The Greatest Gift

by Kallie George

  She told Mr. Heartwood about it at breakfast, but he only laughed. “Grave is a groundhog, with a head half in fog. Predict they might, but they are rarely right. That’s what my grandfather used to say. Don’t listen to all their warnings. Besides,” said Mr. Heartwood, “we have plenty of food, which is all one needs for a happy winter.”

  “Except for cheese,” said Ms. Prickles, who was stirring a pot of soup on the stove with her new spoon. “There’s none left in the storage room. We must have eaten more than I thought last night.”

  “I’ll order some from the Squirrels’ Delivery Service,” said Gilles. Now that Mrs. Higgins was sleeping, he was taking over more of the housekeeping duties, along with his usual front-desk ones. “We’ll need plenty for when the hibernators wake.”

  “The Squirrels’ Delivery Service?” Mona whispered to Tilly.

  “The biggest storage and delivery service in all of Fernwood,” Tilly explained.

  Gilles went on: “We do have certain standards to uphold, after all. Even if there aren’t any new guests booked. Of course, the carpenter ants are coming. They’re expected today, to begin work on the new insect-sized suites.”

  “Yes, that is what the winter is for, rest and renovation, as all the guests snore,” said Mr. Heartwood. “And speaking of snoring, I myself am going to take a nap today.” This wasn’t surprising. After all, Mr. Heartwood was a badger. And, though badgers weren’t true hibernators, they were extra sleepy in winter. “I’m sure you will be able to handle anything that comes your way.”

  Mona was sure, too. After all, Tilly had said that nothing exciting happened in winter.

  Certainly nothing exciting happened that morning. There was even time for Gilles to frame and hang a copy of the Pinecone Press review—and polish the frame three times! Soon enough, it was early afternoon. All the rooms were clean, and Mona had just finished sweeping snow off the branch balconies. Chilled, she was taking a brief break to warm herself by the lobby fire and dry her new apron, which had gotten damp from the flakes.

  Her apron really was perfect. Not only did it fit just right, the heart looked remarkably like the one on the Heartwood door. She needed to think of a gift as nice for Tilly, for everyone. She was in the middle of pondering when the front door opened.

  Whoosh! In came a rush of snow and with it a rabbit, as white and fluffy as the flurries themselves. She was wearing a glittery scarf, neatly wrapped around her neck. In one gloved paw, she held a cane, which she tapped on the moss rug. Then she surveyed the lobby with a haughty sniff.

  “Humph. So this is the Heartwood.”

  She sniffed again. “I knew I would be disappointed. I really should stop reading that Pinecone Press. It always does exaggerate.” She tapped her cane on the rug again.

  “This is the Heartwood,” piped Mona, jumping up, smoothing her apron, and hurrying over.

  “A maid who sits by the fireplace instead of working? My, my,” said the rabbit, clucking her tongue. “In my warren, such a thing is not tolerated.”

  Mona’s cheeks flushed. “Can I help you, Ms….?”

  “It is not Ms., or Mrs., or Miss. It is Duchess, Duchess Hazeline.” She paused. “Surely you have heard of me?”

  “Actually, no, I…” Mona started.

  The Duchess sniffed again. “Really, what do mice teach their young nowadays?”

  Before Mona could say anything about being on her own, the Duchess interrupted again. “Yes, well. Suffice it to say, I am from rabbit royalty. I was on my way to a very important conference. But the snow has hindered me. I can’t stay out in it for long, or I get a terrible chill. My old coat is simply not as thick as it used to be.”

  “You don’t look that old,” said Mona, regretting the words the moment they left her mouth.

  “You are trying to flatter me,” the Duchess said, with another sniff. “I am old—that’s a fact. I hope it’s a fact, too, that this IS a five-acorn establishment.”

  “It is,” assured Mona, quickly, feeling more and more out of her depth.

  “Very well then. I will take the most luxurious accommodations you offer, until the snow passes. Which I hope will be soon. My friends are already going to be terribly disappointed that I am late.”

  “The penthouse is our best room,” said Mona.

  “Then book me in at once,” the Duchess demanded, impatiently tapping her cane on the rug again.

  Mona hesitated. She had run into trouble before while booking a guest by herself. “I just need to fetch Gilles….”

