“Junior.”
The young mouse held out his paw. “How do you do, Junior. My name is Cranberry. I’m really glad to meet you. I mean, seriously honored. Yow, Poppy’s son! That’s so amazing! No one is going to believe that I met you first. But I did, didn’t I? I’m so lucky. Maybe not as lucky as you, but you better come on. All my friends will give pips to meet you. I mean, your mother, I mean, she . . . must be the coolest mother in the whole world!” The young mouse started to run toward Gray House, only to stop and cry, “Come on!”
Junior, hardly knowing what to make of what he had heard, followed along at a slower pace, which meant the other mouse kept waiting for him to catch up. As they drew closer to the house, Junior began to see other mice.
“Hey, you guys,” yelled Cranberry. “Guess who I found? It’s Poppy’s son! No, really! Her real son! His name is Junior. And I met him first.”
Within moments a ring of staring young mice surrounded Junior. They gazed at him, pink noses sniffing, whiskers quivering.
“He lives in the forest,” Cranberry explained with excited authority. “He’s a golden deer mouse, but as you can see, he’s all red.”
“Is Poppy really your mother?” one of the other mice found the courage to ask.
“I guess,” said Junior, eyes cast down toward the ground.
“Is it true she’s amazingly strong?”
“I don’t—”
“Sure she is,” one of the other mice answered. “Everyone knows she kills owls and other huge, mouse-eating birds. And she’s a genius, too.” She turned to Junior. “Right?”
Junior said, “Well, maybe, but—”
“It’s so true,” said another mouse. “The whole universe knows she’s had these amazing adventures. How could you not know it? Wow! It would be so fantastic to have a mother who did those things. Isn’t that right?” he asked Junior.
“I suppose.”
“Doesn’t she talk about all that stuff?”
“No.”
The mice stared in disbelief at Junior.
“Whaddya mean?” someone finally said.
Junior shrugged. “She just doesn’t. That okay with you?”
Then another mouse said, “But you do know about all the things she’s done, don’t you?”
Junior felt his cheeks grow warm. “Sure. Sort of.”
“You’re just being modest,” said another.
“Is it hard having a famous mother?”
“Not really.”
“Can you tell us something she did? Something no one knows about?” The other mice quickly joined in, creating a chorus. “Please tell us! We won’t tell anyone. We promise.”
Junior looked around. The mice were waiting for him to say something. “Well,” he said, “on the way over here, we were attacked by a bear.”
“A bear!” they cried in horrified unison.
“But,” Junior continued, “she got us away.”
“That’s just what Poppy would do,” said one of the mice. “So amazing. A bear. How did she do that?”
“A friend—a skunk.”
“She has a friend who’s a skunk?” cried a mouse.
“Yeah. She called him and he—and I—helped.”
“You did?”
“I’m cool.”
“That’s incredible!”
“I’ve heard one of your mother’s best friends is a monster porcupine,” said another. “Is that true?”
“Yeah.”
There were ooohs and ahs.
“That’s so cool,” one of mice said. “Lungwort—he’s head mouse here—he says we should always stay away from porcupines. What’s Poppy’s friend like? Is he scary? Do you like him? Do you ever see him?”
“Uh, sure.”
“What’s his name?”
“Ereth.”
“He your friend, too?”
“He lives next to us.”
The mice stared at him with awe.
“Did Poppy come to stay?” a mouse asked.
“She will,” said another. “I’m sure she will.”
“She’s talking to Lungwort right now,” said another. “Probably telling him what she’s going to do about the bulldozer.”
“Be easy for her.”
“Wish my mother was like Poppy,” said another mouse.
“Actually, I’m related to her. My father is her second cousin. I think.”
“Lucky.”
“I guess,” said Junior, “I better go find her.”
“We’ll take you,” called someone. “But hey, how come you’re all red?”
“I . . . like it.”
“It’s so nasty. How’d you do it?”
“Blackberry juice.”
“Wow! That’s what I’m going to do, too.”
“Me, too.”
“No, me!”
Junior, swept along by the crowd of mice, looked up. Gray House was just ahead of them. It seemed huge, ungainly. Ugly. But even more than that, he could see his mother on the porch, and she was looking right at him. She did not look happy.
CHAPTER 21
Mephitis Meets Someone
A DEJECTED MEPHITIS WADDLED slowly through the Old Orchard in the direction of Glitter Creek. He was very sorry he had come on this trip. It had nothing to do with Junior. Junior was his best friend. For that matter, his only friend. It was just that he had thought the trip would be fun. Something different. But all the talk of Junior’s family upset him. It reminded Mephitis of his own family—the one he didn’t have. He had never felt lonelier.
That the day was bright and balmy was nothing to him. That he kept brushing by bright flowers, passing by fallen, crisp, ripe apples, was of no importance. He hardly felt or smelled the tall, sweet grasses that brushed his face. He would have preferred a soggy, gloomy rain. If it rained, he would have an excuse to dig under a rock or curl up in a log and go to sleep. Better to sleep than to be lonely. Sleep passed the empty times. Sleeping meant he didn’t have to solve problems. And if he didn’t try to solve problems, he couldn’t fail at it. He hated failing. Best of all, if he slept, he didn’t have to think. He had done a lot of napping before he became friends with Junior.
Except—Mephitis was not sleepy.
He did feel badly that he had broken his promise to Junior about staying at Gray House. But if the mice there were like Junior’s Aunt Lilly, endlessly complaining about his stink and his manners, it would just be awful. Skunks stunk, sometimes. That’s the way it was. A good thing, too. He had chased the bears away, hadn’t he?
Upon reaching the edge of the orchard, Mephitis had to decide which direction to go. What he really wanted was to run off to
