The Unicorn in the Barn

by Jacqueline Ogburn

  “Unicorns are very noble, you know,” the cat said. Then it winked at me.

  Chapter Four

  SUDDENLY, I NEEDED TO SIT DOWN. Actually I fell back flat on my butt, dropping the shovel with a clang. It wasn’t just that the cat talked to me. I mean, I had touched a unicorn, so I knew there were magical creatures around. But it wasn’t a complete cat. It had a head and a tail and nothing in between holding the parts together.

  “Timothy!” scolded Allegra. “I told you to wait until I had a chance to tell Eric about you.” She crouched down, touching my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  I nodded, still staring at the cat head. “Where’s the rest of him?” I asked.

  The head came closer and I felt little paws marching up my left leg.

  “The rest of me is right here,” Timothy said. “Just invisible.” The head stopped, and the tail made a big white C shape across my lap. It felt like a cat was snuggling down; it just didn’t look like it. With one finger, I reached behind the head and felt warm, soft fur and the string of bumps of his backbone underneath.

  “Invisible,” I said. “And you talk.”

  “I,” the cat announced, “am a Cheshire cat.” As if that explained everything.

  “What’s a Cheshire cat?” The cat’s head lifted up and back and he stared down his nose. I think he sniffed at me, too.

  “You know,” Allegra said. “Like the cat in Alice in Wonderland. The one that talks to her and slowly turns invisible.”

  I looked at the white head in my lap, still glaring at me, and the white tail waving at the tip. “In the movie that cat was striped.”

  “Cheshire cats are not defined by something as ordinary as coloring,” the cat informed me. “To be a Cheshire cat, one must have the ability to speak human language and to become invisible at will. True Cheshire cats are quite rare.” Dipping his head, he stuck out his tongue and waved it in the air. Then his right ear folded down and popped back up. I realized he must be washing himself—​licking his invisible paw and then using it to brush his ear.

  “Cool!” I said. “Why don’t you turn back visible now? Or all invisible? Ow, what was that for?” Little bunches of claws needled my leg as he turned around. His tail was raised high in the air, precisely in the center between his ears as he stalked away, tail tip lashing. Can you say something walked when you can’t see its legs?

  “Oh, dear,” Allegra said. “Timothy, come back. Eric doesn’t know.” The head and tail kept going. “Timothy can’t control his visibility anymore. He’s stuck that way. It’s very embarrassing to him. That’s why he’s here. We’re trying to figure out how to help. Mom thinks it might have started with some sort of allergic reaction.” She stood up and craned her neck, looking for him. “Timothy!” she called again. No answer.

  I stood too. “He still has a body, right?” I could feel the effect of his claws, and his weight on my lap.

  “Right, the invisibility only affects what you can see, it doesn’t make him intangible. He says he can’t see his invisible parts either.”

  I pondered this for a bit. Seemed like it wouldn’t matter that much, not seeing your body, as long as everything worked all right. But it would be hard to put a Band-Aid on a banged-up knee if you couldn’t see it. Going out in public would be tricky; people would definitely stare.

  “Timothy was our first supernatural exotic patient. It bugs Mom that she hasn’t been able to cure him, although she did clear up his infestation of ear mites. He is safer here with us as long as he’s only partly visible. And he likes having such a big territory to roam around in.” Allegra handed me the shovel again. “Well, back to work. After mucking out the stall, mop the floor with this disinfectant, then put down about six inches of fresh bedding.” She handed me a bucket and started toward the door.

  “Hey, aren’t you going to help me?” I asked.

  “Nope,” she said, giving a little wave as she walked out into the sunlight.

  So I started my new job, scooping up unicorn poop. Holding my breath, I slid the flat of the shovel under the pile of lumps. Only one lump fell off as I took the stuff over to the wheelbarrow. Scooped that up too. After a couple of minutes, the wheelbarrow was full. I rolled it outside and found the beginning of the manure pile across the yard, past the edge of the fence.

  The fence was new, made out of planks covered with chicken wire. They must have added it as a safe place for the animals to run around while they recovered. The manure pile was new too, but it had already attracted a bunch of big black flies. A couple decided that I made a nice snack, a little dessert after the main course of fresh-tossed manure. Big red welts popped up on my arms.

