The Hedgehog of Oz Page 12

  “No,” said Scamp. “I’ll find it. Just give me a min—”

  Everyone startled as Ingot hammered a foot into the soft ground. “I am not just thinking about myself here, girl!” he thundered. “Marching through the forest without a notion to go on is not a walk in the park! If we continue, we run the risk of being miles from this city of yours! And if we run into trouble after dark—well, I’ve had enough excitement!”

  Marcel winced. Ingot didn’t know how nightmarish a walk in the park could actually be. The wailing wind and wild animals were one thing. But nothing’s worse than thinking you’ve lost the one thing you love most. And nothing’s scarier…

  Than wondering if maybe it had all been a mistake.

  “Just can’t figure it out,” Ingot went on. “All this talk of boundaries. Monk talking like the field’s his. And Wickedwing’s where? Who this Whizzer is, is anyone’s guess! I don’t like it. But what I do know is where we’re standing now isn’t our territory, and if we get caught like we were earlier, I fear the outcome won’t be the same!”

  Scamp was ready for a fight. “Wickedwing, Wickedwing, Wickedwing! I’m so sick of her and everything else! I’m sick of running! Sick of moving! Sick of everyone being so scared all the time! Look at us! We’ve been so afraid of that old witch, and have we gotten even a glimpse of her? NO! She’s probably moved on! Probably miles down the river and never coming back! That night in the cornfield? I bet it was that old hawk we saw during the day! Wickedwing—” She spat on the ground.

  “Don’t tempt fate, Mouse. Just because you can’t look evil in the eye doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

  “I know that,” snapped Scamp. “I know it more than you! I lived in that orchard too. I know all about the owl! I know things you don’t!”

  “Doubtful!” Ingot spat back. “I was governor of these parts before your daddy’s granddaddy’s granddaddy was even born! That field? I looked out for it!”

  Ingot went on.

  “I knew everyone and everything that went on, and now there’s nothing, no one! I’ve seen what that owl can do, and I’ll tell you what happened. What happened is she’s hunted that field until there wasn’t anyone left to hunt, and she’s just waiting till she gets hungry enough to come looking for us! You and your big ideas. Head so big you’d probably trot right out if she knocked on your door! Young and foolish—”

  “And you’re a mean, fuzz-ball fossil! And scared!” Scamp’s whiskers stood on end and she clawed at her cheek and neck. “And I am not foolish! I’m small, but I’m not dumb! What do you think I was doing while you all were sleeping under that fruit crate in the orchard! I was collecting information! The rabbit—she said it’s the seagulls who’re carting animals away! Why do you think they’re there anyway? Besides, Wickedwing would’ve never let them sleep out in the open like that!”

  Scamp narrowed her eyes at the old squirrel. “Shows what you know, you old bristle-tail. Most folks left before that anyway. The mice did. And seems everyone else did too, after I—”

  Scamp instantly bit off her words, and her eyes grew wide. “I… I…”

  “You what?” shouted Ingot.

  “I… I—”

  “Spit it out, girl!”

  Scamp flopped onto the ground, covered her head, and began to wail. “I didn’t mean to! I was only using it for target practice! And anyway, no one told me the box on the side of the well was rat poison! Who leaves rat poison just sitting there anyway?”

  Ingot leaned over to Marcel. “What’s she talking about?”

  “She poisoned the water supply,” Marcel explained. “It wasn’t her fault.”

  Ingot’s head drooped. He looked very tired all of a sudden. “I’m sorry. I got carried away again. I didn’t know, kid. I never should have said those things. I—”

  “Don’t worry,” Scamp said, and stood. Her eyes were red and puffy. “I’m used to it. You get used to people thinking you’re stupid and reckless and wild and blaming you for everything. For being the reason the whole town had to leave and find another place—again. I’m used to people looking down on me. You’re not special.” She wiped her nose with an arm. “And by the way, the poison didn’t hurt anybody. Old Mrs. Sniffers acted a little strange after she took a few sips of that poison water, but she was always a little weird.”

  “I think none of those things. I’m—I’m sorry. I spoke harshly,” said Ingot. He rubbed his forehead. “Maybe we need a little break.”

  Scamp stomped over and disappeared behind a rock. “Just leave me alone,” she said quietly.

