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Thursday, December 23, 1937
Christchurch, New Zealand
I spent Wednesday morning being as helpful as I could around the church. I fed the chickens and cleaned Joey Pete’s stable. I helped Father Humboldt print and fold the missals for Christmas services. No one told me when I was going to be taken to the train platform in Springfield.
The parish phone rang around one o’clock in the afternoon. I was the only one there to answer it. A sweet, almost childlike voice greeted me on the other end.
“Is this Father Candler?”
“No. It’s his son, Mannie.”
“Oh! Mannie, I’m so looking forward to meeting you. My name is Sissy. I’m a friend of your Aunt Audra.”
“Yes!” I said, delighted by the introduction. “She told me about you.”
“Your mother is here with me in Christchurch.”
“How is she?” I asked.
“She’s fine. This is a sad time, of course.”
“I know,” I said. “Father said I’m to come visit you.”
“That’s right. If you’ll go fetch him, I’ve got the details for your train. I’ll meet you at the station. It will be easy to find me. I always wear purple, and I look like a little porcelain doll.”
***
I finally boarded the train in Springfield at five o’clock, a lot later than I had hoped, but I was glad to be going to Christchurch at all. This was my third trip along the Midland Line in five days, and the second time I had traveled by myself.
The journey was usually a short thirty-five to forty minutes, but this one took longer. We were delayed just outside of the city by a slow-moving freight ahead of us. “We’re so close,” said a man sitting across from me. “We could probably walk the rest of the way in ten minutes, if we were allowed to disembark.” Instead, we sat for an additional and unbearable forty.
The view out my window wasn’t the most charming. Above a ridge of trees, I could see the weathered and beaten upper half of a large, dilapidated-looking warehouse. A faded logo identified it as Marbury Meats.
The fellow next to me noticed it, and tut-tutted. “Twenty years ago, that was some operation. Another casualty of this depression, lad. It wasn’t always such an eyesore.”
“I just wish we could have been stuck somewhere nicer,” I said, and the kindly fellow laughed.
“It’s an ugly building, but then, the trees are all right, eh?”
Stuck as we all were, the others dozen passengers in the coach began an animated discussion of how their own fortunes were improving, or not. I thought about the word everyone had used to talk about the recent hard times: Depression. It was a word that practically caused the very thing it denoted. Everyone seemed to agree that this monstrous thing was going away, but so slowly it would be hard to know just when it had ended. Just like my own sorrow, I mused to myself. It felt like a deep and grown-up thought to have had. Once the train began to move again, I took special joy in seeing the unpleasant face of Marbury Meats roll out of sight. Begone and discourage me no more.
We chugged to a stop at the first of several platforms in Christchurch, and I looked out the window for my mother. She wasn’t there, but I located Sissy right away. She was wearing a purple sundress and a flowered hat. She was short, plump, and her face, round and delicate, looked like a porcelain doll, just as advertised.
Moments later, I approached her, toting my small bag on my shoulder. “You must be Sissy,”
“Mannie Candler! What a delight!” She clasped her hands together and ran her eyes across my face several times. “Do you mind if I pinch your cheek?” she said.
“No, it’s all right,” I said, a little doubtfully. She grasped the flesh on the left of my face and wiggled it about, with a satisfied ‘Mmm-mm!’
“Now that’s over with, how was your trip?” she said.
“We got stuck for a while. Sorry we were late.”
“It’s just as well. I couldn’t get my car to start. Oh, speaking of that, we’ll have to walk a few blocks. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, it’s all right.”
“Your things aren’t too heavy?”
“No, Ma’am. Not at all. How is my mother?”
“She was lying down when I left. My friend Lettie is starting preparations for supper. You should know we’ll be putting you to work.”
“Yes. That’s fine.”
“Good. There are lights that need changing, and we’ve got an old pump in the kitchen that wants priming. The house is old. And up here, at this end of the city, well, we’re practically in the countryside. We haven’t got modern facilities. If you know what I mean.
“An outhouse?”
