“I suppose. . . .” Rye said. He sat down next to his father.
“Truth is,” Valerian continued with a rueful shake of his head, “it doesn’t seem like there’s much we can do. Beavers are big and powerful. They don’t want to listen to us. I’m just hoping they stop building. Now of course—” Valerian’s voice trailed off.
“Of course . . . what?” Rye asked.
Valerian threw the grass blade away and reached over to their seed pile. He looked it over, selected a seed, polished it against his chest, then took a bite.
“What?” Rye prompted.
“Oh,” Valerian finally said, “your mother doesn’t say, though it does slip out now and again. I’m fairly sure she thinks that when Ragweed comes home he’ll solve everything.” He contemplated the seed in his paws.
Rye stiffened. “Do you think so?” he asked, ready to bolt up and walk off.
“Nope,” his father said. He took another bite of the seed and chewed thoughtfully.
“You don’t?” said Rye, taken by surprise. “Why?”
Instead of answering, Valerian remained quiet and stared off into the distance. Now and again he nibbled at his seed.
“Well, son, it’s a big world out there. Full of possibilities. Dangers. Your brother isn’t shy. He likes getting into things. Seems to me, if he was coming back, well, he’d have done so by now.” There was a tremor in his voice.
Shocked, Rye looked around. “Do . . . do you think something . . . happened to him?” he asked. Something in his world shifted.
At first Valerian only nodded. It took a moment for him to speak. “Don’t know for sure, of course, do I?” There was another pause. “But well, I’ve got this . . . bad feeling.”
“But . . . that would be awful,” Rye said, gazing at his father’s sad face. Yet hadn’t he almost wished for it?
“Yawp, it’d be pretty sad, all right,” his father said.
“Do you . . . do you think,” Rye said, “I should go and look for him?”
“Nope,” Valerian said. “Ragweed could be anywhere. If he’s coming back, he’ll come in his own sweet time. Besides, we don’t want you disappearing, too.”
Rye hesitated before saying, “Why?”
“We need you, Rye,” Valerian said. “We need you a lot.”
Rye almost burst into tears of gratitude. But then he asked, “Does that mean that if . . . if Ragweed did come back, you . . . wouldn’t need me?”
“Son,” Valerian said, “all I’m saying is, I don’t think Ragweed is coming back.”
Rye, however, noticed that his father had not really answered his question: What would Rye’s place be if Ragweed returned? Disappointed, he did not want to ask again. His thoughts were already too confused.
That night Rye could not sleep. Wedged in amidst his family in the one-room nest, he kept thinking about his talk with his father. What had happened to Ragweed? Would his brother come back? What would happen if he did? In particular, Rye wondered what would happen to him if Ragweed came home? Would he be ignored again?
The more Rye thought about it, the more unappreciated he felt. He forgot how wonderful it had been when his father had talked to him mouse to mouse. Instead he thought, “Pa was telling me not to go off only because Ragweed is gone.”
It was but a matter of moments before Rye was saying to himself, “Who pays attention to me?” He answered his own question quickly: “Nobody!”
Perhaps, he thought, it would be a good thing if he went off to look for Ragweed. When he found him, he’d tell his brother he was needed at home. Then Rye could go off and have his own adventures.
On the other paw, Rye mused, if he could not find Ragweed, but could discover what had happened to him, he could bring that news to his family. Not only could they be at rest with the matter, he could take his permanent place as the eldest child at home.
It was the middle of the night. The whole nest was asleep, except Rye. He got up quietly. There were no particular belongings he needed or wanted to take. Still, he thought it best to leave something to tell his parents where he was going. They might even think he was doing something brave as well as useful.
Finding a pale leaf, he wrote a good-bye note:
Dear Mom & Pa,
Farewell!
I’ve gone into the great world to search for Ragweed.
Fear not! I shall return!
Your devoted son,
Rye
Rye took a deep breath. The night was balmy, sweet with the smell of growing things. The moon appeared calm in a velvet black sky. The grass was soft beneath his toes. The whole world seemed full and ripe.
Rye’s slim chest swelled with emotion. Oh, to have something important happen to him at last! Oh, to be noticed, to be told by someone, “Rye, how glad I am to see you!”
Yet was he, Rye kept wondering, doing the right thing by going? I’m doing it for the family, he told himself. It has nothing to do with me at all.
With that thought firmly embedded in his heart, Rye set off. He was heading due east.
CHAPTER 7
Mr. Caster P. Canad and Company
THE BEAVERS’ LODGE was a large, domed structure made of sticks and twigs, plastered over with mud. To get inside the lodge the beavers—just as Valerian had informed Rye—had to swim through an underwater tunnel.
Though a small vent hole at the top of the dome provided some fresh air, it was hot and humid inside the lodge. The little light there was came from the sporadic flashing light of fireflies, which the beavers had snared and brought into the lodge for just that purpose.
Standing at the far end of the lodge was Mr. Caster P. Canad. Looking around, paws contentedly folded over
