Even so, Poppy plunged in among the high grasses, which meant she momentarily lost sight of the house. Knowing the way as if she had last walked it a day ago, she pressed on. What Poppy did not know was that her path took her just a few feet from where Junior and Mephitis lay napping. She saw no sign of them.
Poppy had almost reached the end of the orchard when she came upon a cluster of lady’s slippers. The flowers— delicate purple, pink, white, and blue—stirred gently in the calm afternoon sun, shedding the sweetest of perfumes. Poppy gazed at them. She always had loved them so. How much she would have liked to share them with her family, but they could never grow in the dim light of the forest.
Suddenly Poppy felt a powerful longing for Rye—so steady, so kind, and so loving. And the children. How much she missed them! The next moment—Poppy was hardly aware of what she was doing—she pulled a flower down, plucked it, and began to dance. Her steps were slow and, because she was out of practice, not particularly graceful. But her old desire to dance to the vibrant music that filled her heart was as strong as ever. As she did, her mind flooded with the thought Oh, I do love being alive!
She stopped, abruptly. “Poppy!” she scolded herself. “You are being ridiculous! You are the mother of eleven!” With a self-deprecating snort, she tossed the flower away, only to regret her gesture. She ran to retrieve it and nuzzled the supple petals by way of asking forgiveness. Then she laid the flower down with humble reverence. “Silly mouse!” she said out loud, giggled, and gave herself a hug. Now she felt ready to face whatever lay ahead.
Gray House loomed before her. She stopped and considered it: it seemed smaller than she remembered and much more dilapidated, truly a wreck.
“Hello there!” came a voice.
Poppy started. For a moment she couldn’t speak to the mouse who stood before her.
“May I be of some help—,” began the other mouse. He gasped. “Good gracious,” he cried. “It’s Poppy! Don’t you recognize me? It’s Basil!”
“Basil!” screamed Poppy. And she threw her paws about her favorite cousin.
Then came a torrent of questions and statements, both of them talking simultaneously: “How are you—You look so good—I am so happy to see you—It’s been so long—You don’t know how often I’ve thought of you—Why have you never visited?—Are you happy?—No, no, it’s you I want to know about! I am so glad to see you—You’ve hardly aged at all—Neither have you—You should have sent word— How is your family?—Tell me everything you’ve been doing—What’s new?—What’s old?—You must meet my wife—You must meet my husband—You look wonderful— Oh my, it’s so exciting to see you!”
Who said what, or when, and what might have been answers, or questions, or statements, neither knew, neither cared, neither bothered to know, and besides, it did not really matter, not one bit, no, no, not at all! For when they had gone through all of that, they started right in again with the same questions, the same answers, only perhaps a little slower. And perhaps a few new answers were slipped in, though neither cared to explain much about their own lives in their rush to find out everything about the other. That accomplished, or at least partly accomplished, they hugged each other yet again and laughed and cried.
At last Poppy said, “Lilly came and told me things were not good here. That’s why I came. Basil, is it really true?”
“Actually, life is pretty much as it was when you left,” said Basil. “Except Lungwort is quite a bit older. Not his old self. We are very crowded. And then there’s that.” He nodded to the bulldozer.
“When will it happen?” asked Poppy.
“No one knows for certain,” said Basil. “Probably soon. That makes us all jumpy. But we can talk about that later. Let’s get to the house. We knew—or at least hoped—you were coming. Everybody is dying to see you.”
Poppy grinned.
They hurried toward the house.
Now Poppy met first one relation and then another and another. Everywhere she was greeted with excitement and warmth, hugs and caring questions. “Hey, Poppy! So glad to see you! Where you been so long?” she heard over and over again. By the time she reached the steps to Gray House, so many well-wishers and greeters surrounded her, it was hard to keep going. In the midst of it all Poppy, feeling so very happy, could hear herself thinking, Why was I ever worried?
Then she looked up. There was Sweet Cicely. She was standing right next to Lungwort—supporting him, really. Oh my! The two had aged a good deal. But, as always, her father had his thimble cap on his head. He was looking very stern, and he was saying: “There you are, Poppy. What’s taken you so long, mouse? Come along now. There are urgent things to decide!”
In an instant it was exactly as it had been before: her stern, pompous father, telling her, a rather timid little mouse, what to do. Lungwort spoke as if time had not passed, as if life had not changed. But it has, thought Poppy as she started forward. It has!
CHAPTER 18
Poppy and Lungwort
THE CROWD QUIETED. A clear pathway was opened. Poppy felt her paw squeezed, and Basil’s voice came in her ear: “You can handle it.”
Poppy barely had time to nod before climbing the steps. She gave her mother a hug—or at least started to. Sweet Cicely held her daughter away and wrinkled her nose. “Poppy, dear,” she said, “you’re older!” It sounded like an accusation.
Before Sweet Cicely could speak another word, Poppy heard Lungwort say, “Come, come, Poppy. Don’t dawdle.” He grabbed her paw even as he coughed. “You and I have vital things to discuss.”
Poppy let herself be pulled into the house. Lilly was there, frowning. Poppy smiled weakly at her,
