The Unicorn in the Barn

by Jacqueline Ogburn

  Contents

  * * *

  Title Page

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Map

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Acknowledgments

  Middle Grade Mania!

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Connect with HMH on Social Media

  Copyright © 2017 by Jacqueline K. Ogburn

  Illustrations © 2017 by Rebecca Green

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to trade.permissions@hmhco.com or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

  www.hmhco.com

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

  Names: Ogburn, Jacqueline K., author. | Green, Rebecca, illustrator.Title: The unicorn in the barn / written by Jacqueline Ogburn ; with illustrations by Rebecca Green.

  Description: New York, New York : Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, [2017] | Summary: Fifth-grader Eric’s life transforms when he encounters a unicorn in the woods around Chinaberry Creek and discovers a special veterinary clinic that cares for “supernatural exotic patients.”

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016014202 | ISBN 9780544761124 (hardcover)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Unicorns—Fiction. | Veterinary hospitals—Fiction. | Supernatural—Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Animals / Mythical. | JUVENILE FICTION / Family / Multigenerational. | JUVENILE FICTION / Fantasy & Magic. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Death & Dying. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Friendship.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.O3317 Un 2017 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016014202

  eISBN 978-1-328-69889-6

  v1.0617

  To my Uncle Jackie, who has always loved animals

  ​—​J.K.O.

  To Mori and Junie B, my own two magical creatures

  ​—​R.G.

  Not to hurt our humble brethren is our first duty to them, but to stop there is not enough. We have a higher mission: to be of service to them whenever they require it.

  ​—​St. Francis of Assisi

  Chapter One

  MY DAD ALWAYS TOLD ME, “Never surprise somebody swinging a hammer; something is liable to get smashed.” Still, when I first saw Allegra Brancusi, I couldn’t help myself. She was slapping a No Trespassing sign up against a tree—​my tree. The one with my treehouse in it.

  “Hey, stop that!” I shouted. She was raising the hammer to drive in the nail and, sure enough, that hammer went flying back over her shoulder and nearly clipped me on the arm.

  She whirled around and glared at me. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that. It’s rude.” It’s not like I had done a commando crawl through the bushes for the sole purpose of sneaking up on her. I had just walked down the path like always. Not my fault I couldn’t see her until I got to the top of the ridge. “I’m posting these signs and you can’t stop me,” she said, shaking the yellow-and-black poster in my face.

  “I can see that. What I want to know is why. This is Harper’s Woods and I’m a Harper. That’s my treehouse up there and you can’t keep me out.” I glared back.

  “Well, Mr. A. Harper, it should be called Brancusi Woods now and I’m Allegra Brancusi, that’s why.” She swung her arm out, using the poster as a pointer. “My mother bought this farm. She told me to post these No Trespassing signs on this side of our property, in a line starting at that telephone pole.”

  The telephone pole was the third one down from our mailbox, next to the road at the bottom of the hill. It had a ring of yellow-and-black signs wrapped around it. There was a stretch of weeds that used to be a cornfield, and right behind it, the edge of the woods. Sure enough, a line of posters marked trees every few feet, up to where we were standing. She was right about where the property line started, but not about where it ran. I set her straight right then.

  “So, Allegra Who-si, didn’t your mom tell you about surveyor’s stakes?” She shook her head. “Your property line starts at that pole, but it doesn’t run straight up to the top of the ridge. See those stakes with the orange ribbons? That’s where the line is.” I pointed at the stake about fifty yards down the hill and to another stake ten feet beyond that and another beyond that. Her eyes followed my finger and she bit her bottom lip, looking uncertain now. “How do you know that?” she asked.

  “I helped the surveyor set them out. We had to sell the farmhouse, but my dad promised we’d keep the top of this hill. Bobby Knapp did the surveying; you can ask him.” I picked up the hammer and handed it back to her. “If anybody is trespassing here, it’s you.”

  “Oh,” she said, taking the hammer and poking it through a loop on the leg of her carpenter jeans. It was the first time I ever saw a girl do that—​actually use one of those loops for what you’re supposed to. She looked back at the line of stakes, then picked up her backpack and stuffed the poster back inside. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll ask my mom about the stakes.”

  “Yeah, well, you should check things out before you go hammering on other people’s trees.” I crossed my arms and waited.

  “Whatever,” she said, shrugging her backpack across her shoulder. She stomped off down the hill toward the big white farmhouse that used to be my grandmother’s.

  I grabbed on to the board nailed about four feet up the trunk and scrambled into my treehouse. It’s not much to look at, but it’s been my favorite place since I was six. It’s a small wooden square stuck to the side of the tree, just big enough for me to stretch out in. I built up the sides to about three feet high and I have a tarp in it to keep the rain off my stuff. The boards are this nice silvery gray color now.

  The best thing is, it’s on this ridge, so you can see real well all around. It’s the perfect place to watch everything. I can even see where the little creek runs to the north. When the wind is still, I can hear the water.