  Ingot stared off in Scamp’s direction. He sat, leaned against a tree, and closed his eyes.

  Marcel looked down at his feet. He patted Tuffy’s hand. And then he did what he always did when he didn’t really know what to do.

  He got a snack.

  Marcel led Tuffy off, and together they rounded up a few rubbery mushrooms. Tuffy found a walnut. Marcel plucked four shriveled blackberries from a wild vine, and though they weren’t perfect, he could smell some juice in them still.

  One for Scamp. One for Ingot. One for Tuffy. And one for him.

  It felt a little hopeful.

  The air grew colder as he and Tuffy searched, and a wind kicked up. The bones of the trees creaked and groaned, and Marcel checked to make sure Tuffy wasn’t frightened.

  The tyke stood a little way off, a large tear slipping down his face.

  “Tuffy wants to be going home. I’m tired of the sad-trees.”

  “Oh, Tuffy.” Marcel sighed.

  The two of them settled under a tree with trailing branches like a curtain. It was like one of Dorothy’s forts, Marcel realized. Her forts had been his favorite.

  They always had plenty of snacks.

  Marcel had a thought. “Would you like to see what’s in my pack? I bet you can’t guess.”

  Three Fruit Gems were all that remained. Marcel pulled one out. Tuffy’s ears wiggled, but he did not smile. Marcel broke off a piece and handed it to him. “Try it; it’s good,” he said.

  Tuffy sat holding the candy in his lap…

  And looking as dismal as a bucket of spilled popcorn in an empty theater.

  Spilled popcorn.

  The memory blew in like a breeze.

  It was a few weeks after Dorothy had been spending more and more time away from Marcel. Planning a science project after school. Meeting friends at the mall. Even when Marcel and Dorothy were together, she’d been a bit distracted. Always fiddling with her phone. Chatting about school and books and boys. The boy. Ethan.

  At first Marcel had used the time to get some exercise—taking laps around her room, tunneling through the laundry piled on the floor, pushing around the miniature soccer ball he’d found under the bed.

  But after time, Marcel began to feel hurt. Weren’t they Lady and the Tramp? Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers? Batman and Robin—the dynamic duo? Had something changed? Didn’t Dorothy want to spend time with him anymore? Had he been replaced?

  And then, after a long week of play practices and very few belly rubs, Dorothy came into the room with a big bowl of popcorn, and Marcel’s heart soared.

  She hadn’t forgotten him! They’d curl up in a pillow fort and share their favorite snack. Marcel wondered what movie they’d watch. It didn’t matter, of course, but he hoped Dorothy would choose their favorite, The Wizard of Oz.

  But that’s not what happened. Dorothy settled the bowl on the edge of the desk, pulled out some homework, and got to work. Here and there she reached over for a handful of popcorn.

  She didn’t offer him any.

  Popcorn. Butter. Parmesan cheeeeeeese. They called to him. His belly was hungry, but his heart was hungrier.

  Sadness, frustration, even anger bubbled up inside him. He put one paw in front of the other, climbed his tunnel to the top of the desk, and ran to the bowl.

  Even later he could never tell how much had been accidental and what was on purpose, but what happened next was the bowl toppled
over the edge and landed facedown in his litter box.

  Marcel stared at it, stunned. Dorothy did too.

  What had he done?

  He’d acted as brainless as a scarecrow, as heartless as a tin man, as cowardly as a lion afraid of everything. And then instinct took over and Marcel popped into a ball and shook.

  He felt Dorothy’s hands pick him up. She brought him close to her face.

  “Oh, Marcel. I’m so sorry.”

  Marcel popped out of his ball. Dorothy kissed him on the nose. “I’ll be right back,” she said, depositing him on the bed.

  And when she came back?

  She was carrying the biggest bowl of popcorn he’d ever seen.

  “I made enough for us both,” Dorothy had said, licking Parmesan off a finger.

  She said it like nothing in the world. Like he hadn’t just spilled her popcorn. Like there was nothing to forgive.

  And that’s when Marcel knew.

  That through the ups and the downs, whether near or far, that no matter what happened—

  He’d spend the rest of his life hopelessly in love with her.

  Love isn’t always some grand, romantic thing, like in the movies.