  The Duchess didn’t let her finish. “I cannot believe this!” The rabbit’s voice rose shrilly, and Mona felt sure this exchange wouldn’t end well.

  “SHHH!” came a voice from behind them.

  To Mona’s relief, Gilles emerged from the main office. “Mr. Heartwood is trying to sleep,” he said.

  Upon seeing the rabbit, he stopped in his tracks. Then, with a composure he had perfected, Gilles straightened his bow tie and strode over. “Duchess Hazeline”—he bowed—“most respected of all rabbit royalty, to what do we owe this great honor?”

  “Yes, well.” The Duchess sniffed again. “I would like to book the penthouse, at once.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Gilles. “Do you have any special requests to make your stay more pleasant, Duchess?”

  “Just a few trifles,” said the Duchess. Mona listened closely. “My sleigh is outside with my things. I would like them all unpacked. I am allergic to common grasses, so please make sure my bed is only feather or imported grass. I would like a bath drawn, too.”

  “Of course,” said Gilles again.

  Mona thought Duchess Hazeline must be finished, but she went on: “I want tea and acorn crumpets ready for me. Not covered with jellies or honey, mind. And three bowls of soup: mushroom, peppercorn, and carrot. I am not sure which I am in the mood for.”

  “That is no problem. Our cook, Ms. Prickles, makes the most delicious soups,” said Gilles. “Now, why don’t you warm yourself by the fire while we prepare everything?”

  “Very well,” she said. Then she added, “Oh, and one last thing. My paws are very sensitive. I must have carpet covering the floor. In fact, I like this one.” She tapped the lobby’s rug with her cane.

  “Oh…” Gilles faltered for the first time. And Mona could see why.

  The rug was an important part of the lobby. It was made from tree moss, a beautiful minty green, and it was the first thing you saw when you came into the Heartwood.

  “Surely that isn’t a problem?” said the Duchess. “Why, it’s only a rug, and not even as nice as the ones in my burrow.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Gilles quickly. “I will just need to wake Mr. Heartwood and ask him….”

  “Ask me what, Gilles?” Mr. Heartwood himself emerged from the office, rubbing his eyes. The fur on one side of his nose was pushed flat.

  “I—it’s…” stammered Gilles, gesturing to the Duchess, who was tapping her cane furiously.

  “Ah, Duchess Hazeline,” said Mr. Heartwood, though he did not look as impressed as Gilles had. He simply nodded and smiled. “What may we do for you?”

  The Duchess sniffed, as though waiting for someone else to explain, and Gilles said quickly, quietly, “She would like the rug in her room, Mr. Heartwood, the lobby one.”

  “Of course she would. And she shall have it. Now, dear Duchess, why don’t you rest yourself by the fire, and let me fetch you some hot honey.”

  “Humph,” muttered the Duchess. “It is about time. Not too hot, mind. I have a very sensitive stomach.”

  The Duchess strode over to one of the couches and took a seat. While Gilles hurried to the front desk to fill out the paperwork, Mr. Heartwood turned to Mona.

  “Mona, go on. Do all in your might to make sure the Duchess is treated right.”

  “Of course, Mr. Heartwood,” she replied. So much for a quiet day of gift-planning. They had a guest—the grandest guest Mona had met yet. As difficult as the royal rabbit seemed, s
he was a Duchess, and Mona couldn’t help but feel a little excited.

  “Who eats dry crumpets?” said Ms. Prickles, when Mona relayed the rabbit’s requests. “And three soups! Three! I only have one on the menu for tonight. Which means two will go to waste. I can’t make just a cup of soup, you know, dearie. Soup takes a pot.” She shook her head. With a heavy sigh, she turned to the kitchen cupboards to begin.

  Tilly’s response was the opposite, her tail bristling with energy. “A duchess! A real duchess! I wish I had been there! We have to make sure everything is perfect. Why didn’t you make a list, Mona?”

  “I couldn’t,” said Mona. “She just started talking. There was no time!”

  Tilly humphed. “Well, let’s hope you remember everything.”

  And so they scurried to work, too, collecting what they needed from the supply room, then heading upstairs.