“That’s right. I hope it isn’t too much of a shock. No modern plumbing, but we’ve got electric and a telephone. We aren’t completely primitive.”
“When I was six, we lived in a parish outside of Auckland. They didn’t have plumbing either.”
“Then it’ll bring back memories for you. Isn’t that nice.” She smiled the daintiest smile I ever remembered seeing. Then she pointed to the next corner. “Just ahead to the left. We’re nearly there.”
The two-story clapboard house stood on one side of a cul-de-sac. Across from it was another home, similar in design, but abandoned and boarded up. Beyond lay a wide field of small rolling hills, scrubby and dry. I saw, in the near distance, a tree line, and irregular strips of forest. Sissy’s house was on the very borderline between city and wilderness.
The house had a corrugated roof, and a gable at its center. It was painted a chalky pastel green, well washed by the seasons. A separate garage made of rough wood sat at the top of a short driveway. An antique Wolesely squatted in front of it. There was a pool of oil, like an unguinous shadow, spreading beneath the old car.
The weathered front gate swung unevenly on its hinge. A post box, the only thing freshly painted, showed Sissy’s proper name: Cecilia Bremmer. It stood out against the scuffed exterior of the rest of the house, much as Sissy, in her bright purple dress made her own contrast.
“It’s in a state, I know,” Sissy confessed. “I’m too old to climb on ladders and paint things.”
“I could do it,” I said, wanting to be as helpful as possible.
“Well, aren’t you a blessing! We’ll just see about that. But not tonight.”
A woman in a floral print dress opened the front door and met us. She was as thin as Sissy was round. She smiled as we approached.
“Here’s our little gentleman! Welcome, Gus!”
“Lettie, his name is Mannie!” Sissy shouted.
“Oh! Yes, of course it is. Mannie, I knew that. I’m Lettie Maynes. Please come in. It’s nicer inside than it is outside.” Lettie stepped aside and held the door open as I passed through.
“Your mother is upstairs having a rest,” Lettie added. “You’re going to be staying in our guest room. That’s upstairs, too. Let me show you.”
I followed Lettie to the second story. The guest room was small, with a narrow bed on a brass frame. A ceiling fan turned slowly above it. The lace-curtained window looked out on the back yard. I could spot the outhouse, and a well with a bucket. A half-finished stockade fence ran along the back of the yard, with plenty of gaps to the brush and grass beyond.
“I hope it will be comfortable for you. The nights have been warm.”
“That won’t bother me,” I said.
My mother appeared behind Lettie. She stepped into the room, bleary-eyed, her hair disheveled. “Hello Mannie,” she said, and then she leaned over and kissed my forehead. No embrace, but she was obviously tired. “Thank you for coming,” she added. “Lettie, I’ll be down as soon as I’m presentable.”
“Take your time, dear. I’m going to put young Gus to work right away.”
“Gus?” my mother said.
“Oh! There I go again. Well, he looks like a Gus to me, er ...”
“Mannie,” I said.
“Mannie. Of course. I’ll remember.”
Lettie took me back downstairs to the kitchen. It was quaint, with a cast iron stove, a metal icebox with oak paneling, and a hand pump over a deep copper sink. Sissy was working the lever, trying to draw water.
“Oh, Mannie. Thank goodness. See if you can coax some water from this pump, would you? Then we’ll have a nice meal of cold sandwiches and iced cream as a reward.”
“That sounds nice,’ I said. “Thank you, Miss Bremmer.”
“Please call me Sissy.”
“Sissy, then.”
I raised and lowered the lever a few dozen times, and nothing came up. Sissy sighed.
“We’ll have to prime it. There’s a well in the back yard. If you could fill a bucket and bring it back. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” I said.
A screen door from the kitchen led straight to the back. The well lay a dozen yards out, circled by a round stone wall, with a shingled wooden roof above it. The well had a charming storybook appearance, rustic and sun-bleached. I enjoyed turning the handle to lower the bucket down into its twenty-foot depth. It was more difficult to haul it back up once it was nearly full of water.
