Harriet’s Hare

Harriet had been quiet throughout the meal, leaving the grown-ups to do the talking.

‘She’s miles away somewhere,’ her father said.

Soon, thought Harriet, my hare will be millions of miles away. He’s only got three more days of his holidays left.

‘Jessica,’ she said. ‘Does your hare story have a happy ending?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Jessica. ‘I like happy endings.’

‘Me too,’ said Harriet’s father, ‘so let me give you a hand with the washing-up and that’ll be a happy ending to a lovely lunch.’

‘Can I help?’ said Harriet.

‘Actually,’ said her father quickly, ‘I was just going to ask you to do something for me, Hattie. Could you go on ahead and just check on old Buttercup? She’s due to calve any time now and I forgot to have a look at her as we drove down here. I shan’t be long. I’ll probably catch you up before you reach home.’

‘OK,’ said Harriet.

Funny, she thought as she walked through the village and turned into the lane. He could just as easily have looked at Buttercup himself on the way back.

She went into the cow pasture and walked around the herd. Several cows were lying down, comfortably cudding, Buttercup amongst them.

‘She doesn’t look as though she has any immediate plans for calving,’ said a familiar voice, and there was Wiz, hopping towards her.

He knows everything about everything, thought Harriet as she squatted down to stroke her hare.

‘I named you well,’ she said. ‘You’re a wizard.’

‘And you’re a very special girl, Harriet,’ said the hare, ‘and it’s nice to think that I’m going to do you that good turn I promised.’

‘No. The really big surprise that I have arranged for you is actually beginning to happen at this very minute, as we speak.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Harriet.

‘You will,’ said Wiz, ‘when the moon is full.’

‘Do you mean that the surprise is that you’re not going yet after all? You’re going to stay longer?’

‘No, I’m going all right. By the time you understand what I’m talking about, I’ll be gone.’

‘But then I shan’t be able to thank you for whatever it is.’

‘I don’t need thanks, Harriet. It is I who am grateful to you for making my holiday on Earth such fun. All I ask you to do is to be kind to my daughters, to all hares, to all animals, for the rest of your long life.’

‘I will, I will!’ said Harriet.

She looked earnestly into the hare’s large brown eyes.

‘Are you telling me that I’m going to live to be very old?’ she asked.

‘Certainly,’ replied Wiz. ‘You will see a thousand full moons in your time.’

Harriet smiled happily.

‘Oh, Wiz!’ she said. ‘I believe every word you say.’

She got to her feet and watched the hare lolloping slowly away across the pasture. Then she shouted after him: ‘I suppose you know exactly when old Buttercup here is going to calve?’

‘Certainly,’ said the hare. ‘Tuesday morning. Ten o’clock. Heifer calf,’ and off he went.

Harriet was just turning into the trackway when she heard the Land Rover coming along the lane. Her father stopped. What’s he looking so pleased about? she thought.

‘Buttercup all right?’ he asked as she got in.

‘Oh yes, she’s not doing anything. I should say she’ll calve about the middle of Tuesday morning.’

‘Indeed?’ said her father. ‘Perhaps you’d tell me the exact time, Miss Clever Clogs?’

‘Ten o’clock. And she’ll have a heifer calf.’

John Butler laughed.

‘Well, I hope she does,’ he said. ‘She’s a good milker, old Buttercup, but she’s always had bull calves. I’d like a daughter of hers.’

Harriet thought of Wiz’s children, as the Land Rover rattled up the trackway. He seemed pleased to have daughters.

‘When I was born,’ she said, ‘were you glad I was a girl, Dad?’

‘Very glad,’ said her father. ‘And so was your mother.’

She didn’t have a very long life, thought Harriet, but it seems that I’m going to. I suppose Wiz could tell me all sorts of things that are going to happen to me if I asked, but I don’t want to know. All I want for now is just to be here on Longhanger Farm with my dad.

She looked at his strong hand on the steering-wheel and put hers on top of it.

‘Are you happy, Dad?’ she asked.

‘Very happy, Hat,’ he said. ‘Why do you ask? Don’t tell me you can predict my future as well as Buttercup’s?’

He laughed again.

‘A heifer calf at exactly ten o’clock on Tuesday morning!’ he said. ‘Pigs might fly!’

‘Puffed I am,’ she said, ‘pushin’ that old bike up the hill. But then ’tis lovely freewheelin’ down again. I just hope it don’t come on to rain. We shall get some sure enough, the cows is all lyin’ down and there was a red sky this mornin’ and the swallows is all flyin’ low. Oh, and I tell you what, duck – I seen that old hare again just now as I was comin’ up. Sittin’ up bold as brass it was.’

‘Did he say anything to you?’ said Harriet.

Mrs Wisker gave her usual ear-splitting shriek of laughter.

‘Say anything?’ she cried. ‘Oh you’re a scream, you are, duck!’

It’s you that’s the scream, thought Harriet.

‘Is the hare still there?’ she asked.

‘Far as I know,’ said Mrs Wisker. ‘You want to tell your dad to get his gun – he gave me a lovely hare, harvest time.’

When Harriet walked down the trackway, she found Wiz feeding quietly beside the fence.

‘Did you want me?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ said the hare. ‘Just to give you a weather warning. Were you thinking of going riding today?’

‘Yes, I was. I thought I’d ride up to the downs this morning and we could have a race. But don’t be a hedgehog this time.’

‘Don’t go,’ said the hare, ‘unless you want to risk being struck by lightning. There’s going to be a humdinger of a thunderstorm in a couple of hours time. Come tomorrow morning instead. I’ll look out for you.’

‘All right,’ said Harriet. ‘But not till the afternoon. I want to see Dad’s face when Buttercup’s calf arrives.’

Even as the hare loped off, Harriet heard a rumble of thunder in the far distance, and by the time Mrs Wisker had finished her cleaning and was ready to go home, the storm was banging and crashing right overhead, with lightning to match.

‘I’m not goin’ in that,’ said Mrs Wisker. ‘The old bike might get struck, and then it wouldn’t only be my hubby as was late lamented, ‘twould be me too,’ and she waited an extra hour, flicking a duster about, until the storm had passed.

‘What about, Dad?’ asked Harriet.

‘Old Buttercup’s thinking about calving. I left her out in the pasture when I brought the rest in.’

‘I’ll meet you down there, ten o’clock sharp,’ said Harriet.

And at ten o’clock sharp, as father and daughter stood and watched, Buttercup dropped a fine heifer calf.

‘Your turn next!’ cried Wiz, and he sprinted ahead, to win the race easily.

‘What did you mean?’ asked Harriet, when she had slipped off the puffing pony. ‘My turn next?’

‘To be amazed,’ said Wiz, and no matter how she questioned him, he would say no more.

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Dad,’ said Harriet, and no matter how he questioned her, she would say no more, except that at last she said, ‘Rabbits!’

It was their custom – something taught to John Butler as a boy and to his father before him – that on the last day of each month, the last word you spoke before going to sleep was ‘Rabbits!’ and that when you woke next morning on the first of the new month, the first word you uttered was ‘Hares!’ To do this was to ensure good luck.

So Harriet’s father duly replied, ‘Rabbits!’ and kissed her and went downstairs.

Tonight the moon was at the full.

Tonight she was to lose her hare.