Alice grabbed Hitch’s collar with both hands. “I’ll try, but don’t count on it.”
Lydia ran up the steps and scooped up Hatshepsut, who finally quieted down and retreated with wounded dignity, tucking her head under Lydia’s arm. Lydia was pleased to be trusted that way, except that having a chicken under her arm turned out to be ticklish.
“Be still, at least,” she told Hatshepsut. “When you move, you tickle more.”
“Lydia, I can’t hold him,” said Alice.
Hitch’s interest in the chicken had only increased when Lydia picked her up. Deciding he wanted a closer look, he’d already dragged Alice up several steps.
It wasn’t hard to choose between letting Hatshepsut get more upset and letting Alice be knocked around on the stairs. “Save yourself! Let go of him!”
Alice did let go, and Hitch pressed onward. To be fair, it was his only choice. Because he was too big to turn around on the stairs, the only way back down was backward, which is difficult enough for a dog with four legs, but nearly impossible for one with only three.
“Dad!” screamed Alice. “If you can hear me, we need help!”
Cagney came right away. He’d brought along a hammer, in case Alice’s cry for help meant she needed rescuing from a terrifying intruder. At first this seemed to be true—his young daughter and her friend hemmed in by a gigantic beast—but then he noticed that Alice wasn’t frightened and that Lydia was giggling. The tickling had started up again.
Cagney put down his hammer. “Alice, where did you get that horse?”
“He’s a dog, not a horse,” said Alice. “Could you take Hatshepsut from Lydia, please?”
“She’s tickling me,” added Lydia.
Cagney’s phone beeped. “Nat? Alice has gotten a horse stuck on our steps.”
“He’s not a horse!” protested Alice.
Her father waved at her to be quiet. “Batty’s ex-boyfriend?…Stay here? It’s fine with me.”
“Mr. Pelletier, Wesley can build and fix things,” said Lydia.
“Carpentry?”
“Anything.”
Cagney went back to the phone. “Ask if he’d mind helping with the benches and tables….Great. Let me know what happens.” He hung up.
“Is Wesley staying with us?” asked Alice. “I love Hitch very much.”
“Hitch is the horse?”
Hitch took a moment away from Hatshepsut to gaze sadly at Cagney.
Cagney nodded back at him. “My apologies. I do know you’re a dog. Here, Lydia, hand Hatshepsut over to me.”
Her eyes shut, preparing for death, Hatshepsut was successfully passed across the dog to the shelter of Cagney.
“Thank you,” said Lydia, glad to be done with the tickling.
“You’re welcome. Now, truth time, Alice. I understand that Hitch belongs to Batty’s ex-boyfriend, but why is he on our stairs?”
“We’re showing him Jack’s room, in case he and Wesley end up sleeping here.”
“I suppose that makes sense. Don’t let him eat Jack’s furniture.”
Cagney took Hatshepsut outside, and Hitch docilely followed Lydia up the stairs to the second floor.
“There’s my room,” Alice said as she came up behind them. “It’s right next to Jack’s room, so we’ll be very close to you at night.”
He allowed himself a polite glance, just in case there was more livestock in there.
“If he stays here,” said Lydia.
“Right. Oh, Lyds, I have an idea. Take Hitch into my closet and wait.”
Lydia understood right away. They would show him how they could communicate by knocking on the wall between the closets. Maybe they’d work out a code. One knock for “hello,” two for “meet me in the hallway.” If he stayed.
But once in the room, Lydia had trouble distracting Hitch from the alien costume, resting on the floor next to Alice’s bureau. The tights, especially, were a lure, with their glued-on chicken feathers. To get Hitch into the closet, Lydia told him a white lie, though it could have been true, she just didn’t know if it was—that the feathers had been taken not from Hatshepsut, but from Nefertiti.
At last he believed her, and went into the closet just as a chunk of cardboard flew off the wall, barely missing Lydia. It looked like Alice wasn’t going to be content with a knocking code—she was over there tearing open a hole.
“Won’t Jack be angry?” asked Lydia, ducking a wad of tape.