When I got the bucket back to the kitchen, Lettie and my mother were seated around a small table. Sissy stood by the sink. “Well done, Mannie. I’ll ladle water into the valve, and you do the pumping.” Together, we tried valiantly but in vain to bring up a stream of water. Eventually, we had emptied the bucket.
“What you must think of us,” said Lettie. “It isn’t always like this. But as soon as there’s company.”
“Mannie,” Sissy said with her sweetest smile, “we need to try just one more time. Could you take another trip to the well? We’ll feed you the instant you get back, all right?”
I dutifully went back outside. Early evening was fading into late. The colors of light shifted to warmer tones, enriching the landscape. The well stood in a shaft of ochre-hued light. It made for an enchanting scene, complete with one reindeer.
Spotting a wild animal is always a nice surprise, especially when it’s close enough to allow a really good look. I saw the antlers first, then its muscular frame. The shoulders were at least five feet off the ground, and its head reached at least seven, not counting the long, thin antlers, covered in a natural layer of downy velvet. But this wasn’t a wild deer, after all. There was a harness around its neck and shoulders, and a rope attached, tied to one of the well posts.
I gazed at it for a good minute, then stepped directly back inside. “There’s a deer out here!” I hollered.
The kitchen was in chaos. Sissy had opened the icebox, and Lettie was looking over her shoulder, distressed.
“Oh, Mannie, don’t look. It’s a mess!” Sissy sounded ready to cry. “Everything that’s supposed to have been frozen is melted, and everything that should have been fresh is wilted. Oh, I’m so upset, I could scream.”
“It’s a shame,” Lettie said. “Gus must be very hungry by now.”
“Oh, his name is Mannie!’ Sissy said with exasperation.
My mother stood and pointed at the kitchen door. “Mannie, just go back to the well, please.”
“But, there’s a deer ...” I started.
“No argument!” Mother snapped. I stepped back outside.
The deer was still there. I hadn’t imagined it. But the animal wasn’t alone. A small man stepped into view from around the well. He wore a coat of dried leaves, a harvest bag and a long pointed, feathered hat. He had a chestnut colored beard, and a wild tussle of hair showed from the brim of his hat. His brows were bushy, and his expression was all furrowed frowns of consternation. He was smaller than me, perhaps two and a half feet tall.
“Psst!” he whispered. “Do you see me?” His voice had a nervous quiver.
“Yes,” I whispered back. “I see you just fine.”
“Do you see the deer?”
“Of course I see the deer. It’s hard to miss.” I was still whispering.
“Blasted heaths!” he shouted. “I thought it was just old biddies living here!”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I don’t have to tell you that.”
“I guess not, but you are on somebody else’s property.”
“Says you! We’ve a difference of opinion on that! Your kind may think you own this land, but you don’t. It’s our people who are letting you live here. You might want to thank us for it.”
“I don’t live here,” I said.
He gave me a suspicious glare. “Then what are you doing here!”
“I’m sure I’m wondering the same about you,” I returned.
“I am on official business.” He folded his arms and did his best to look preeminent.
“What kind of business? And for who?”
“Official none-of-your-business, for nobody you need to know.” He peered past me to the house. “You say you don’t live here, but you came out of that door.” He pointed with a sharp thrust at the kitchen door, to make sure I knew he had seen.
“I’m a guest. I’m staying the night.”
He considered this answer for a tick. “Good. I accept your reply, and if I have seemed rude, I regret it.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said uncertainly.
“Excellent,” he said. “Now, I ask a favor. Please turn around, go back into the house and pretend you never saw me.”
“I’ve got to draw a bucket first, if it’s all right with you.”
“Yes, yes! Be quick about it.”
I tied the bucket and lowered it in. The great antlered beast stepped closer and began sniffing the top of my head. I laughed, out of shock as much as amusement. Joey Pete liked to snuffle my hair in a similar way. The little man pulled the reindeer back. “Easy there, Trimble,” he said.