  Down to the west is my house, a brick ranch. It’s pretty close to the road, but still has a nice stand of trees curving around it, like the woods are holding the house in its arms. My dad built it when he married my mom. On the other side of the rise, farther back in the woods, sits the farmhouse with a wraparound porch and a bunch of outbuildings. My many-times great-granddaddy, Cletus Harper, built the front part, just two little rooms and a fireplace, near about two hundred years ago. Harpers have been adding on to it ever since.

  I peered over the side to watch Allegra trudge down the path out of the woods and into the backyard of the farmhouse. When Grandma was living there, I must have walked that path at least four or five times a day. I hadn’t been down it in months, not since Grandma had to move into the nursing home and we had to sell the farmhouse. The girl disappeared around the back corner of the house. I heard the screen door slam, so I guess she went inside.

  After a few minutes, I figured she wasn’t coming back, s
o I stretched out on the boards. I let my eyes close to little slits, until the leaves and patches of light looked like big white and green blotches moving just beyond my eyelashes.

  I must’ve fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes, everything was dark. The half-moon gave enough light to see some of the branches. Rising up on my knees, I shuffled around to look down at our house. My brother Steve’s car wasn’t in the carport. He was probably still at work. Ghostly blue light flickered from the den window. I guess Dad fell asleep too, in front of the TV again. My stomach growled. I had missed dinner, if anybody had bothered to fix it.

  Leaves shushed and rustled over by the creek. It sounded like something big and cautious, maybe a deer, was passing. I just turned my head to look, so as not to make any sound and spook it. Even the weak lights from the house had dulled my night vision, so I couldn’t see anything at first. Then a pale shape moved near a clump of blackberry canes. It was too big to be a raccoon and too quiet to be a stray calf.

  Maybe it was the white deer. People had talked about a white deer around here for ages, although nobody could say for sure if it was a buck or a doe. Every season, some hunter swore he shot it, but it always got away.

  The boards creaked softly as I moved into a better position to watch. The animal stepped away from the underbrush, definitely the wrong size and shape for a calf. It came closer to the treehouse, moving slowly. My eyes had adjusted to the moonlight.

  It wasn’t a deer.

  White and glowing, with slender legs and a long curved neck, at first I thought it was a pony. Then it raised its head and I knew. Ponies don’t move so quietly through the woods. Ponies don’t have coats that shimmer like a pearl. And there’s never been a pony born with an ivory horn curling from the center of its forehead.

  It was a unicorn.

  It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  Looking at it, I got the most amazing feeling of comfort and happiness and excitement, all rolled up into one. Like when Grandma would sing me a lullaby, or when I smacked a baseball way out to left field, or when the air is charged, just before lightning strikes.

  I had never seen anything so amazing. I could have sat there looking at it all night. Then I noticed a strange smell, like roses and pine and new turned dirt.

  The unicorn picked its way carefully around the trees with a funny gait, two steps and a hop. Its head drooped and after each hop, it huffed, a sound almost like a snort. As it moved down the ridge, I realized that it was lame. The unicorn stumbled and I sucked in my breath, but it didn’t fall. It reached the bottom of the hill. I wanted to help, but wild things are dangerous, especially when they’re hurt. And what could be wilder than a unicorn?

  Something so beautiful should be perfect; it shouldn’t be hurting. I couldn’t just watch it suffer. I started to climb down when it nickered, a long, low call.

  A light flicked on inside the farmhouse; then the back porch light came on too. A tall lady walked out of the house and stopped in the yard. She beckoned to the unicorn, then pulled open the barn door and stood to one side. The unicorn stopped, caught in the light from the barn, glowing like the moon. I thought it might bolt. It stared at the lady for a long moment before dropping its head and limping through the door. Once it was safely inside, the lady slid the door shut.

  Chapter Two

  WHEN THE DOOR CLOSED, everything dimmed. It wasn’t just that the barn light was cut off. Suddenly everything looked watery and dingy, like the reflections in an old mirror where the silver backing has gone bad.

  I glanced at my house. The TV still flickered. I climbed down from the treehouse and set out for the barn. My feet still knew the way in the dark, and made soft little padding sounds in the dirt.

  At the edge of the woods, instead of going straight, I circled around the old chicken coop and tractor shed. I had heard that the lady who bought the farmhouse and some of the land was a vet, an animal doctor, and she planned to make a clinic downstairs. People wondered why she bought so much of the land if she wasn’t going to farm, but it made sense now. I’d never heard of a vet who had unicorns for patients. There was a small window to the left of the barn door. If she was taking care of the unicorn, then she would be too busy to notice me if I peeked in there.

  Carefully, I leaned on the windowsill and peered inside. The vet was squatting next to the unicorn, examining the bottom of its right front hoof. The creature was calm, studying the lady’s face, listening to her talk. The lady acted just like she was explaining something to a person. I couldn’t make out the words, but her tone was gentle and even. The unicorn huffed once and nodded as the vet reached for something in a black bag.