“I’ll fix it before he comes home.” Alice’s face appeared at the hole. “Hello, Hitch. This is going to be our secret communication spot while you stay here.”
“If he stays,” protested Lydia. “Don’t raise his hopes.”
Hitch stuck his nose through to Alice, dislodging another piece of cardboard. This seemed to please him—his madly wagging tail was banging against anything nearby, including Lydia. She tried to think of a way to make him less happy, but before she could, he’d backed away from Alice and was kissing Lydia in gratitude for—what?—letting him bust up cardboard?
“See how much he loves it here?” asked Alice through the hole. “He just has to stay.”
Lydia knew she should argue, but Hitch’s kisses were ruining her ability to remain neutral. She kissed him back, and let herself hope with all her heart that he and Wesley would end up visiting for a while.
IT HADN’T BEEN EASY to dislodge Wesley from his campground plan. He didn’t want to intrude on the Pelletiers, or on Batty. But Ben had fought hard to persuade him to stay at the cottage, and Natalie had fought along with Ben, knowing that Cagney would appreciate the extra help with tables and benches. Jane said she was fine with whatever Batty decided. And when Batty let it be known—with Jeffrey acting as intermediary—that she didn’t mind having Wesley and Hitch at the cottage as long as they stuck to that side of the estate, Wesley surrendered to the majority.
Lydia and Alice learned all this when Ben delivered Wesley to the cottage and introduced him to Cagney. Ben also brought Lydia a note from Batty. Give Hitch a kiss from me. I wish I could see him, but it tore my heart saying good-bye to him last time and I can’t do it again. P.S. I feel the same way about Wesley, not the part about wishing I could see him—because I don’t—but that I can’t see him for the same reason I can’t see Hitch. P.P.S. Don’t try to tell me that Wesley’s broken clutch cable has anything to do with destiny. It doesn’t. Hugs.
Even Charlene with the clutch cable was working in the girls’ favor. Her delivery service couldn’t get it to Wesley until the next afternoon—by the time he’d completed the installation, it would be too late to get on the road again. He and Hitch would be at the cottage for another forty-two hours, nearly eternity, and for much of it, Lydia and Alice would have Hitch all to themselves.
While Wesley went to work on benches and tables, Lydia and Alice went on their first adventure with Hitch. They took him to the stream that cut across one corner of the estate, far behind the cottage, hidden behind rough brush and trees.
All three walked boldly into the water and enjoyed doing so, except that Alice thought the stream would be better if it were deeper. This led to the idea of building a dam, which Hitch embraced enthusiastically, sitting down in the water and using his one front paw to dig mud. As quickly as he could dig it, the girls used it to build a dam wall.
“It’s beginning to work,” said Alice. “Look, the water is getting trapped.”
“We’re like beavers,” said Lydia.
“Dig, Hitch, dig!”
And Hitch continued to dig, and the dam wall continued to grow, until the girls realized that if they went much farther, they could cause a flood. But once they explained the situation to Hitch, he was just as happy to help knock down the wall as he had been to help build it. Everyone got filthy in the process and had to be hosed down by Cagney and Wesley when they went back
to the cottage. But not until after Alice had asked for a photo to be taken and sent to Jack, along with this message: This is Hitch, the world’s greatest dog, and he’s here with me, not you. Ha-ha. Love, Alice.
That was when Hitch noticed the chicken pen, which appeared to be deserted. He sat down and stared into it anyway. And stared. And stared.
“They’re hiding from you,” Alice told Hitch. “There’s nothing to see.”
“Wouldn’t you rather do more exploring?” asked Lydia. “Oh, wait, here comes somebody.”
It was Cleopatra VII, poking her head out of the little henhouse. Hitch started forward eagerly, and she instantly withdrew.
“This is a waste of time, Hitch,” said Alice.
