Frank woke with a jolt. His heart was thumping loudly. He was sweating. Mercy had taken over most of the bed and pushed Frank to the very edge.
The pig was snoring loudly. She had protected him from nothing.
Frank stared up at the ceiling. What if Mercy rolled over her in her sleep and crushed him? He sighed. What a ridiculous worry. But still, he got up, went downstairs, and heated some milk in a saucepan. According to the Bingham Lincoln Encyclopedia, warm milk was an effective sleep aid.
Frank looked out the window and saw that the Lincolns’ kitchen light was on. He could see Eugenia Lincoln’s profile. She looked annoyed.
Frank added more milk to the saucepan. He got a piece of paper from his notebook and wrote a note to his parents and Stella: Dear Family, if you wake and find me gone, do not worry. I have simply journeyed next door to visit Eugenia Lincoln. I will, of course, return. Yours, Frank. He put the note on the kitchen table.
When the milk was sufficiently warm, Frank added some honey and a little cinnamon, poured the milk into two mugs, and went out the back door and across the yard to the Lincoln sisters’ house.
He knocked on the side door. He called out, “Miss Lincoln? I had a terrible nightmare. I’ve brought you some warm milk. Can I come inside?”
Frank and Eugenia sat together at the kitchen table. Frank told Eugenia about his worry notebook, and how placing it under his bed had led to some unfortunate and very disturbing nightmares, the most recent of which had featured an alligator who had fashioned wings from an umbrella.
“Ludicrous,” said Eugenia Lincoln. “Absurd. Alligators don’t have wings. And since they don’t have opposable thumbs, they are incapable of constructing wings. Furthermore, you are afraid of too many things, Franklin.”
“Yes, Miss Lincoln,” said Frank.
There was something oddly comforting about Eugenia’s brusqueness, her cavalier dismissal of his nightmare, and her annoyed insistence that he was too afraid of too many things.
Frank said, “Are you often awake in the middle of the night, Miss Lincoln?”
“That is entirely too personal a question,” said Eugenia. She took a sip of her warm milk. She sighed. She said, “Yes, I am often awake in the middle of the night. I am a lifelong sufferer of insomnia.”
“I’ve read about insomnia,” said Frank.
“Yes, well, reading about insomnia is one thing. Suffering it is another.”
“Yes, Miss Lincoln,” said Frank.
A silence descended. Frank noticed that there was a single key in the center of the kitchen table.
“What’s the key for, Miss Lincoln?” he said.
“The key needs to be duplicated,” said Eugenia. “That’s tomorrow’s task — one of tomorrow’s tasks. When you can’t sleep, the best thing to do is to concentrate on life’s daily tasks, to attend to the mundane. Tomorrow, I will attend to my business. I will go and get the key duplicated.”
Attending to the mundane struck Frank as a very comforting notion.
“Can I go with you?” said Frank. “Can I help you attend to your daily tasks?”
“I suppose you may,” said Eugenia.
“Thank you, Miss Lincoln,” said Frank. He got up from the table and returned home. He could hear Mercy snoring as soon as he entered the house.
He went upstairs and walked down the hallway and looked in Stella’s room and saw that Mercy was in Stella’s bed.
Stella was smiling. She had her arm draped over the leg of the pig.
Frank got back in bed. He pulled the covers up to his chin. He closed his eyes and saw the key sitting on the kitchen table.
“Attend to the mundane,” he said to himself. “Do your daily tasks.”
And with the key glowing brightly in his mind, Frank Endicott fell asleep.
The next day, Frank went downtown with Eugenia Lincoln.
“Here we are,” said Eugenia. She stopped in front of a store called Buddy Lamp’s Used Goods. There was a small sign propped in the plate glass window. The sign said KEYS MADE, SAWS SHARPENED, MYSTERIES CONSIDERED, USED ITEMS BOUGHT AND SOLD.
Did the considering of mysteries and the making of keys really belong in the same sentence?
Frank didn’t think so.
“Shouldn’t we go to a hardware store for key duplication?” said Frank.
“I use Buddy Lamp,” said Eugenia. “I have always used Buddy Lamp, and I will continue to use Buddy Lamp.”
“Yes, Miss Lincoln,” said Frank.
“I am very set in my ways,” said Eugenia Lincoln. “And Buddy Lamp is utterly reliable.”
“If you say so,” said Frank. He stared at the window display for Buddy Lamp’s Used Goods. It featured a mannequin wearing a green suit. The mannequin had no head; furthermore, a dead weasel was sitting on the headless mannequin’s right shoulder. The weasel’s lips were pulled back in a snarl, revealing very sharp weasel teeth.
Frank took a step backward. He wished that he had his notebook with him. He felt a strong urge to make an entry, to write down the words weasel teeth.
“Maybe I’ll just wait in the car, Miss Lincoln,” said Frank.
“You will not wait in the car, Franklin Endicott,” said Eugenia. “You will step forward bravely. That is what you will do.” She opened the door to Buddy Lamp’s. A cluster of sleigh bells affixed to the door handle jingled in a merry, heedless way. “After you,” said Eugenia Lincoln.
Frank stepped into the dark interior of Buddy Lamp’s Used Goods. He immediately bumped into somebody.
“Pardon me,” said Frank.
He turned and found himself face-to-face with Napoleon Bonaparte, a man who appeared quite often in the Bingham Lincoln Encyclopedia set.
“Aaack,” said Frank.
“Ah,” said a voice, “he is, indeed, quite lifelike. Isn’t he? He hails from a first-rate, but now defunct, wax museum in Toledo, Ohio. I am quite pleased to have procured him.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lamp,”