I gave the fellow another glance. “Are you in a holiday pantomime of some kind?”
“What do you mean?” he said defensively.
“It’s just that, it’s almost Christmas and ...”
“And I look like an elf to you,” he snipped.
“Yes. That, and, you know, the reindeer.”
“Not an elf, thank you very much. Gnome, I can accept. Call me one of the forest folk. Or, if we must make conversation, just call me Lem.”
“Lem?” I said, lifting the bucket back over the rim of the round stone wall.
“Yes! Lem, as in Lemuel. Lemuel Greenleaf. Now, if you’ve got your water, please return to the house and forget this conversation. A fine evening to you, sir.”
“Yes, of course. Good bye.” I walked sideways a few steps, unable to stop looking at this unlikely pair of intruders, if intruders they were. Then I turned and headed for the kitchen door.
“Wait up a second,” Lemuel called after me. “If it isn’t a breach for me to ask, who are you?”
“Me?”
“No, the reindeer. Yes, you! I’d hope you have enough manners to return a name when someone gives you theirs.”
“I didn’t think you were interested.”
“I’m not! But now you know who I am, I ought to know who you are, in case anyone asks.”
“I’m Mannie Candler. Who would ask?”
“Important people.” He took a few jogging steps toward me, and lowered his voice a bit. “Look, I mean what I say. My purpose here is crucial. And confidential.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yes. Go back in the house and keep quiet.” He put a finger to his lips to reinforce the idea.
I took his advice and carried the bucket back into the kitchen. Sissy was speaking into the phone. Mother and Lettie were at the table. I set the bucket down by the sink and waited for Sissy to finish her call.
“There you are,” she said after she rang off. “You took your time.”
“Yes. I thought I saw something.”
“Well, I’ve just called the Brixton Garden Room. They’re two streets away, and they’re open for another hour. We can get something to eat. I’m sorry we spoilt everything in the house.”
Sissy and I began again trying to prime the pump. Lettie joined us.
“You aren’t going to get anywhere that way,” she said. “Let me have a try.”
“Now, what makes you think you’ll have any better luck?” Sissy asked.
“Because I know what I’m doing. Here, Gus, let me at that handle.”
I didn’t correct her. I stood aside and let her pump the lever. Within five strokes, water surged into the sink. The first gush or two were pale brown, but then clear water came up, and Sissy gave a short sigh of exasperation.
My mother beckoned me over. “Are you feeling all right?” She put her hand to my forehead. “You look a little strange. Has something happened?”
“Would you believe me if I told you that a gnome has tied a reindeer to the well outside?”
“Of course I wouldn’t,” she said, and a perturbed look passed across her face. “Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down until we’re ready to go.”
“I’m all right,” I said. “Really.”
“Well, go sit in the parlor, then. You’re warm. Cool off by the fan, all right?”
I did as she suggested. Inside of three minutes, everyone in the house had joined me.
My chair was small, pinching at my hips along the wooden back. It had fading upholstery and torn lace. Sissy and Lettie were on an equally tatty looking loveseat facing me, and my mother was in a wooden rocking chair.
“Are we the worst hosts you’ve ever met, Gus?” Lettie asked.
“You’re very kind,” I answered. “Do either of you know a little man named Lemuel?”
Lettie looked surprised by the question, as who wouldn’t. “What has that to do with this house?”
“Nothing, Lettie,” said Sissy. “He’s changing the subject, because you’re making him uncomfortable.”
“Well, do we know a Lemuel?” Lettie asked.
“His full name’s Lemuel Greenleaf.’ I said. “You’d remember him right away.”
“No one around here by that name,” Lettie said.
“Mannie,” my mother broke in, “is this the gnome you just mentioned to me a moment ago?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Sorry.”
Mother looked to the other two. “I am sure Audra told you. Mannie is blessed with a lively imagination.”
“She certainly did. Loves books and plays, and I hear he has a magnificent toy theatre.”
“Yes. And sometimes, he seems to be living in it.” There was a hint of a smile as my mother said this, but beneath it, a clear warning signal to drop the matter.
