“Hey, your uncle’s a porcupine.”
That brought more laughter.
For a while they were quiet. Then Junior said, “You know what I think we should do?”
“What?”
“Let’s get to that house before my Aunt Lilly does. You know, go swaggering in as if we owned the place. Be so totally wicked.”
“Fine with me,” said the skunk. “There’s only one other thing.”
“What?”
“You’re not black anymore. The soot from the burnt tree you used got washed off in the water.”
Junior looked himself over. “Dang! I forgot about that. Maybe I can find something on the other side to dye myself again. Don’t want to get there looking ordinary for that family.”
Junior waded into the water. Stepping carefully, sometimes swimming, he worked his way across Glitter Creek. Mephitis waddled across. “Oh, NO!” he said when he reached the other side.
“What?” said Junior.
“Your stink is a lot less.”
“Can’t have that. Do me!” He turned his back on the skunk. Mephitis stood on his forepaws and squirted.
“What do you think?” asked Junior.
Mephitis sniffed. “Beautiful!”
“Come on,” said Junior, “up the bank. I think Mama said there’s an orchard. Whatever that is. We’ve got to go through it. Then it’ll be that Gray House place.”
“Nothing to it.” The skunk scrambled up the bank with ease. Once on top, Mephitis and Junior stared at the Old Orchard, which lay before them. Instead of the tall, straight pine trees that grew randomly throughout the forest, the orchard consisted of a few dozen ancient apple trees, spaced evenly one from the other, trunks twisted, branches low and drooping. And the orchard air, unlike the tangy, dry pine smell of the woods, was as sweet and moist as honey and almost as heavy.
“That’s some weird forest,” said Junior.
“Your ma called it an orchard,” Mephitis reminded him. “Smells sweet. What’s that boxy thing way over there?”
“I think that’s what they call Gray House,” said Junior.
The two gazed at it silently.
“You know what?” said Mephitis.
“What?”
“I never saw a house before. Is that where your family lives?”
“Hey, skunk, not my family. My mama’s. I never saw any of them ’cept my Aunt Lilly who I just met. Oh yeah, once we came to plant a tree for my dead Uncle Ragweed—the one I’m named after—up on that hill over there, I think. Except my mother didn’t want to visit anyone. But I saw the house from a distance.”
“What was your uncle like?”
“Skunk, that mouse did some wild stuff. I mean, really wicked. So they all hated Ragweed—that’s what my ma said. ’Specially her father.” Junior lowered his voice: “‘A mouse has to do what a mouse has to do.’ Ragweed used to say that. Is that cool or what? He only did what he liked.”
“What happened to him?”
“Got killed.”
“How?”
Junior shrugged. “Dunno. Anyway, he wasn’t stiff like that Lilly.”
“Just became a stiff,” said Mephitis.
“Skunk,” said Junior, “if they’re all like Aunt Lilly, it’ll be nasty. But I don’t care. Not really.”
“Me, neither.”
“The way I see it,” said Junior, “if they don’t like me, I won’t like them just as much. So let’s go get ’em.”
The two worked their way slowly through the orchard without speaking. Beneath the bright, warm sun, the grass was lush, with many colorful flowers to see and to smell. Apples lay on the ground. Grasshoppers rattled their wings while leaping about at random. Bees droned. Now and again a butterfly fluttered past, while jays, warblers, and bluebirds swooped and scooped up insects in their open maws.
“Freaking nice here,” said Junior after a while.
Mephitis grunted his agreement.
They meandered on quietly, pausing occasionally to look back and see how far they had come. But after a while Junior said, “I’ve been thinking: we could go back and wait for my mama. Could be easier that way.”
“Suppose.”
“Except, if we went back and she wasn’t there, things would get mixed up.”
“Right.”
“So I guess we better keep going,” said Junior. “Maybe she’ll be there when we show up—if we go slow enough.”
“Hope so,” said the skunk.
They went a little farther, until Mephitis said, “You know, I could use a nap.”
“Me, too,” said Junior. “Anyway, we want to be sure my mama’s there first, right?”
By way of answering, Mephitis lay down, curled up, wrapped his bushy tail around his body, and closed his eyes. Junior lay back against his friend, resting his head against Mephitis’s soft belly. Then he reached out to pluck a juicy strand of fragrant grass. He chewed it idly. “Yep, pretty nice here,” he murmured.
Under the sun’s soft warmth and the breezes so gently teasing, the two friends were soon slumbering.
CHAPTER 14
An Old Friend
AS JUNIOR AND MEPHITIS NAPPED, a melancholy Poppy walked slowly along the banks of Glitter Creek. Now and again she picked up a pebble and flicked it into the water. She even tried to skip one, but only achieved one jump before the stone sank. “Just like me,” she said.
Poppy was disappointed in herself. In her life she had felt anger and calm, fear and courage. She had experienced danger and joy. She had felt love and hate. While she had been bored a few times in her life, she had been excited many more times. But never before had she felt so sad.
Surely Junior was a great frustration, a mystery that should not be a mystery. And she was disappointed in her sister. Was she sad, she wondered, because of her father’s aging? Not really. Though she wanted only the best for him, it was, after all, only to be expected. He was an old mouse.
She reminded herself that on the other side of things, there was Rye. She adored him. And there were her children. She loved them so much, including Junior. Yes, he was rude. And crude. But he did have a wonderful laugh. No one could still laugh like that and be bad. And that water fight—it had been fun. Then there was her life in the forest. There was Ereth. It was all so good.
And yet . . . she