But now Hatshepsut strutted out of the henhouse. It seemed that she’d decided to stop being intimidated by the huge dog. Either that or she was showing off for her friends. Or, possibly, her small chicken brain had misplaced the memory of her former encounter with him. The why didn’t matter to Hitch. He was simply pleased to see Hatshepsut again, and decided to watch her for as long as she was there to watch. She climbed up onto the roof, he nodded his approval, she flapped her wings—which he thought delightful—she turned her back on him, he didn’t care. And so it went until Alice and Lydia got bored. As much as they loved Hitch, watching him watch Hatshepsut wasn’t their idea of a good time. They decided to put together more fabric and yarn creations while they waited, and this is what they did. Hitch continued to be so intent on Hatshepsut that he didn’t notice the decorations that kept being tied to his collar, until he was superb, an extravaganza of color.
“Canis regalis,” said Lydia. “Now he needs a crown.”
Alice pulled out a piece of yellow fabric. “Let’s make him one.”
* * *
—
“Death!” Alice pulled on one leg of her alien tights. “I haven’t been thinking about it nearly enough.”
Ben had scheduled the alien shoot for sunset, and it was getting close to that now. He’d wanted Alice to mull over death ahead of time, to get herself in the right frame of mind. Lydia didn’t believe Alice needed encouragement to think about death.
“Death, death, death,” said Lydia. “There, that’s plenty.”
“I guess so.” Alice started putting on her leotard. “Do you think Batty might change her mind about seeing Wesley and fall back in love and then Hitch can stay even longer?”
“No. And, anyway, the wedding is in three days, and then we’ll all be leaving.”
“I don’t want you to leave, either.”
Lydia preferred not to think about it. “Let’s pretend I’m not.”
The alien head would wait until they got downstairs. They carried it together, handling it like the precious object it was. It had survived the shoots leading up to this one—no point in causing damage now, before the very last scene. When they safely reached the first floor, Alice knelt, making it easier to receive her cranial burden.
“Is it straight?” asked Lydia.
“Little bit to the right. Yes, there.” Alice stood up, an alien complete. “Cold, lonely death. Go see if Wesley’s in the kitchen.”
Wesley knew the shoot was coming—he’d agreed to come along, to help Hitch with his part—but he hadn’t yet seen the glory that was Alice the alien. Lydia went to the kitchen to make sure the time was right for the unveiling. Natalie was hand-stitching the hem of a bridesmaid dress, Cagney was drinking coffee, and Wesley was stretched out on the floor beside the dishwasher, which was no longer in its usual place, but out from under the counter and on its back. Hitch was being Wesley’s assistant, sitting patiently nearby, with a screwdriver in his mouth. His collar was still bedecked with yarn from earlier that day, but he’d refused the crown, indeed burying it beside the chicken coop.
“Wesley heard a rattling noise in the dishwasher,” said Cagney.
“He seems to know as much about dishwashers as he does about carpentry,” added Natalie.
Lydia recognized the metal toolbox on the floor near Wesley. After he’d fixed both the refrigerator and washing machine at home, her father had dubbed him the Appliance Whisperer. Machinarum susurrator.
“He knows about everything,” she said.
“No, I don’t.” Wesley held up a teeny tiny button. “Here’s what was rattling. It was caught in the pump.”
“Nat,” said Cagney. “Have your stuffed dolls been using the dishwasher again?”
Natalie took the button and pocketed it. “I’ve told them and told them, but they don’t listen. Thank you, Wesley. I feel foolish.”
“Don’t. I found a chip of mica in the Penderwicks’ washing machine filter.”
“Ben’s,” said Lydia. “Not mine.”
Ready to reassemble the machine, Wesley put out his hand for the screwdriver. Hitch passed it over and, his job done, went to stare out the back door. He’d done this off and on through dinner, looking always for Hatshepsut, or any other chicken who might show her face.
As Cagney and Wesley shoved the dishwasher back under the counter, a muffled cry for Lydia came from the hall. The alien was weary of waiting.
“Sorry!” called Lydia. “You can come in now.”
Alice leapt into the room. “Behold, Wesley! I am Alice the Amazing Alien!”
“Terrifying,” said Wesley.
“I’m not just terrifying.” Alice let the head droop to one side. “I’m also tragic.”
“Come over here, honey,” said her mother. “Looks like one of the ears needs a few more stitches.”