“If he’s going to ask us about imaginary people, I’m sure I won’t know how to answer,” Lettie said.
And that’s when we heard a knock at the back door.
“Perhaps that’s him,” Sissy said, and she quickly strode to the back door to check.
“You did hear that, didn’t you?” I asked the other two.
“Yes, Mannie, but it was probably just the screen door,” said Mother.
“It sounded distinctly like a knock to me, Gus,” Lettie said.
Sissy reentered the parlor. “No one there at all.” She started for the stairs. “I’m going to get ready. We should all change into something nice, don’t you think?”
My mother stood and joined her. “That’s fine,” she said. “Mannie, come upstairs and get into your clean clothes.”
“I’ll be right there,” I said. “I need to use the ...”
“All right, but hurry up. And if there really is someone out there, come right back inside. Don’t talk to any strangers.”
So she at least entertained the possibility I wasn’t making things up.
I stepped out the back door, and looked left and right. There stood the well, all by itself. No reindeer and no Lemuel. A sense of unreality came over me. (Not for the last time that night.) Had I really hallucinated my conversation with that little man? It was frightening to think that I could misperceive the real world so dramatically. Then I noticed the hoof prints in the sand. They proceeded to the left, so I followed them.
Lemuel and the deer were hiding at the west side of the house. As soon as he saw me, Lem put a finger to his lips and made a shushing hiss.
“This is very important, young fellow. I need a place to hide Trimble. I want to use that little barn over there.”
“That’s not a barn. It’s a garage.”
“Whatever it is, it’s perfect. But I need your help. Can you get away from those others for a while?”
“What do you mean?”
“I need you to help me stow Trimble before anyone sees him. Can you get away?”
“We’re supposed to go out somewhere to eat.”
Lemuel snapped his fingers and his eyes brightened. “That’s good. Tell them you’re not feeling well. Pretend you’ve got digestive upset. See if they’ll shove off without you.”
“If I do that, I’m sure my mother will stay here and fuss over me.”
“Won’t know until you try. Just do whatever it takes, then come back here as soon as you can.”
“Mannie!” my mother’s voice shouted. “Where did you go?!”
“I’m right here!” I said, and then wished I hadn’t. I heard her shoes grinding in the sand. She was walking right toward us. I raced around the corner so that I could forestall her discovering Lemuel and the reindeer. I got to her just inches before she would have rounded the bend.
“What’s going on over there?”
“Nothing,” I answered, and in saying so, discovered my own intent. I meant to go through with Lemuel’s foolish plan; pretend to be sick and help hide a wild animal in the little shed next to Sissy’s house. Completely crazy and irresponsible, one part of my mind acknowledged. But other thoughts countered. Once it’s done I can show them I wasn’t crazy. Then we can alert someone who handles wild animals. Really, it’s the responsible thing to do. I was expert at kidding myself.
“Is there someone there?” she asked, now looking honestly worried.
“No one,” I lied. “I thought I heard something. Listen, Mum, I don’t feel so well after all.” I was instantly appalled with myself for so easily telling such a whopper. I was also impressed with how readily she accepted it.
“I knew it! Well, that settles things. March upstairs right now!”
“I’ve still got to visit the loo,” I said.
“Mannie, you’re behaving erratically. I don’t like it. Now hurry up.”
I beat a path to the outhouse, and while I was there, made use of it. When I was finished, I emerged to find Lemuel not five feet away. From any window at the back of the house, he would be perfectly conspicuous.
“Well?” he asked. “When are they leaving?”
“Be careful! They’re going to see you!”
“No they aren’t,” Lemuel said with a laugh. “I’m surprised you can see me!”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, most of your people can’t see my people. It’s rare.”
“Mannie!” My mother’s voice carried well across the yard. “Mannie, hurry inside!”
I told Lemuel to keep the reindeer out of sight, and I ran back to the house.
