Poppy's Return

  “Lilly, do you mean to say those rumors we heard, that Poppy had a good friend who is a . . . porcupine, were true?”

  “I told you they weren’t rumors, didn’t I? And if ever there was an unpleasant, gross, offensive . . .”

  Sweet Cicely’s whiskers drooped. Her tail whipped about. With each word her voice went up. “Is Poppy bringing that . . . porcupine here?”

  “No, no,” said Lilly. “But only because I put my paw down.”

  “Oh, please, Lilly,” said Sweet Cicely. “You mustn’t even whisper the word ‘porcupine’ in the presence of your papa. You know how he still is obsessed about them.”

  “Is that you, Lilly?” called a rather feeble voice from within the boot.

  “Yes, Papa,” called Lilly. “I’m right here.”

  “Why are you wasting your time out there with your mother? You should be talking to me!”

  Mother and daughter exchanged sympathetic, knowing looks. “You’d best go in,” whispered Sweet Cicely. “I’ll be fine.” She held back the cloth that covered the entryway and whispered, “Lilly, dear, please, please, be careful what you tell him.”

  “You don’t wish me to fib, do you?”

  “No. No. Of course not. But, as my mother used to always remind me, ‘When in doubt, leave it out.’”

  “But, Mama, I have no doubts,” said Lilly. She held up her leaf packet of pine seeds. “I did bring Papa some seeds.”

  “Oh, Lilly, I do wish your father grasped what a good daughter you are.”

  Lilly smiled ruefully, gave her mother’s paw a reassuring squeeze, and went through the plaid necktie.

  CHAPTER 16

  Lungwort

  LILLY PASSED DEEP INTO THE BOOT. It was gloomy, the air suffused with the sour smell of old age and illness.

  “Come along, Lilly!” called Lungwort. “Don’t dawdle so.”

  Lilly found her father in the boot’s toe, resting on a bed of matted milkweed. Though Lungwort had been rather stout, the old mouse had become much thinner of late. His fur was almost completely gray, his tail bony. Still, his whiskers, despite having also turned quite gray, were still elegantly curled. As for the ivory thimble that he had always worn as a cap of authority, it sat beside him.

  As Lilly emerged from the gloom, Lungwort propped himself up on an elbow and looked around at her. She paused. It saddened Lilly to see how lackluster her father’s face had become. Quite pinched, it made his front teeth, which had always protruded slightly, even more prominent. His eyes, moreover, had a new and disturbing tendency to shift in and out of focus. And he often coughed—a deep, hacking wheeze that seemed to shake him deeply.

  “Did you find Poppy?” Lungwort asked immediately.

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “You didn’t meet any porcupines along the way, did you?”

  “Well . . . no, Papa.”

  “If porcupines had their way, they would take over the world.”

  “I’m sure, Papa.”

  “And that bulldozer is still there. Humans brought it, but I suspect there’s a porcupine behind it somehow. I presume you noticed I’ve had the red flag raised. Is Poppy coming?”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  The old mouse went though a fit of coughing. “I hope she knows,” he resumed, “that it’s time for her to be a dutiful daughter and meet her responsibilities. To me. To the family. This business of going off elsewhere with someone or other always was absurd. Married, the rumor is, without my permission. Then there’s that other rumor that she’s befriended a porcupine. I don’t believe that, of course, but even rumors can be disturbing. Doesn’t she understand I’ve important plans for her?”

  “What plans?” asked Lilly.

  “That’s for your sister’s ears, not yours,” said Lungwort after another brief coughing spasm. “But did you tell her all that?”

  “Yes, Papa,” said Lilly.

  “Good. I’ll explain everything to her privately, tell her just what she must do, provide good advice, point out the direction to go, and inform her about those upon whom she can rely. You’re sure you told her all this?”

  “Yes, Papa, most of it.”

  “Good. Good. Of course, I’ll be able to say it better than you. Now Lilly, I’ve no more need for you. Feel free to gossip with your mother if you like, but do let me know the moment Poppy arrives. I can’t wait to tell her what’s in store for her.”