  Sometimes it’s a kind gesture, forgiveness… a second bowl of popcorn.

  Marcel swallowed hard. Maybe he had made a mistake. Maybe Dorothy had never stopped loving him. Maybe she loved him the exact same way he loved her! Maybe he’d run away for nothing.

  Marcel shook his head firmly.

  The boy, the bird, the bicycle basket, the basset hound.

  The boy who’d stolen Dorothy’s heart.

  The bird who was right. Hadn’t Marcel been through it before with Sweetie Jones? The more and more they spend time away, the sooner they give you up, or…

  They post a sign.

  The bicycle basket.

  “That your nest there?” the bird had asked. And it was, in a way. The wicker basket on Dorothy’s bicycle was what he traveled in whenever Dorothy brought him along for the ride. But looking up at it then, he’d noticed something he’d never seen before. A sign. It hadn’t been visible from his spot in the basket, but sitting there on the ground, he’d had a perfect view of its two words.

  FOR SALE.

  The first time Marcel had ever seen a sign like that was at the pet shop. He hadn’t really understood what it meant then, but the day that Darla Pickens rang Ed’s—Ed-who-liked-Marcel’s-spines-until-he-didn’t’s—doorbell, holding a piece of paper with Marcel’s picture on it and those same two words, he’d understood clearly.

  “For sale” means that the pleasure of your company has a price. And in his experience, it really wasn’t worth a lot.

  Whether that sign was for Marcel’s basket, or whether it was meant for him, it seemed pretty clear Dorothy wasn’t planning on any more bike rides together.

  As he and the bird had walked away from the backpack, the bicycle, the tree, the bird had looked back, shaking her head. “It’s a shame,” she’d said. “It was a nice nest. They usually are. But once you leave the nest, you can never go back. That’s the rule.”

  Later, the basset hound had said something along those lines too.

  What’s done is done. The past is the past. All there is, is now.

  And now, as he sat next to Tuffy, both of them staring at the morsel of Fruit Gem in the raccoon’s hands, Marcel knew he had a job to do. Right now. In this moment.

  Scamp was a clump of insecurities.

  Old Ingot was a solitary tin can of tribulations.

  Tuffy—the scared little guy just wanted to get home.

  It had been only a couple of days, but Marcel found he’d grown to love this ragtag bunch. And he’d help them—love them—the only way he knew how.

  A kind gesture, forgiveness—maybe not popcorn, but something equally good.

  Something warm and wonderful.

  “Tuffy,” said Marcel, feeling his chest fill like a soda bubble and a small smile creep to his lips. “I’d like to tell you a story. It’s a story about… a lion.”

  CHAPTER 16 The Growl of a Lion

  MARCEL TOLD TUFFY THE STORY. About a few travelers (and a Toto). About the king of a forest, an animal with sharp teeth and terrible claws, an animal bigger and stronger than all the rest, an animal…

  Who was scared.

  “A lion,” Marcel told him.

  “A lion?” whispered Tuffy.

  “A lion,” Marcel said. “A cowardly one.”

  He told Tuffy about a journey, about a witch, about fear.

  “You can’t let fear chase you and gobble you up. You gotta find whatever bravery is inside you, whatever strength you can find. Take courage from your friends. Courage, Tuffy! It only takes a little.”

  As Marcel spun the tale, Tuffy’s eyes grew wider and his face grew brighter, for here, too, was his story.

  “And last?” Marcel told him. “You look that fear in the face—and you growl.”

  “Like a lion,” Tuffy whispered again, looking down at his mushroom medal and smiling.

  “Like a lion.”

  Together, they crawled out from under the tree, ready to gather their friends, ready to meet whatever challenges lay ahead (even if they were still a little scared). The journey was waiting.

  But first there would be apologies.

  * * *

  Scamp stood there, shuffling her feet, her eyes rimmed red and raw.

  Ingot cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for what I said. You should know I haven’t thought badly of you or thought you were foolish. Truthfully, not at all. I don’t think you’re stupid. I—I actually think you’re brave.” He cleared his throat.

  “I am brave,” Scamp said, blowing her nose in her cape.