Mother and Sissy walked me upstairs to the small guest room. A pair of felt pyjamas was laid out on the bed. “I hope these will be the right size,” Sissy said. “They should be comfortable. Now, Mannie, you just rest until we get back. We won’t be long, and I’ll bring your food right up to you. Then perhaps we can heat some water for a nice hot bath.”
“Thank you, Sissy,” my mother said. “Now, young man, I want you to change, and get into this bed. And I expect to find you right here when we get back. Do you understand?”
Ten minutes later, I was in the pyjamas, too large by at least a size. As I sat on the bed and gazed down at the back yard, I heard Mother, Sissy and Lettie go out the front door. I worried that they might spot the deer before they got far enough away for me to sneak back down.
I allowed a couple of minutes, then I put my shoes on over my stockinged feet, went downstairs and out the back door. Lemuel and the deer were right where I had first seen them, at the well.
“Nice work getting them all away,” he said. “Now, let’s see about that barn.”
It wasn’t locked. He really wouldn’t have needed my help getting in. I fumbled and located a switch on the wall. I flipped it, and a single dangling light bulb flickered on. There were wooden shelves on either side with old tins of oil, a few rusted tools, and a length of chain. Lemuel had to coax and pat the reindeer before it would step into the shed. The garage was wide, but just barely tall enough to accommodate the fleecy antlers.
“Now that you’ve got me mixed up in this, could you at least tell me where the reindeer comes from, and why we’re hiding it?”
“Those are good questions, and it’s confidential.”
“But, you didn’t find him just wandering around.”
“Of course I didn’t find him just wandering around. You ever see reindeer around here? Wetas and lizards, yes. Moreporks and kiwi birds, to be sure. No end of cats, to which, I must add, I am allergic.”
“Yes, well, how did it get here?”
“He has a name,” Lemuel said.
“Oh, right. Trembler, or something.”
“Trimble,” said Lemuel. “His name is Trimble!”
“How long do you plan to lodge Trimble here?”
“Until the F.A.B. has given up and gone back to Switzerland,” said Lemuel.
“That didn’t make any sense at all,” I said.
“Of course it did.” Lemuel gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “There’s too much you can’t understand, and I’m not authorized to tell you.”
“Then I’d best get back inside,” I said. No use making trouble for myself.
I was about to open the door and walk back to the house, when I noticed the mark on Trimble’s forehead. Amid a patch of light gray-brown fur were thin lines of darker brown. They appeared to form a symbol; two letters, VN, inside of a circle.
“Oh, look at that!” I said. “It’s like a brand mark. What’s VN?”
“That’s confidential,” Lem said, predictably. “And it’s not a brand mark. That would be cruel sport to burn a poor reindeer on the head, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” I said. “It’s just strange.”
“Where we come from, everything is strange,” he said.
“So, this mark just grew on him?”
“That’s right. Ever since Kris adopted him.”
“Who’s Chris?” I asked, but I knew what the answer would be, and I said it along with him. “That’s confidential.”
The inside of the garage went dark. At first I thought the bulb must have burnt out, but then it lit up again. Then it went dark, then lit again. Lem had found the wall switch. He grinned as he rapidly flipped it up and down.
“Oooh, I do love these!” Lemuel gazed at the bulb. He hit the switch relentlessly. Off-on-off-on. “It’s like a lightning storm!” he said. He tried to mimic the sounds of a tempest with his mouth. “Boom! Crtzckch! I can feel the howl of the wind and the sting of the rain!”
“I’m glad you’re amused, but could you leave off that a minute?”
“Oh, sorry,” he said and took his hand off the switch. “We don’t have those, you know. I keep saying we should, but ... human ways are not our own. You understand.”
“I’m going back in,” I said, and I left the garage. Lem followed me.
“Don’t you want to know about the F.A.B.?”
“Sure, but I doubt you’ll tell me.”
“It’s the Forest Abduction Brigade. They capture animals, for a price. Thieves and kidnappers, I say.”
“And they’re from Switzerland?”
“This team, yeah. Specialize in reindeer. Rotten muck-slugs!”
