1 The Bare Windows of Home Mama yanked down her homemade drapes and stuffed them into the carryall. The windows stared
squarely out into the newness of how things were now. Mama said, “I think it is time.” She pulled her apron strings tighter. She didn’t look at her children. “Is everyone ready?”
Cress shrugged. Her mouth was dry, her words locked silent.
“You’ll need to carry him, Cress,” said Mama. “I have my arms full. Can you manage?”
Kip was disagreeable, all sour milk on salty soap.
“NO GO.”
“Don’t fuss,” said Mama. “This is hard enough. Be a good little bunny for Mama.”
Kip threw himself in the middle of the empty warren. Gone now, the rag carpet that had made the floor soft. When Kip kicked, he hurt his feet. He cried harder.
Mama put down the map, the parcels tied in string, the carryall, the valise full of carrots. She picked up her little Kip. Since the rocking chair was gone, too, she rocked on her heels.
“Why won’t you settle down, cuddles?” asked Mama. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
“He wants his stuffed carrot,” said Cress.
“Want ROTTY,” said Kip.
“I must have packed it and sent it ahead,” said Mama.
“No,” said Cress. “It’s stuck in the hood of his onesie. Look, Kip! Here’s your carrot.”
“ROTTY,” said Kip. There were more tears, and from more than one pair of eyes.
“And now we’re ready,” said Mama. Kip went into the snuggly. Cress grabbed Mama’s paw and held on tight.
They left their home for the last time. No one bothered to lock the door or to look back at nobody waving goodbye.
2 Dinner by Moonlight The setting sun was a lumpy clementine in a net bag of string clouds. The air, so cool and damp. A few birds moaned in falling tones. “Where are we going?” asked Cress.
“You’ll see when we get there,” said Mama crisply.
Cress knew that was the end of talking for now.
Kip, sucking on the tip of his stuffed carrot, fell silent. But Cress thought she heard him murmur, “Papa?”
She couldn’t bring herself to say, “No Papa,” so she said, “Look, Kip. There’s a little broken circle in the sky. Mama, is that the moon?”
“You’ve seen the moon before,” said Mama. “You know the moon.”
“I don’t remember,” said Cress. “You never let me go out at night.”
They didn’t talk any more. The grass looked like dinner and then it tasted like dinner. Dinner by moonlight, thought Cress. Papa would love this.
Papa would have loved this.
3 Where We’re Going Mama had lost her map.
On the other side of the water, the ducks slept. They were too far away to wake up for directions.
Nearby, thorny branches tangled, a dark sword fight profiled against cliffs of silvery moon-cloud.
The family froze when Monsieur Reynard came by with a mouthful of hen, but his jaws were busy. He couldn’t bother with Mama and her children tonight.
“We made it,” said Cress as they hurried by, trying not to stare.
“Just luck,” said Mama. “The fox had already chosen his meal.”
“Do you think we should have helped that poor hen?” asked Cress.
“She was too dead, I’m afraid,” replied Mama.
“Oh.” Cress thought about it. “Did a fox get Papa?”
“Hush your lips!” Mama glanced at the baby. But Kip was asleep, dreaming of dipping carrots in honey.
Mama put her paw on Cress’s shoulder. “We may never know what happened to Papa,” she said. “But here we are, and the forest is home to more than one fox. So we must take care. If only I hadn’t lost the map.”
“Do you know where we’re going?” asked Cress.
“Of course I know where we’re going.” Mama paused to stroke her whiskers and look around. “I just don’t know the way.”
4 Agatha Cabbage I wish I knew what I did with the map,” said Mama for the third time that night.
Cress said, “You left it on the floor when you were cuddling Kip.”
“Why didn’t you pick it up if you saw it lying there?” asked Mama.
“I wasn’t in charge of the map,” said Cress. “I can’t be in charge of everything. I have the towels and the teaspoons. Not to mention Kip on my back.” Cress didn’t add that she had been too close to tears to speak.
“You should have pointed out that I dropped it.” Mama tutted. Cress readied for a sound scolding. However, just then, a figure crossed their path in the moonlight, striping the horizon with black and white.
“Oh, my pearls and pistols. What do we have here? Humble country folk out for an evening stroll?” asked a lady skunk, peering through a lorgnette. “And far from home, by the look of your shabby luggage.”
“Good evening, madame,” said Mama.
“The little ones are out late,” said the skunk. “I disapprove.”
“Oh, do you?” asked Mama blandly. “Well, it can’t be helped tonight.”
“Not how I’d raise children, if I had any,” replied the skunk. “But don’t let me keep you. I’m off to the opera. Notice my lorgnette. Notice my chinchilla.”
Wrapped around the skunk’s neck, the chinchilla shyly lifted her head and murmured, “Howdy-do.”
“Lady Agatha Cabbage is my name,” said the skunk. She squinted through her eyepiece at Cress. “My, what a charming little girl you are. Little frou-frou, little bunnykins, would you like to become my lady’s maid? My last maid ran off. Useless. It’s so hard to keep good help. Do come, child. I need help.”
Cress was pretty brave but no way, no way. She pouted.
“Oh, she couldn’t possibly,” said her mother.
Lady Cabbage frowned and said, “I would give her sound training in manners, something you haven’t managed to do yet.”
Cress pressed her face into her mother’s apron strings and held her breath.
“She’s getting an education already,” said Cress’s mother. “She is homeschooled. Very well, I might add.”
Lady Cabbage sniffed. “What could you possibly teach her at home school?”
“What home is,” said her mother. She glanced about. “And where.”
The skunk pushed the point. “But where is your home?”
“We were looking for a certain Mr. Owl who is said to have rooms to let,” admitted Mama. “But we’ve lost our way.”
“Mr. Owl? I know where that old crankcase lives,” said the skunk. “I can show you. There are some nasty spiderwebs on the path. I suppose the opera can wait.”
“You’re too kind,” said Cress’s mother to Lady Cabbage.
The chinchilla twisted her head and whispered to Cress, “She’s not that kind. She doesn’t even like opera. She just likes to dress up and parade about.”
“By the way,” said Cress’s mother, “a word to the wise. We just saw a fox go by with a mouthful of hen.”
“I am scared of no fox,” replied the skunk. “I have a powerful cologne that drives predators wild. You’ll be safe with me. Come along.”
“Just don’t get on her stinky side,” whispered the
chinchilla.
Copyright © 2022 by Gregory Maguire; Illustrated by David Litchfield. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