  I mopped and then spread a new layer of bedding. It didn’t smell so bad now, or maybe I was just getting used to it. I wasn’t sure where the shovel was supposed to go, so I propped it next to the stall door.

  The barn door slid open. “I’ve turned this into our treatment area for large animals,” Dr. Brancusi was explaining to my dad as they stepped inside. Allegra was trailing behind them. “My practice is mostly small animals, but sometimes I do get livestock to treat.” Dad was taking it all in, all the changes to the barn, nodding and making polite “uh-huh” sounds. Then he focused on me.

  “How’d you get wood chips all over you?”

  Dr. Brancusi laughed. “That’s my fault,” she said. “We had a horse here last night and I had Allegra show Eric how to clean out the stall. I’m afraid he might come home covered in wood chips pretty often.”

  Dad gave a little “humph,” like he knew I’d come home filthy no matter what. “The doctor and me, we have an understanding about your work here, so I’m going back home. You work hard and do what the lady tells you.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. He scanned the barn again, the wood chips, the new white paint on the walls and trim, and back at me. I thought he might say something more, but he just pointed a finger at me, then turned and left.

  Dr. Brancusi was looking as if she didn’t know quite what to do with me now. Allegra was quiet for once. “I’m going to bring the unicorn back in,” Dr. Brancusi said. “Why don’t you two fix her some water and feed?” She went out the back door of the barn and into the woods.

  After a few minutes, the doctor came back, the unicorn following behind. The unicorn still hobbled a bit, favoring the bandaged foot. She was even more beautiful than she had seemed last night; the sunlight made her coat glow a creamy white, and her mane was lit like spun sugar.

  When she reached the door, I swear she recognized me. She dipped her head like a greeting. “Open the stall, doofus,” said Allegra, elbowing me. I swung the door open and the unicorn stepped in like a queen coming home. That rose and pine smell lifted off her, and I couldn’t resist stroking her back as she passed. She turned and then nudged my hand with her nose.

  “Hey, pretty girl,” I said, rubbing that velvety face. “Are you feeling better, sweetie?” I didn’t even care that Allegra heard me baby-talking the unicorn, I was so glad to see her again. “Where was she?” I asked.

  “I thought your dad might want to see the barn, so I took her to a fenced-in yard I had built in that little meadow over the hill. We need a private place to exercise some of our more unusual patients,” Dr. Brancusi said.

  Allegra came up on her other side and began stroking the unicorn’s neck. “There’s a good girl,” Allegra cooed. “How’s my Lady Shimmershine Moonpearl?”

  “Shimmershine Moonpearl?”

  “She needed a name, so I gave her one. She likes it, don’t you, Lady Shimmershine Moonpearl,” Allegra said. “It’s so elegant, just like she is.”

  I thought it was the dumbest thing I’d ever heard. The unicorn snorted a bit and shook her mane. She did need a name, but a better one than that. I looked at the swirling horn. Grandma had some pearls that were that kind of soft white color. Pearl wouldn’t be so bad. Allegra was scratching the unicorn’s ears, and they both looked happy.

  “It’s kind of long,” I
said. “How about Pearl for short?”

  “Pearl is so ordinary,” Allegra said. “Moonpearl is better.” She had a point. The unicorn did deserve a special name.

  “OK. Moonpearl,” I said. Allegra smiled at me.

  Dr. Brancusi came into the stall, carrying the med kit. “Time to change her dressing. Eric, keep petting her while we work.” Allegra assisted, just like before. This was more like it, helping this beautiful creature, holding her soft muzzle, looking into her acorn-green eye.

  “Hey, Moonpearl,” I whispered. Dr. Brancusi looked up at me.

  “We named her,” said Allegra. “Lady Shimmershine Moonpearl—​Moonpearl for short.”

  “Nice name,” the doctor said. She stood up and moved so the unicorn could see her, speaking directly to Moonpearl. “I am going to hold off on the antibiotics, but I need to change the dressing a couple of times a day. If the infection is still lingering tomorrow, you will need three days of shots. Understand?” Moonpearl nodded her head and reached to nuzzle the doctor too. “Terrific. You’re a good patient.” She patted the unicorn’s neck. Allegra was stroking her sides. I don’t know how long we all stood there, petting the unicorn.