I was at the back door now, and eager to go inside, where I was supposed to be. I was feeling disconnected from reality out here, conversing with a gnome about Swiss reindeer hunters.
“Can I come in, too?” Lemuel asked.
“Of course not. It isn’t my house. I can’t invite others in.”
“I thought we were friends,” he said. He couldn’t have seemed more disingenuous.
“How do I know you’re the good guy,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, here I am helping a complete stranger to hide a reindeer. For all I know, you’ve stolen it from its rightful owner.”
“I am aghast at your unprovoked accusation!”
“I don’t mean anything personal by it. It’s just that, well, if you’re going to keep saying things are confidential, how am I supposed to know I’m doing the right thing by helping you?”
Lem paused. “You make an intriguing point.”
“Have a good night, Lem. I’d stay with Trimble if I were you.” I stepped inside and closed the door. Almost immediately, Lem began knocking on it.
I climbed the stairs and returned to the bedroom, where I had promised to stay in the first place.
Within seconds, bits of gravel hit the window. I looked out, and there stood Lem in the back yard, tossing small rocks at the second story and making wild gestures. I pulled up the sash and hollered down.
“I can’t help you!” I said. “I’m already going to be in enough trouble.”
“Trouble and rubble! I’m going to be dead!”
“What’s wrong?” I shouted down. Lemuel pointed at the ground around his feet.
“Look at this! Prints! Everywhere, hoof prints! And they trail all the way back beyond the fence! Oh, what a stupid scout I am! What a nincompoop! Our enemies will find us!”
Sure enough, Lemuel was surrounded by hoof prints. Deep, clear, unmistakable hoof prints
“Brooms! Do the biddies in that house ...”
“I wish you’d stop calling them biddies. They’re very nice.”
Lem gave me the hand wave again. “Yes, yes, they’re angels, I’m sure. Do they keep any brooms in the house?”
“Probably.”
“Well, find them! We’ve got to sweep these prints! Hurry!”
There was one broom in a small closet by the entrance to the kitchen. At least a third of its bristles had fallen out. As the floor itself was perfectly clean, I reasoned that there must be a better specimen of broom somewhere in the house. I opened the back door and tossed this one out to Lem.
“Here you go,” I said. “I’m going to look for another one.”
“Have you got feet?” he said.
“Of course I have.”
“Then get out here and start kicking these prints. Bury them with your shoes, all right?”
And so it was that found myself, under a darkening evening sky, with a quarter moon near the horizon, in baggy pyjamas with anchors and boats printed on them, kicking up dirt next to a gnome with a broom.
The more we kicked and swept, the faster we went, until we were nearly frantic. The prints led back toward the wooden fence. Lem and I were about halfway across the yard when my mother walked around the east side of the house.
“Oh no!” she shouted. “Emanuel Gregory Candler!” Even from this distance, and with fading light, I could tell Mother was as angry as I’d ever seen her. I felt my knees go a bit weak, and I let out a sigh.
“Oh, great,” I said under my breath.
Lemuel dropped the broom and dashed behind me.
“Look at you!” my mother went on. “You’re filthy! Just look at what you’ve done to those nightclothes!”
“I’m sorry,” I started, hopelessly.
What are you doing out there!?” She came closer, just a few yards away. “What could possibly have possessed you to leave that bed!”
“I heard something out in the yard.” I couldn’t believe how feeble my response sounded.
“Don’t you dare tell me it was a gnome!”
“Well, as a matter of fact ...” I said, and I moved aside, hoping to reveal Lem to my mother’s sight. “Look, here he is, right here.”
“It’s no use. She can’t see me,” Lemuel said.
“What?!” I cried to Lemuel. “You can’t be serious!”
“I told you! Here, what’s your mother’s name?” he asked, and I told him it was Georgina Candler.
“Watch,” he said. Then he hopped out in front of me. He ran a few steps, until he was mere feet away from my mother.