  “OWWW!” Someone yanked my head back by the hair, hard. I jabbed back with my elbow, connecting with something soft.

  “Oof!” The grip on my hair let go. I whirled around, and was face-to-face with that girl Allegra. Holding her side where I’d poked her, she cut her eyes at me like I was something nasty she found in the sink.

  “Who’s trespassing now?” she demanded, shoving me in the chest so I fell back against the wall. I put up my hands to protect my face. “What do you think you’re doing, sneaking around in the middle of the night?” she shrieked, slapping at me.

  I tried to slide away, but it just seemed to make her madder and louder.

  “Get out! Go away, sneak!” she yelled. Dad always told me not to hit girls, but I wasn’t a bit sorry I had poked this one. Just wish I’d done it harder.

  “I didn’t do anything, you stupid girl,” I yelled back. “I just wanted to make sure that unicorn is OK!”

  Allegra gasped. “You aren’t supposed to know about that! It’s a secret!” The barn door slid open and light poured over us.

  “It’s not a secret if he’s already seen her. The unicorn will be fine and will be even better if you two keep quiet,” the vet said. “Allegra, what’s going on here? Who is this boy?” The lady put her hands on her hips and glared at us both. I straightened up and dropped my arms.

  “I’m Eric Harper, ma’am,” I said, glad I was able to answer before that girl jumped in. “I saw the unicorn come through the woods and I could tell it was hurt. Can you help it?” I shifted around, trying to catch sight of it, but it must have moved into one of the stalls. “Is it gonna be all right?”

  The lady’s face softened. “I think so, Eric,” she said, holding out her right hand. “I’m Kris Brancusi, Dr. Brancusi. I see you’ve already met my daughter, Allegra. Any relation to Maggie Harper?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said as we shook hands. “She’s my grandmother.”

  “So you probably know your way around this barn better than I do,” she said. She stared at me hard. I could see she was considering what to do. “Come on in, see for yourself.” She stepped back and motioned me inside.

  “Mom!” Allegra cried. “What are you doing? You can’t let him in here!” She grabbed for my arm, but I slipped past her and through the door.

  I walked slowly down the aisle and stopped in front of the middle stall on the left. The unicorn looked at me calmly. I couldn’t help but smile, the way you do at newborn puppies. A soft glow radiated from her, like warm moonlight. She held her right forefoot up off the floor as if it pained her. She gave a little hop and stretched out her nose to me. I touched her gently between the nostrils, where her muzzle was whiskery and velvety soft. Warmth rushed up my hand and through my whole body.

  “We’re going to take good care of you,” I told her, stroking her nose, but not daring to touch that horn. She turned her head slightly to look at me. She had greeny-brown eyes, like a ripening acorn. I could tell she understood every word. Then she huffed and backed away.

  “What’s wrong with her?” I asked. Allegra and her mother had come up beside me. That peaceful feeling coming from the unicorn must have touched Allegra too, because she wasn’t glaring at me anymore.

  “She’s got some pus in her hoof from some sort of infection. I need to drain it first,” Dr. Bra
ncusi explained. She studied me for a moment, then turned back to the unicorn. “Allegra, get my blue box.” The girl ran to get it.

  Dr. Brancusi took something off a peg and held it for the unicorn to see. “I’m going to put this halter on you while I work. The halter won’t hurt, but what I’ll be doing to your hoof might. I don’t want you to injure the kids or me by moving suddenly. Eric will hold this rope to keep your head still.” She slipped a loop over the unicorn’s ears and the bottom loop around her muzzle. “Oh, good girl. I bet you’re not used to one of these, are you?” The unicorn shook her head, then stood quietly.

  Dr. Brancusi motioned me over. “Stand here and hold the halter while I work on that hoof.” She looped the rope around a peg. I took hold of the end and stood where she said. “Keep some tension on it, but don’t jerk it.” She fastened another length of rope on the other side, then looped it around another hook, so the unicorn’s head was held steady between the two.

  The strange sweet smell was so strong I just wanted to close my eyes and drink it. Swirls of color ran along the horn—​shimmery, like oil on water. The point looked mighty sharp.

  Dr. Brancusi crouched down and lifted the unicorn’s foot. Gently, she touched the underside of the hoof, the soft part, which was puffy, with a dark splotch in the middle. The unicorn sucked in a big breath, but held still. The vet ran her hand up the unicorn’s leg, then held it while looking at her watch. Allegra came back with what looked like a big tackle box and set it down at the front of the stall.

  “I need the lancet,” Dr. Brancusi said. Allegra opened the box, which was full of syringes, small sharp tools, and lots of little bottles, and took out a thin scalpel. Her mother took the instrument and held it up so the unicorn could see.

  “I’m going to make a cut to drain the infection. This is made from titanium; it doesn’t have any iron. It may hurt a bit, but then your hoof can begin to heal. Understand?” At first I thought she was talking to me, but when the unicorn nodded, I realized my mistake.