  The Heartwood Hotel was big—really big—but Mona was finally getting to know her way around. On the main floor there were the lobby, ballroom, and dining room. The staircase wound its way up and around the center of the tree. The second floor had a games room, salon, and library for all the guests’ enjoyment, but the rest of the floors were designated for different types of guests: the trunk floor for bigger animals, the branch floors mostly for squirrels and rabbits, the twig floors for birds. At the top of the tree were the stargazing balcony and the most expensive rooms: the honeymoon and penthouse suites.

  Mona had prepared the honeymoon suite before, for the Sudsburys, a skunk couple who came every fall. And she’d booked Juniper, the June bug and hotel reviewer for the Pinecone Press, into the penthouse. Mona had been in charge of meeting the tiny June bug’s special requests, such as extra pillows and stepladders, but she hadn’t actually gotten the room ready.

  This was her first time.

  Every Heartwood room was grand. Even the staff bedroom she shared with Tilly was far nicer than anything Mona had ever had before coming to the hotel. But the penthouse was glorious!

  The bedroom was enormous, almost as big as the lobby, with a giant bed and walk-in closet, and the bathroom had not only a tub, but its own fur-dryer. Besides the bedroom and bathroom, there was a dining room, with a table and a bar that had a huge jug set up next to a sign that read HELP YOURSELF. HONEY FLOWS AT THE HEARTWOOD; and a living room with a twig couch, bookshelf, and fireplace.

  A balcony, with a railing carved to look like a ribbon of leaves, wrapped halfway around the tree. At one end, there was a perch for messenger jays. No other guests had private postal service!

  As much as Mona wanted to linger and explore the beautiful suite, they had work to do. Mona and Tilly laid out the fancy bedding, drew a bath, and started the fire. Then, while Tilly took care of the food, Mona began unpacking the Duchess’s things.

  The Duchess had six cases, which Gilles had brought upstairs, filled with more clothes and jewelry and soft-bark purses than Mona had ever seen. Things like these would make nice gifts, thought Mona. Not for Mr. Heartwood, but Tilly would probably like a purse of her own.

  Tilly! Mona looked up and noticed the squirrel was talking to her.

  “Sorry, Tilly. What did you say?”

  Tilly rolled her eyes. “Were you even listening to me? I asked, is that it? Was there anything else the Duchess wanted?”

  There was! Mona had almost forgotten to fetch the rug from the lobby. Tilly finished hanging up the scarves, and Mona dragged the rug up the stairs. She arranged it in the middle of the room.

  At last, everything was in place.

  “You can go now, Mona. I’ll show the Duchess up to her room,” said Tilly. “I’ve been here longer, after all. I have more experience with these kinds of guests.”

  Mona didn’t mind. She was sure the Duchess didn’t like her, and she doubted she could do anything to change that.

  Down in the kitchen, Ms. Prickles served Mona a bowl of leftover soup. The laundry rabbits were there, too, eating soup and gossiping.

  “She has the largest warren in Fernwood Forest,” said Maurice.

  “My cousin worked for her once,” said the other rabbit, Maggie. “There are hundreds of rooms, and all of them are empty. But the Duchess made her clean them every day!”

  “It is odd that no staff came with her. No one was even pulling her sleigh,” continued Maurice. “It’s a mystery. But who are we to question a duchess?”

  Just then, Tilly burst into the kitchen and thumped down at the table.

  “Duchess or no, I am NOT going back up there,” she cried. “She’s ridiculous! I know Mr. Heartwood would never let us growl at a guest—but sometimes I think we should be allowed.”

  “What happened?” asked Mona.

  “She didn’t want soup. She didn’t want crumpets. She demanded crumble! Cheese crumble. At once!” Tilly’s tail bristled. “She even threatened to write a letter of complaint to the Pinecone Press!”

  Ms. Prickles shook her head. “Oh dear. I don’t have any cheese left. I know that Gilles put an order in with the Squirrels’ Delivery Service, but that won’t arrive for weeks. Chestnut crumble is nice—but I’m in short supply of chestnuts, too. I just don’t understand it. We should have plenty.” Ms. Prickles shook her head again.

  “Like I said, I am NOT going back up there. Mona, YOU tell the Duchess. Good luck,” she added, rolling her eyes.

  Mona didn’t need luck. What I need is crumble, she thought as she headed out of the kitchen.

