Poppy and Ereth (7 page)

B
Y MORNING
a few leaves on the Bannock Hill hazelnut tree were burning steadily. It was enough flame to cause the thin branch upon which the leaves had grown to catch fire.

The small flame continued to burn, moving along the branch like a long, slow fuse, moving—by midday—ever closer to the trunk of the tree.

A
S
S
PRUCE AND
J
UNIOR
walked slowly from Ereth's log toward their own underground home, the young mouse kept looking up at his father's sad face, then turning back to consider the porcupine. After a while Spruce said, “Dad—”

“Spruce,” said Junior, his voice low, “please be quiet. I have a lot to think about.”

“But, Dad, I need to say something.”

Junior stopped. “Spruce, we just heard some very disturbing news about Grandma Poppy. I am trying to—”

“But, Dad,” Spruce interrupted. “I know why Grandma Poppy was flying.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Yesterday Grandma and I went for a walk. First we looked for foxes. Then—“

“Are you telling me you and Poppy went
looking
for a fox?”

“Yup.”

“Spruce…do you know how you often make up stories, and how exaggerated they are?”

“But—”

“As we've told you many times, it's really not a good habit.”

“No, listen, Dad. Grandma said a mouse has to do what a mouse has to do.”

Junior sighed. “Where did she get that notion?”

“Your uncle Ragweed.”

Junior shook his head. “Spruce, you don't know anything about him.”

“I do, too. Because I look like him,” continued Spruce. “But see, Grandma Poppy wanted to
do
something, so I bet she decided to learn to fly, and—”

“Spruce,” Junior cut in, “what Uncle Ereth said was that Poppy…died.”

“But, Dad!” cried Spruce.

“Spruce, let's just get home.”

When they reached the entryway to their underground home, Junior paused. “Now, Spruce, I have to talk to your mother. Alone. But I want you to promise me something.”

“Okay.”

“Please, do
not
tell your brothers and sisters that Grandma Poppy died.
If
it is true, I need to explain things my way—not yours. Can you promise me?”

“But, Dad, I really think Grandma got lost because—”

“Spruce! Just do as I ask: do
not
tell your brothers and sisters Grandma Poppy died.”

“Okay, because she—”

“Thank you!”

Junior led the way into the hole, where he gave Spruce
a hasty nuzzle and then went down the main tunnel in search of Laurel. “Remember what you promised!” he called back.

“All she did was fly,” Spruce muttered to himself. “And she got lost because she's so old.”

The young mouse went into the children's den, where he found his brother Lodgepole rolling mud balls and piling them up into a pyramid. For a moment Spruce just watched. Compared to Grandma Poppy's flying, making mud balls seemed pretty dull.

“Guess what?” Spruce announced.

“What?” said Lodgepole, not turning away from his work.

“Grandma Poppy learned to fly.”

Lodgepole looked at his brother. “Yesterday you said you and Grandma Poppy were looking for a fox.”

“We were.”

“Mice don't go looking for foxes,” said Lodgepole before turning back to his mud balls. “And mice can't fly.”

“Grandma Poppy did,” insisted Spruce. “I'm not making it up. Uncle Ereth saw her flying. Only she got lost.”

Lodgepole looked at his brother again. “Why would Grandma Poppy fly?”

“A mouse has to do what a mouse has to do.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Instead of answering, Spruce said, “I'm calling a meeting. Get everybody together.”

“What for?”

“We have to find Grandma Poppy.”

Twenty minutes later, Spruce had managed to collect only three of his siblings: his brothers Lodgepole and Dogbane and his sister Clover.

Spruce repeated what he had told Lodgepole about Poppy. “See, she just learned to fly, but Grandma Poppy is real old so she got lost.”

“When you're old,” agreed Clover, “you shouldn't go anywhere far.”

“Actually,” said Lodgepole, “we're young and we don't go far either.”

“Listen to me!” cried Spruce. “We have to find her!”

“Spruce,” said Lodgepole, “everybody knows you make up stories.”

“Because you're the runt of the family,” added Clover, giving him a push.

“I'm
not
making this up!” cried Spruce, pushing back. “Uncle Ereth saw her flying.”

“I met him,” said Dogbane. “He's old, too.”

“Yeah,” added Lodgepole. “And he smells.”

“We have to find Grandma,” Spruce insisted. “And we
should start looking by Glitter Creek.”

“Shouldn't we tell Mom and Dad we're going?” asked Dogbane.

“If you do,” said Spruce, “it won't be a surprise when we bring Grandma home. What kind of fun will that be?”

“I don't care about the fun,” said Clover. “I just think we should tell them where we're going.”

“But Spruce is right,” said Dogbane. “It would be cool to find Grandma and bring her home.”

“She'd really like it if we found her,” Spruce insisted. “But if none of you want to come, too bad. I'm going myself.” He marched off.

The three remaining young mice looked at one another. “How come Spruce always thinks he knows everything?” said Clover.

“Ma says he's a small mouse with a large imagination,” said Lodgepole.

“Maybe this time he's right,” said Dogbane, and he followed Spruce.

Lodgepole and Clover remained. “They're going to get into trouble,” predicted Clover.

Lodgepole turned back to his mud balls. “Big trouble.”

E
RETH DECIDED
Poppy's funeral service had to be in the perfect place. Large enough to hold her whole family. More importantly, it needed to be where each of them could see and hear what he had to say.

