“The freaking berries weren’t black.”
“Freaking berries?” said Sweet Cicely, her brow furrowed. “What kind of berry is that?”
“I . . . got Mephitis to squeeze some over me.”
“And his . . . odor?” asked Poppy’s mother.
“Well . . . ,” said Poppy. “He has a friend. . . .” Her voice trailed off, and for a moment no one said a word.
“My friend’s a skunk,” said Junior.
“A skunk?” echoed Sweet Cicely.
“Poppy,” called Lilly from the entryway to the boot. “Papa is waiting. . . .”
“Perhaps,” said Sweet Cicely, “Junior . . . might wait a bit.”
“Why?” said Poppy.
Sweet Cecily flicked her ears. “Poppy, dear . . . his color . . . name . . . and smell. The other Ragweed was not one of your papa’s favorites.”
“Mama,” said Poppy, “Junior’s color is fine. As for his name, that’s fine, too. Now he needs to meet his grandfather.” She pushed Junior forward, and the two of them walked toward where Lilly was waiting.
“Hey, Mama,” Junior said, “do you like my new color?”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“Hey, guess what? I never thought of you having a mama.”
Poppy stopped. “Why?”
“That would mean you were . . . like me. That’s too freaking weird.”
“Maybe I am,” said Poppy as she pulled the plaid tie away from the entry to the boot. “And if you could refrain from saying ‘freaking’ for the next five minutes, I’d very much appreciate it. Papa!” she called. “We’re here!” She turned to Junior. “Come along.”
“What’s this place?”
“An old boot.”
“What’s a boot?”
“Never mind. Just brace yourself.”
“For what?”
“Junior . . . just freaking brace yourself!”
Junior grinned and stayed close to his mother’s side as they entered the dim boot and made their way to the toe.
CHAPTER 24
Lungwort Meets Junior
AS POPPY AND JUNIOR APPROACHED, Lungwort sat up abruptly on his milkweed bed. He stared at Junior, eyes blinking rapidly, whiskers twitching.
“Papa,” said Poppy, “this is your grandson.”
Lungwort continued to gaze mutely at Junior. He coughed twice and then said, “My eyes must be getting much worse. This young mouse appears to be . . . red.”
Poppy took a deep breath. “Papa he is red . . . for the moment.”
“Who did you say he was?”
“Your grandson.”
“My grandson?”
“Yo, old mouse,” said Junior. “Are you Mama’s papa?” Poppy winced.
“I am,” said Lungwort.
“That’s frea—”
“Junior!” cried Poppy.
Junior squeezed his mouth shut with a paw.
Lungwort frowned. “Is his father red?”
“Rye,” Poppy managed to say, “is a golden mouse.”
“Why does this one smell?”
“Papa . . . he’s a teenager.”
Junior grinned.
Lungwort continued to stare at him. “I wasn’t aware teenagers were required to smell. Does he have a name?”
Poppy hesitated for just a moment. Just as she was about to speak, Junior blurted: “It’s Lungwort, dude. My name is Lungwort Junior. Only they always call me Junior.” He held out a paw. “Pleased to meet you, old mouse. Mama always talks about you. Telling us what a cool mouse you are.”
A startled Poppy stared at her son.
Lungwort beamed with pleasure. “My, my,” he cried. “Named after me!” He turned to Poppy. “You never told me that.” He took Junior’s paw and pressed it warmly.
“But remember,” Junior said, louder than before, “I only answer to Junior.”
“Then Junior it is,” chortled Lungwort. “I must say I am honored to be so memorialized.”
“Now Papa—,” Poppy began.
Lungwort cut her off with a raised paw. “Poppy, you must leave me alone with this young mouse. He and I have much to say to each other.”
“But—”
“Scoot, Mama,” said Junior, grinning widely. “We Lungworts need to talk.”
Poppy, with an imploring look at Junior, went out.
Left behind, Junior slapped Lungwort on the back. “Yo, Gramps, you’re just the old mouse I need to talk to.”
“About what, pray tell?”
“I need to know everything about my mama. All the bad stuff she did when she was my age. And that Ragweed she used to hang out with. What was up with him? The full load of dirt. And about you, too. I bet you were wild.”
Lungwort laughed. “I think I can truly expound a fair amount about such subjects,” he said. “Indeed, you and I do have much to talk about.”
CHAPTER 25
Family Talk
POPPY, HER TAIL TWITCHING ever so slightly, made her way out of the boot. Lilly was waiting for her.
“Where’s Junior?”
“He’s with Papa.”
“Alone?” gasped Lilly.
“They’re getting on wonderfully.”
“They are?”
“I think so.” Poppy considered her sister. She seemed very tense, with eyes welling with tears. Her whiskers drooped. Her ears flicked forward and back. “Lilly, you look sad. What is it?”
Lilly shook her head.
After a moment Poppy said, “It’s you who looks after Papa, isn’t it?”
Lilly, wiping a tear from her cheek, nodded. “Well, Mama and I.”
“And he takes it all for granted, doesn’t he?”
When Lilly turned away, Poppy reached out and touched her sister. “Lilly, listen to me.”
“You don’t need to talk down to me,” said Lilly, “just because you’re the one who is going to become the head of the family.”
“Lilly, how many times must I say it: I have no intention of doing that.”
“But you will. I know you will. You get your way with things like that. You’ve always been Papa’s favorite.”
“Lilly, I was anything but his favorite. And I don’t want to be head of this family. I am going back to my family.”
“Why would you want to go back to that dark, dank forest and that dead tree with that dreadful, smelly porcupine living right next door?”
“And I,” said Poppy, “can’t believe you would want to live in a place without a shred of privacy.”
Lilly held up her head. “I believe in loyalty to my family.”
“Lilly, I’m loyal to mine,” said Poppy with all the force she could muster.
“But how could you walk away from . . . all this?”
“Because my life has changed, Lilly. I like what it’s become. I’m happy with it. Anyway, this house is about to fall down. For your sake, I hope it doesn’t. But Junior is right: you’re heaped together here. No privacy. Whatever happens, I am not going to stay.”
“I still don’t believe you,” said Lilly, and she rushed off.
Poppy watched her go and started to follow, only to change her mind. The crowd of mice with all their noise had given her a