“Hello my dear Georgina!” he sang, and he began to dance a ridiculous little jig. “Candler-wandler, How d’ye do, Here’s a merry dance for you.” He wrapped up his merry tune with a screechy refrain, “Ain’t it a lovely eeeve-nin!”
She looked right past him. Before he had even finished, she shouted, “Where did you get that broom!” She hollered it right over Lemuel’s silly routine, as though he weren’t there at all.
“It belongs to Sissy. We were trying to wipe out the deer tracks.”
Mother’s hands went to her face, and I heard a sobbing sound. She turned around and ran into the house. By this time, Sissy and Lettie were standing in the kitchen doorway. Sissy stepped outside.
“Mannie, what’s going on?” She asked. “I think you’ve upset your mother very badly.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just that ...” I looked at Lem, who was no longer dancing. He was gawking at me and rolling his eyes. “I don’t suppose you can see this gnome, can you?” I said, pointing hopelessly at Lemuel. ‘He’s standing right here.”
“I’m sorry, Mannie,” Sissy said, in a calm, measured tone. “But no, I can’t see any gnomes in my yard. Of course, my vision isn’t what it used to be.”
I turned to Lem. “Will Trimble be invisible?”
Lemuel shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s a magical deer. But then, your type has been known to hunt and kill magical deer without even knowing it.”
“Who are you talking to?” Sissy asked. Lettie peered through the kitchen door behind her.
“Sissy, this poor woman needs a drink. Can’t we please get going?”
“In a moment, Lettie.” She turned back to me. “I really was hoping you would stay in bed,” Sissy called to me. “I didn’t expect you to get into any mischief.”
I walked back to the kitchen door. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” I had that awful feeling that I had chosen my words poorly, and that it was evident the very instant I spoke them.
“We hadn’t really left yet. We walked a block and a half, and I realized I’d forgotten my coin purse. We came back to retrieve it.”
Lettie cleared her throat. “I really think we should drive,” she said.
“You know perfectly well we couldn’t get that old heap to start.”
“You couldn’t get it to start! You didn’t let me try!” Lettie sniffed a bit to get across her deep feelings on the matter.
“All right, Lettie. I’ll let you try.”
Lettie jumped and clapped her hands twice. “Hooray! I’ll crank the engine, and you shall steer!” Lettie bounced through the door and straight for the garage. “I’ll just get the crank,” she said. Before I could think what to say, she had opened the small door into the garage and stepped in. I held my breath, wondering if I would hear a shriek when she discovered Trimble.
A moment later, she walked out, metal crankshaft in hand, smiling gladly.
I asked her, “Did you see anything strange in the garage?”
“Strange? Like what?”
“Like a reindeer,” I answered. Lettie waved off the idea with a ‘pshaw,’ and went back inside. Sissy placed a hand on my shoulder and began to lead me in as well.
“Young man, it’s time for you to go back upstairs and stay there!”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“Oh, please call me Sissy. Now, up you go!”
My mother was sitting on one of the parlor chairs, her back to Sissy and me. She was hunched over, her head in her hands. Just before I started up the steps, I said to her, “I’m sorry, Mother.” She didn’t respond, just slumped over a little further.
“This isn’t the time,” Sissy said. “I’m sure we’ll have an awful lot to talk about tomorrow.”
In the guest room, I sat on a little wicker chair and tried to brush the dust off the pant cuffs of the nightclothes. Sissy brought in a small oil lantern and lit the wick. “It’s going to be dark soon. I’ll leave this here. Don’t go out again unless you really need to, all right?”
“Yes, I promise,” I said. Even then, I wasn’t so sure I meant it. I wasn’t so sure about anything.
“I know I’ve been a terrible guest,’ I said. “I promised my father I’d be cooperative and helpful.”
“You’ve had a stumble on the way, that’s all. A good rest is the first step to making everything better.” She stepped into the hallway, then turned and addressed me in a soft whisper. “I should tell you, Mannie,” she said. “I’ve never seen a gnome. But you’re not the first young person I’ve met who said they’d spotted one around here. Good night, for now.”
And she gently shut the door.