  “Does she purr?” a small growly voice said. “I purr when someone bothers to pet me.” Timothy’s head and straight-up tail came bobbing into the stall.

  Dr. Brancusi laughed and scooped up the cat. She scratched him behind the ears and he purred, his eyes half-closed, just like any old barn cat. “Silly boy, we still love you,” she said. It gave me a shiver to see that little white head and tail floating around, not connected to anything.

  Moonpearl huffed and turned to look at Timothy. He looked back, ears twitching, eyes wide. The cat’s head twisted around, and the doctor opened her arms. Then he was on the ground, staring up at the unicorn.

  Moonpearl nickered low, tapped her hoof a couple of times, and shook her head at Dr. Brancusi.

  “I shall tell her that,” Timothy said.

  “Do you speak her language?” asked the doctor.

  “Not precisely,” said Timothy, “but we can communicate after a fashion. She does understand English, and probably most other human languages. We magical creatures have a type of lingua franca, mostly signs and gestures that we use amongst ourselves. As I told you last night, she promised to come back, and so she did.”

  “What did she say just now?” Allegra wanted to know. Of course, I was wondering too.

  “She says that twins are not uncommon among unicorns, but that babies born during the cold moons often don’t survive. She wants to stay here, so her babies will live,” he told us.

  “I will help you all that I can, but I can’t promise to save them. You will need to let me examine you frequently and let me treat you,” Dr. Brancusi said. She looked down at Timothy. “Does she understand?” she asked the cat.

  Moonpearl snorted and flicked her ears.

  “She agrees to your terms,” he said.

  With a little huff, the unicorn stepped forward, looming over Timothy, or at least over his head.

  “Really?” the cat said. “A most generous offer, my lady.”

  “Now what did she say?” Allegra asked.

  “She offered to touch me with her horn.”

  “So?” I said.

  “So,” Timothy said, “unicorns have powers of healing. You felt it. It’s why you were all standing there like ninnies with silly smiles on your faces. Just seeing a unicorn can lift your spirits. But the greatest power is concentrated in the horn.”

  The cat’s head and tail were floating in a small circle in front of the unicorn. I guess he was pacing back and forth, the way cats do when they see something they want out the window, but can’t get to it.

  “Do you think she can cure you?” Dr. Brancusi asked. “Is there any risk involved, to you or her?”

  “I’m not sure,” Timothy said. “Certainly not to me, but sometimes using magical power has a cost.”

  The doctor moved out to the side where the unicorn could see her better. Her face was serious. “Don’t do this if it will weaken you. You still have an infection that could develop complications. Understood?”

  The unicorn snorted and nodded her head. I swear it looked like she rolled her eyes, as if she were saying, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Allegra was trying not to smile, so I think she saw it too.

  “She understands,” Timothy said. “I accept your help, my lady.”

  His head stopped a few inches below her muzzle. He closed his eyes, the end of his tail twitching. The unicorn backed up a few steps, curved her neck, and lowered her head. Light seemed to slip down the spiral of the horn. Gently, she brushed Timothy, just once, between his ears with the tip of her horn.

  For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. There was no flash, explosion, or strange smell. There was a tension in the air, like a low humming or that feeling just before a thunderstorm when you know that there will be lightning. Timothy didn’t move. Then the air between his head and tail got misty. The mist grew thicker. I could see a cat-shape coming into focus, a sleek body and four legs placed squarely beneath. Timothy kept his eyes closed tight. The shape grew firmer. I could see the hairs of his fur coat. At last, there stood an ordinary cat—​head and tail attached to a body with a black splotch on the back and black front legs and white paws.

  I looked up at Allegra and her mom. This was awesome. We were all grinning like fools.

  “Well,” Timothy demanded. “Did it work?” His eyes were squinched shut.

  “See for yourself,” said Dr. Brancusi.