  It took Ingot a while before he went on. “You are.” He looked over at Marcel, Toto, and Tuffy. “Bravest of the bunch. Leaving home to help a stranger. Calling me out of my hidey-hole and shaming me into stepping out. Helping to take on Tuffy here and saving us all from the seagulls. You are brave. None of that makes you stupid.” He gingerly took a knee to look straight into the eyes of the mouse. He sighed. “It makes you special.”

  Oh, Scamp. Scarlet. The Scarecrow to their motley crew and fastest sling-shooter in the forest. She was so many things.

  She was fearless and full of ideas. She reminded Marcel of Dorothy. His Dorothy.

  The fiercest of friends would.

  A lump grew in Marcel’s throat.

  Ingot put out a hand. “Forgive me. Again.” He grunted. “I’ve been alone a long time. It’s no excuse, but everything, well, it all gets a bit rusty.”

  Scamp turned a toe in the dirt. She looked up at Ingot’s outstretched hand. A shy smile tugged at her lips. “I forgive you, you old sour face.”

  “Well, it’s not the first time I’ve been called that,” said Ingot.

  Scamp ignored Ingot’s hand and threw her tiny arms around the squirrel’s neck. “You looked like you needed this,” she explained. “I’m sorry too.”

  “Er, thanks,” said Ingot, looking a bit surprised, a little flustered. He patted her on the back until she let go, and Marcel wondered how long it had been since the squirrel had something so simple and necessary as a hug.

  Ingot cleared his throat. “Well, what now? It’s getting late. And we’re still lost.”

  Scamp kicked at a few dry leaves at her feet. “I have no idea.”

  “How about a snack?” Marcel suggested, handing out blackberries.

  They munched in silence, passing around the few acorns they had left and sharing the mushrooms and walnut Tuffy had found. Tuffy’s stomach rumbled.

  “Still hungry, Tuffy?” asked Marcel, looking over at his leaf-sack. He was hesitant to share the last of the Gems. He was using them for something else. Something important. Something for Ingot and Scamp.

  Tuffy nodded. “Tuffy is missing his eat-boxes. Tuffy helps his mom and pop—he’s smaller and climbs into all the eat-box crack-ers finding food.” He frowned. “I a
m good at finding.”

  Marcel could picture it. Tuffy cracking open garbage cans and climbing into dumpsters to collect what few browning potato peels, slices of moldy cheese, stale doughnuts—preferably jelly filled—and the unwanted onions off someone’s submarine sandwich he could find. People did throw away a lot of food.

  Marcel’s stomach rumbled now too as he thought about how much food was left in the theater after every showing. Nearly full boxes of peppermints, handfuls of yogurt raisins. Cinnamon Snaps, Chocolate Buttons, and bucket after bucket after bucket of…

  Popcorn?

  Marcel sniffed at the air. Was it his imagination? He thought he caught a whiff of something.

  “Do you smell that?” he asked. “That’s not a woodsy smell.”

  Ingot and Scamp sniffed. Tuffy raised his nose and took in a whiff. “Tuffy’s smelling something tasty.”

  Scamp’s eyes grew wide.

  “Whizzlepop!” she shouted. “We’re back on the scent!”

  At the mention, the entire forest seemed to open up, the spaces between the trees stretching wide, and the scent of popcorn tumbled in on every wind. It beckoned.

  The four animals looked to one another. Marcel gave Toto a little hug.

  “It’s getting dark, but I think we should risk it,” said Ingot. “We don’t want to lose that smell.” Marcel agreed. “Would you like to lead us this time?” Ingot asked Scamp.

  “No, thank you,” she said politely.

  “But I thought you preferred it.”

  “Not really. I just don’t like people telling me what to do.”

  Ingot made a little noise and bit back a retort. “Good to know.”

  Scamp thought for a minute. “Are you sure we should head out just now? I mean, I trust you and everything, but what about Wickedwing? She could be anywhere.” She noticed her cape was twisted and sat on a mushroom to fix it. “You really can’t be too careful with her, Ingot.”

  Ingot’s eyes bulged. Just a little. “But you said…” He diplomatically chose not to finish his sentence. Marcel stifled a giggle.

  Tuffy tugged at Marcel’s hand then, but Marcel had just noticed a strap on Toto’s pouch had come loose, and he set about fixing it. Tuffy tugged again.