  “Can’t you tell me?” asked Lilly.

  “No. It’s for Poppy’s ears and hers alone.” Lungwort wheezed again and fell back onto his bed.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Let me be in peace. Good-bye.”

  “Papa, I brought you some pine seeds.” Lilly held out her full leaf.

  “Fine. Fine. Just leave them and go.”

  Lilly, wiping away a tear, withdrew.

  CHAPTER 17

  Poppy’s Return

  WHEN POPPY DISCOVERED that Junior and Mephitis were not where she had left them, she was annoyed. First she thought they had simply wandered off. Only after considerable time had passed without their showing up did it occur to her that they might have gone ahead. The thought of those rude youngsters bursting upon the family without her being there to soften the way caused her considerable unease.

  Then the notion came that they might have decided to return to the snag. Yes, it was what she had wanted, but Junior and Mephitis were much too young to be traveling alone through the forest.

  Regardless, they should have told her what they were doing. “How inconsiderate!” she cried. “Why must Junior make so many problems?”

  The next moment her frustration turned to anger. “Bother on him!” she said. “I can’t wait about! If he’s gone off, that’s his problem! I hope he did go back to the snag.”

  With that, Poppy jumped into the creek and gave herself another scrubbing to get rid of any skunk stink remains. She reached the other side by wading and swimming, and then scrambled up the high bank, where she could see for some distance.

  “Oh my,” she exclaimed as she gazed upon the view that lay before her. There, in one great prospect were the Old Orchard, Gray House, Tar Road, and beyond, Bannock Hill. The setting of her entire early life—all there! With this sight came an unexpected rush of memories and emotions that had her giggling one moment—they had played hide-and-seek endlessly right there: Cousin Basil had been caught in some brambles there—while the next moment she was ready to burst into tears, for at the top of Bannock Hill was where her beloved first Ragweed had died.

  Her strong emotions took her completely by surprise. Oh, why, she heard herself thinking, did I stay away for so long? The answer came just as quickly: Because I’m not what I was— and they won’t understand!

  Poppy had to sit down. “Think good thoughts,” she urged herself. “It will be fun to visit. It will! Well,” she added ruefully, “mostly.”

  Only after some moments had passed did Poppy notice that sitting off to one side of Gray House was a yellow bulldozer—huge and powerful. It was not moving but just sitting there. Lilly had told her that everyone was sure it was poised to crush the house. How horrifying! No wonder a red flag was flying from the roof. Where would the family go? Thank goodness I have a safe place to live, Poppy reminded herself.

  Poppy knew she had lingered long enough. She had to get on. Taking a deep breath, she told herself to be brave—even as she wondered what in the world she needed to be brave about. It was her own old home, her own family she was visiting! Really! She stood up—Why are my legs feeling so weak?—and started for Gray House, her heart pounding hard.

  “Oh, you silly mouse!” Poppy cried out loud. “Stop this foolishness! It shouldn’t take courage to visit your own family!”

  Yet her next thought was Oh, but it does.

  Even so, Poppy plunged in among the high grasses, which meant she momentarily lost sight of the house. Knowing the way as if she had last walked it a day ago, she pressed on. What Poppy did not know wa
s that her path took her just a few feet from where Junior and Mephitis lay napping. She saw no sign of them.

  Poppy had almost reached the end of the orchard when she came upon a cluster of lady’s slippers. The flowers— delicate purple, pink, white, and blue—stirred gently in the calm afternoon sun, shedding the sweetest of perfumes. Poppy gazed at them. She always had loved them so. How much she would have liked to share them with her family, but they could never grow in the dim light of the forest.

  Suddenly Poppy felt a powerful longing for Rye—so steady, so kind, and so loving. And the children. How much she missed them! The next moment—Poppy was hardly aware of what she was doing—she pulled a flower down, plucked it, and began to dance. Her steps were slow and, because she was out of practice, not particularly graceful. But her old desire to dance to the vibrant music that filled her heart was as strong as ever. As she did, her mind flooded with the thought Oh, I do love being alive!