  And then, with a start, she realized she had some! The crumble Ms. Prickles had given her last night. She didn’t want to give it to the royal rabbit. But she didn’t want the royal rabbit to write to the Pinecone Press, either. They had worked so hard for their good reputation, and their five-acorn rating. Could the royal rabbit ruin that?

  So Mona hurried to her room and got the box. Passing through the lobby, she saw the carpenter ants had arrived in a troop, with lots of tiny saws and hammers. Gilles had gathered them around the table to discuss plans (though they seemed more interested in showing off their strength and kept lifting up various armchairs).

  But Mona couldn’t dawdle. She hurried upstairs, knocking on the door. “Come in,” she heard the Duchess call from within.

  Mona smoothed her apron and pushed the door open.

  Duchess Hazeline was lying on the bed, with an eye mask on.

  “I have your crumble, Duchess,” said Mona.

  “Set it on the table,” said the rabbit, with a wave of her paw. Mona was about to do so, when the Duchess sat up, peeling up her mask. “Just a moment. There have been too many mishaps here already. I would like to examine that.”

  The Duchess rose out of bed and strode suspiciously over. She opened the box in Mona’s paws and inhaled deeply.

  “See, cheese crumble,” said Mona. “With blueberry sauce.”

  “See?” The Duchess’s eyes narrowed. “See, indeed!” She snatched a card tucked in the corner of the box. “What is this?”

  “I d-don’t know,” stammered Mona, truthfully.

  The Duchess peered at it, her nose twitching furiously. “‘From Ms. Prickles, to Mona,’ it says.” Her eyes flashed almost as scarily as a wolf’s!

  “Oh!” Mona had only glanced into the box. She hadn’t seen the card.

  “Don’t tell me this crumble was meant for you?”

  Slowly, Mona nodded.

  “You cannot really expect me to eat a gift that has been already given?” she scoffed. “I have…I have had enough! I will be writing to the Pinecone Press at once!” The Duchess dramatically flung out a ringed paw, hitting the box of crumble. It flew right out of Mona’s paws and landed—upside down—on the floor. Not the floor, actually, but the rug. The beautiful Heartwood rug.

  SPLAT!

  Blueberries and cheese went everywhere.

  Mona felt her cheeks redden. That was her gift, and she hadn’t wanted to give it away in the first place. She hadn’t known there were rules about gifts. Gifts were a lot more complicated than she thought
.

  She couldn’t stop herself. “If you have to,” said Mona, “you can. But I’m really sorry. I didn’t know. Just because you’ve had lots of gifts doesn’t mean everyone has. My parents died when I was young. I’ve never had gifts before. Not until now.”

  Immediately, Mona gulped. She knew she wasn’t supposed to talk back to guests—especially a guest like the Duchess. It was one of the Heartwood’s most important rules. Now the Duchess would surely write a complaint.

  But, to her surprise, the Duchess remained calm. “Humph,” she said instead. “How little you know.” Then she straightened her posture and waved a paw. “I must rest now. I am tired. I don’t think I am hungry after all. Take that away, and we will say no more of it.”

  And so, Mona picked up one corner of the rug and dragged it out the door, relieved that the Duchess wouldn’t be complaining.

  But the rug—the beautiful Heartwood rug—was ruined.

  Mona knew that there was no way to get out the blueberry stains. And a stained rug just wouldn’t do at the Heartwood. Now there would be nothing to grace the floor of the lobby. No rug for guests to dry their feet, or to welcome in animals from the cold. Unless…

  Suddenly, Mona had an idea.

  Like the first spring flower poking out from the snow, there is nothing quite as wonderful as a new idea. The Heartwood Hotel needed a rug for their lobby. Mona could make one.

  Her father had been good with his paws, she knew that. He had carved the heart on the front door of the hotel. Her mother had been good with her paws, too: she could bake seedcakes as tasty as Ms. Prickles’s. Mona had once made a small mat to dry her feet on when she had lived in a particularly damp stump, but nothing as big as a rug. Still, she could see it now: a rug shaped like a heart, made with colorful twine—a bright welcome to all who entered the hotel. And she knew just where to find the twine. There was lots leftover from the gift-giving. She couldn’t wait to get started.

  Yet it seemed she would have to wait.