“Are we ready for the shoot?” The alien turned toward the back door. “Hitch?”
Wesley snapped his fingers and Hitch left his chicken-surveillance post.
“We’re ready,” said Wesley.
When they left, the sun was going down, and twilight was thickening around them. Wesley and Lydia walked on either side of Alice, helping her navigate the terrain she could barely see through her eyeholes. Hitch followed, his ears cocked, listening to the day birds announcing the coming of night, a thousand and one cicadas practicing their scales, up and down, up and down, and the hoo-hoo of an owl, a night bird warning the small meadow creatures that his hunt would soon begin.
“Hoo-hoo,” imitated Alice.
Hitch trotted up, staring at her alien head, then sniffed at the chicken feathers on her legs, then stared at her alien head again. He seemed to be trying to fit the sound of the owl in with the feathers of a chicken, not to mention the head of an alien.
“It’s just Alice,” said Lydia.
“Now I’ll be a raven.” Alice caw-cawed throatily, as if a frog had turned into a bird. “Jeffrey can make that sound on his clarinet.”
Even more perturbed by the raven than the owl, Hitch poked at Alice with his big nose until Wesley snapped his fingers. Hitch dropped back and returned to listening to actual birds.
“He seems like a nice guy,” said Wesley.
“Jeffrey?” said Lydia.
“Nice!” Alice’s voice exploded out of the alien head. “He’s like a perfect human being.”
“No one is perfect,” said Lydia, but then couldn’t think of anything wrong with Jeffrey. “He has a clump of hair that used to stick up. I’ve seen it in old pictures.”
“Hair can’t count, because what about bald—”
Alice tripped on a fallen branch but was rescued in time by Wesley.
“He taught Batty music when she was young?” he said.
“Piano, mostly,” said Lydia. “I mean, he got her started on it when she was five, and from then on, he was always kind of her mentor—she called it mentore. That’s Italian.”
She started to sing “mentore, oh, oh,” to the tune of a song called “Volare.” It was a good song for a moonlit night, and she was inspired to dance along. And then Alice joined in w
ith the singing—she knew all the words, and just substituted mentore for volare at the appropriate spots—and tried a few dance steps, too. Until she almost tripped again.
“Careful,” said Wesley.
“My mom likes that song,” said Alice. “My dad says it’s because she dated a guy named Angelo in high school.”
Lydia heard what could have been a quiet chuckle, and looked quickly at Wesley. There were crinkles around his eyes, so it could have been him. Or it could have been another bird or beast.
“What are you giving Rosy for a wedding gift?” she asked him.
“One of my mobiles.”
“You mean, like Batty’s? Oh, I love that. Alice, you should see it, all these adorable Hitches of different sizes, hanging from wires, spinning around. Lucky Rosalind!”
“Rosy’s has flowers instead of dogs. I’m going to make a mobile for Skye, too, once I get settled out west.” He pulled a piece of wood out of his pocket and handed it to Lydia. “What do think of this?”
It was a goofy little star, chunky around the middle, its rays spread out unevenly. Wesley had given it as much personality as the tiny Hitches on Batty’s mobile. This star was optimistic and also humble, yet still aware of its importance in the universe.
“I like it very much,” she said. “You are a great artist.”
“I just make things.”
Lydia tried to show Alice the star, but no matter where she held it, it was either too close and looked like a blob or too far away and looked like nothing. Lydia was still trying to find the happy in-between when a peal of thunder came rolling out of the west. She and Wesley checked the sky. It was still clear, the rising moon shining brightly, but dark clouds were gathering. No time left for chatting or singing. Rain was coming.
The death scene had originally been planned for the springhouse. But because of Batty’s edict about Hitch and Wesley sticking to the cottage side of the estate, Ben had moved it to Blossom’s gate. While the springhouse would have been better, nothing would beat having Hitch in the scene.
When they arrived, Ben already had the tripod and camera set up several yards from the gate. Lydia was now experienced enough to get her own equipment ready, connecting the headset to the receiver, and the receiver to the camera, while Ben attached the microphone to Alice.
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