  She stopped, abruptly. “Poppy!” she scolded herself. “You are being ridiculous! You are the mother of eleven!” With a self-deprecating snort, she tossed the flower away, only to regret her gesture. She ran to retrieve it and nuzzled the supple petals by way of asking forgiveness. Then she laid the flower down with humble reverence. “Silly mouse!” she said out loud, giggled, and gave herself a hug. Now she felt ready to face whatever lay ahead.

  Gray House loomed before her. She stopped and considered it: it seemed smaller than she remembered and much more dilapidated, truly a wreck.

  “Hello there!” came a voice.

  Poppy started. For a moment she couldn’t speak to the mouse who stood before her.

  “May I be of some help—,” began the other mouse. He gasped. “Good gracious,” he cried. “It’s Poppy! Don’t you recognize me? It’s Basil!”

  “Basil!” screamed Poppy. And she threw her paws about her favorite cousin.

  Then came a torrent of questions and statements, both of them talking simultaneously: “How are you—You look so good—I am so happy to see you—It’s been so long—You don’t know how often I’ve thought of you—Why have you never visited?—Are you happy?—No, no, it’s you I want to know about! I am so glad to see you—You’ve hardly aged at all—Neither have you—You should have sent word— How is your family?—Tell me everything you’ve been doing—What’s new?—What’s old?—You must meet my wife—You must meet my husband—You look wonderful— Oh my, it’s so exciting to see you!”

  Who said what, or when, and what might have been answers, or questions, or statements, neither knew, neither cared, neither bothered to know, and besides, it did not really matter, not one bit, no, no, not at all! For when they had gone through all of that, they started right in again with the same questions, the same answers, only perhaps a little slower. And perhaps a few new answers were slipped in, though neither cared to explain much about their own lives in their rush to find out everything about the other. That accomplished, or at least partly accomplished, they hugged each other yet again and laughed and cried.

  At last Poppy said, “Lilly came and told me things were not good here. That’s why I came. Basil, is it really true?”

  “Actually, life is pretty much as it was when you left,” said Basil. “Except Lungwort is quite a bit older. Not his old self. We are very crowded. And then there’s that.” He nodded to the bulldozer.

  “When will it happen?” asked Poppy.

  “No one knows for certain,” said Basil. “Probably soon. That makes us all jumpy. But we can talk about that later. Let’s get to the house. We knew—or at least hoped—you were coming. Everybody is dying to see you.”

  Poppy grinned.

  They hurried toward the house.

  Now Poppy met first one relation and then another and another. Everywhere she was greeted with excitement and warmth, hugs and caring questions. “Hey, Poppy! So glad to see you! Where you been so long?” she heard over and over again. By the time she reached the steps to Gray House, so many well-wishers and greeters surrounded her, it was hard to keep going. In the midst of it all Poppy, feeling so very happy, could hear herself thinking, Why was I ever worried?

  Then she looked up. There was Sweet Cicely. She was standing right next to Lungwort—supporting him, really. Oh my! The two had aged a good deal. But, as always, her father had his thimble cap on his head. He was looking very stern, and he was saying: “There you are, Poppy. What’s taken you so long, mouse? Come along now. There are urgent things to decide!”

  In an instant it was exactly as it had been before: her stern, pompous father, telling her, a rather timid little mouse, what to do. Lungwort spoke as if time had not passed, as if life had not changed. But it has, thought Poppy as she started forward. It has!

  CHAPTER 18

  Poppy and Lungwort

  THE CROWD QUIETED. A clear pathway was opened. Poppy felt her paw squeezed, and Basil’s voice came in her ear: “You can handle it.”

  Poppy barely had time to nod before climbing the steps. She gave her mother a hug—or at least started to. Sweet Cicely held her daughter away and wrinkled her nose. “Poppy, dear,” she said, “you’re older!” It sounded like an accusation.

  Before Sweet Cicely could speak another word, Poppy heard Lungwort say, “Come, come, Poppy. Don’t dawdle.” He grabbed her paw even as he coughed. “You and I have vital things to discuss.”

