. Emmy, pretending to struggle for control, waited until the perfect moment—the perfect trajectory—and let the cat go, just like a bomb over a target.
“Oh! Oh no! My potato rolls!”
The coffee was spilled. Miss Barmy was on her feet. And the potato rolls were everywhere—on the floor, behind the couch, under the table … one had even shot across the room and landed at Jems’s feet.
“Oh, gosh,” said Emmy. “I’m so sorry.”
“You—you’re sorry—” Miss Barmy gripped her cane with both hands, her knuckles white over the little carved faces.
“Maybe we could just dust the rolls off and eat them anyway,” suggested Emmy’s father.
“Jim,” said Kathy Addison, sounding amused. “The cat landed on them.”
“Ah well, we’ll have to get along without them this once. It’s too bad, Miss B.”