  The cat opened his eyes and looked down. He laughed and plopped onto his back, waving his legs in the air. I’d never heard a cat laugh. It was kind of rumbly, like a purr. “There you are, my beauties,” he cooed. “All toes present and accounted for. Oh, happiness!” Allegra and her mom were both grinning at him and at me, until I had to laugh too.

  Sprawling on the ground, Timothy stretched, reaching out one rear leg, then the other. Rolling up to his feet, he craned his neck to inspect his back. “But my fur is in a shocking state. One just can’t groom properly when partially invisible.” He gave his belly a few licks, then jumped up and darted over to the unicorn.

  “Many thanks, my lady,” Timothy said, making a funny little bow by folding his front legs. The unicorn nickered in return. Maybe it was her version of a laugh. Timothy settled in a corner of the stall for a serious session of grooming.

  Chapter Five

  THE NEXT MORNING, I STOPPED by my treehouse on the way to the clinic. I used a couple of thumbtacks to fasten a No Trepassing sign to the trunk. Now that I knew why Allegra had posted the property, I figured it couldn’t hurt to have one on my tree. It was a good spot and easy to see on that side of the ridge. I didn’t think she would notice that I used one from another, less visible tree.

  As usual for Sundays, Dad and Steve were sleeping in. I was used to getting up by myself to go to church with Grandma, until she went into the nursing home. They probably wouldn’t think anything about my being gone.

  I checked the barn first, but the doors were locked and the paddock was empty. I went around to the front door and knocked. Nothing. I couldn’t see through the curtains, but it didn’t look like any lights were on. I went into the front yard, checking out the windows, but couldn’t see anything there either. Maybe they were having breakfast in the kitchen. A huge new washer and dryer sat right next to the door on the screened-in back porch. A little frilly curtain covered the kitchen door window. I knocked and waited. The curtain moved aside and I saw a gray-haired lady holding a big knife. I jumped back. Who was that? She smiled and disappeared for a moment, then opened the door.

  “You must be Eric,” she said. “Come in, come in.” She waved the knife around, but not in my general direction, so I did what she said. The kitchen was changed too. Everything was new, white cabinets and lots more lights. Instead of the red-trimmed metal table and chairs, there was a kitchen island in the middle of the room, covered w
ith a big pile of chopped meat and a bunch of dishes filled with mushy brown stuff. There were stacks of dishes and bowls around the sink and in big plastic bins, soaking in dark blue water.

  “Kris told me about you,” she said. “I’m Georgia McIntyre, but you can call me Georgie. Everybody does.” She pointed to herself with the knife. “I’m the office manager and vet tech. Pardon me if I don’t shake hands, but I’m in the midst of fixing the meals here. Hygiene, you know.” Her other hand waved a dishrag toward the pile of meat. Maybe she was making a stew, but that brown mush didn’t look too good.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, just to be on the safe side.

  She scooped the chopped meat into a plastic bowl and stuck it in the fridge. “I’ll just finish up these before I show you where the mop is, unless you’d rather learn the kitchen protocol first.”

  Mop? Kitchen protocol? I thought. Oh, man, working in here was going to be just as bad as working in the barn. I didn’t cook too much at home, just sandwiches mostly, although Steve was getting to be a pretty good cook now that he worked at the diner. How hard could it be to fix feed for some animals? The lady put lids on a few more things and put them away.

  “It shouldn’t take you long. We don’t have many boarders this weekend, so the floor isn’t too bad,” Georgie said, pulling a broom out of the pantry closet. She handed it to me along with a dustpan. “Sweep in the waiting room first, then the rest of the downstairs rooms. Don’t worry about the surgery for now. Kris and Allegra should be back from mass shortly.” She made little shooing motions with her hands, so I went down the hall into what used to be my grandma’s living room and swept the floor. That was easy enough, except for a few bits of fur that kept floating off the dustpan when I tried to empty it. The dining room was an office now, with two desks and a bunch of file cabinets where the china hutch used to sit. The spare bedroom, where I used to stay, had been made into two small rooms, each with a steel table in the middle and a couple of cafeteria-type chairs. I kind of missed the little brass bed I slept in; I should have asked to keep it when they cleared out the house. But then I would’ve had to give up the bed that my mom had picked out.