After much hard thinking, he recalled a secluded dell open to the sky yet surrounded by trees. He remembered it as being carpeted with green grass and clover. Butterflies and bees floated about, along with the occasional dragonfly, flashing its rainbow-tinted wings in the air. The morning's sun would warm the grass dew into mist, turning the dell into a bowl of sweet perfume. By noon, every white, blue, and yellow flower would unfold. Twilight always transformed the dell into a world of softness.

But when Ereth reached the dell, he found it blighted by the summer's drought. The grass was brown. Withered
leaves hung from the encircling trees. Not a solitary flower was in sight. No insects flittered about, except for the odd leaping grasshopper, its wings clacking angrily in the swollen heat.

Still, Ereth was convinced the dell was the best spot. The beaten-down grass would actually make it easier for the small mice to see him. At twilight it would be cooler.

He selected a boulder along the dell's upper edge from which to speak. It was flat and easy for him to climb. All of Poppy's family would be able to see him. “Just as it should be,” he mumbled.

Ereth stepped to the edge of the boulder, sat up on his hind legs, and looked out over the dell.

“My friends!” he began. “My full name is Erethizon Dorsatum, and for those younger folk before me who may be ignorant as to
what
I am, I am a porcupine. So if you don't pay attention, you'll get a quill up the snoot!

“I'm here today,” he said, “to speak about my dear friend, Poppy, unhappily now passed…up. It's a sad occasion. So let me begin by—”

Ereth stopped speaking. “I can't stand this!” he shouted to no one. Tears filled his eyes and dripped off the end of his nose. He could barely talk or breathe. Instead, he bent down and wiped his eyes and nose with his front paws. “I did love Poppy,” he whispered. “I really did. I know I
didn't do it well, but I did love her. And I…miss her so much! What else is there to say? Poppy's gone. That's all that matters.”

His tears continued to fall. He ceased speaking. Even the grasshoppers were still.

S
PRUCE CRAWLED
out of the family's underground home and looked about the dry forest. There were two paths he could take. Having never traveled to Glitter Creek on his own, he was not sure which one to choose.

As the young mouse tried to make up his mind, Dogbane popped out of the entryway. “Okay,” he announced. “I'll come with you.”

“Anyone else?” asked Spruce.

“Just me,” said Dogbane. “And since this is your idea, you'd better know the right way to the creek. Or were you just pretending?”

“I'm pretty sure it's this way,” said Spruce, making a quick guess and starting down one of the paths. “You coming?”

Dogbane held back. “
Pretty
sure or
very
sure?”

“You scared to come?” said Spruce, half hoping his
brother would say yes so he could go alone. It would be so neat to be the one to discover where Grandma Poppy had landed.

“Not me,” said Dogbane. He hurried after Spruce.

The brothers went along the path for a while without speaking. After a few minutes Dogbane sat down in a pool of shade by the side of the path. “It's too hot to go fast,” he announced.

Spruce joined him. He stared up at the trees. He was used to going off alone, but today the trees seemed taller than he had remembered them.

Dogbane followed his gaze. “How high do you think those trees are?”

“Ten miles,” said Spruce, blurting out the first thing that came into his head.

Dogbane looked at his brother. “That's not true.”

“Is,” insisted Spruce.

“Then how far is it till we get to the creek?” Dogbane asked.

“Thirty miles.”

“
Thirty miles!
” cried Dogbane. “How long is this walk going to take?”

“Twelve minutes,” said Spruce.

Dogbane considered. “How many minutes have we been going?”

“Six.”

“Come on,” said Dogbane. “Admit it, you just make up this stuff. You don't know what you're doing.”

“Do,” said Spruce.

“And is this really,
really
the way to the creek?”

“Don't believe me if you don't want to.”

“And you're sure Grandma Poppy is at the creek?”

“That's where Uncle Ereth saw her.”

Dogbane sighed. “Fine. Let's keep moving.”

The two mice continued along the path. Ten minutes later Dogbane halted. “How close to the creek are we now?”

Spruce studied the path. A little hill rose up before them. “See that hill?” he said. “From the top you'll be able to see the creek.”

“Fine.”

They went on and soon reached the top of the hill. Instead of seeing Glitter Creek, they arrived at a fork in the path.

“You said Glitter Creek would be here,” said Dogbane.

“I said,” insisted Spruce, “we'd see the path that led to the creek.”

“You did not.”

“Did!”

“Fine! Which path do we take?”

Spruce considered. There was nothing to distinguish
one path from the other. He turned and stole a glance back over the way they had come, and wondered if, after all, it might be better to go home.

“Know what?” said Dogbane. “You really don't know what you're talking about.”

“I do, too.”

“This is just stupid,” said Dogbane. “Grandma is fine. Mice can't fly. I'm going home.”

“I don't scare so easy,” said Spruce, and he walked ahead, taking the path that led to the right.

Dogbane watched him go. “Runt!” he shouted, then spun around and began to run toward home.

Spruce kept going. But after a few moments, he stopped and glanced around. “Dogbane!” he cried. “I'm going!”

No reply came. Uneasy, Spruce reminded himself what Grandma Poppy had told him:
“A mouse has to do what a mouse has to do.”
According to Grandma, a mouse named Ragweed said that. Since Spruce's father was also named Ragweed he supposed his father would say the same thing.
Well, so should he.

Spruce gazed down the path he had chosen to get to the creek: he would do it alone.

As Spruce walked on, he thought:
A mouse has to do…But it would be a lot easier to find Grandma if I knew where she landed.