  Poppy let herself be pulled into the house. Lilly was there, frowning. Poppy smiled weakly at her, tried to hold back again, but her father led her away. Not even Sweet Cicely was allowed to come along.

  As Poppy went with Lungwort, she looked about in astonishment: Gray House was not the way she recalled it. It was so much more crowded. Mice were milling about like a parade that had nowhere to go. A beehive had more privacy. There hardly seemed room for living. With yelling the principal mode of communication, Poppy’s ears rang with squeak and squeal as mice talked, argued, and chatted. The calm, still world of Dimwood Forest was as distant as the moon.

  Within moments Poppy and Lungwort were deep in the old farmer’s boot. After the bright sun, the noisy, warm reception by her family, and the chaos of the house, Poppy found the boot gloomy, stifling.

  Lungwort had set his thimble cap down to one side and eased himself, with a slight cough, onto his milkweed bed. There he lay, panting and wheezing from his exertions. Poppy studied him. He had aged considerably. His face had thinned. His gaze was unsteady, his breath uneven. He’s fragile, she thought. Even the ivory thimble lacked its normal polish. All the same she asked, “How are you, Papa?”

  Lungwort batted the air with a paw as if it were an irritant. “Now Poppy, no need to waste time on chatter about foolish matters. I dislike chitchat. We’re at a momentous point in the history of this illustrious family. One of those moments that have marked the past—and will no doubt mark the future—with a sense of profound history.”

  “Papa,” said Poppy, “do you mean the possible destruction of Gray House?”

  “Well, yes, there’s that. Of course. But what I had in mind—in particular—was your future.”

  “Mine?” cried a startled Poppy.

  “Don’t interrupt. Just listen.” Lungwort fussed with his whiskers. “Now then, your first order of business will be to rid us of the threat of that machine of destruction—the bulldozer.”

  “Papa,” said Poppy, “I don’t have any idea how to do that.”

  “Then you had best find one,” said her father. “Secondly, you need find a solution for the overcrowding here.”

  “It does seem bad. What about the place I found near New House?”

  “Never been there. I like it here. Anyway, I’m told it’s become just as crowded. Besides, it’s Gray House that should concern you. It’s your ancestral home. So, finally, it’s about time you assumed your role as the head of this great family, Poppy.”

  “Me! The head!”

  “Yes, you. You are the one I’m appointing.”

  Poppy stared at her father in astoni
shment. Perhaps it was because she didn’t want to think of what he had said, but the next moment she thought of something else: she had not seen Junior at Gray House. If he was not here, where could he be?

  CHAPTER 19

  Junior’s Color

  IN THE OLD ORCHARD Mephitis woke from his nap. Even so, he lay quietly beneath the warm late afternoon sun, enjoying his drowsiness and the sun-stroked warmth of his black fur. Only gradually did he allow himself to recall where he was and what he was doing: visiting Junior’s family. That caused him to think of his own family, but when he did, his feelings of pleasure faded, replaced by melancholy.

  He looked about for Junior. When the skunk realized Junior was no longer leaning against him, he became alarmed. Sitting up on his rear legs, he looked about. His best friend was walking toward a bush. “Hey, where you going?” Mephitis called.

  “That blackberry bush,” said Junior. “I can use the berries to make myself black again. That way, when I tell my mother’s family that we’re brothers, at least we’ll look it.”

  “That’s cool,” said the skunk, pleased by the idea.

  Using his tail to balance himself, Junior stood on his rear legs to pluck a large, ripe berry. “Come here!” he shouted. Mephitis waddled over. “Squeeze the berry down over me,” Junior proposed.

  Mephitis took the blackberry and smashed it between his front paws. When the juice ran down, Junior rubbed it deep into his fur. They repeated this a few times.

  “How do I look?” Junior finally said, stepping back from the skunk.

  “Well . . . freaking weird.”

  “How come?”

  “Mouse, you’re all . . . red.”

  “Red!”

  “Like a radish.”

  Junior looked down at himself, back and front. “How come they call them blackberries?” he asked.

  “Don’t ask me,” said Mephitis. “I didn’t name the things.”