I opened the door to the room that used to be Grandma’s bedroom. It had shelves full of cages and aquariums with screened tops. It smelled like wet dog and something strong and sharp and damp. A couple of the aquariums had a layer of wood shavings and a card clipped to the side. In one, a white rat was curled up in the corner. There was a sorry-looking mutt with his hind leg in a cast, sleeping on his side, in a cage on a bottom shelf. I’d just finished sweeping when Allegra came in, pushing one of those big yellow buckets on wheels like the school janitors use.
“Here,” she whispered, motioning me over. She lifted the mop and dropped the head into the wringer attached to the bucket. She squeezed out the water, careful not to get any on her dress, and shoved the mop handle at me. “Try not to make too much noise,” she said, still whispering.
“Why not?” I asked, in my normal voice.
“You’ll stress the patients,” she answered, gesturing to the cages. “Strange voices can frighten them.”
“They all must be scared when they hear you,” I whispered back.
The mutt lifted his head and whimpered a bit. Allegra cut her eyes at me, then went over to his cage, making little cooing sounds. He thumped his tail.
While I mopped, she took the water bowls and dishes out of the mutt’s cage and the aquariums. She set them on a tray on the table by the window.
“Bring those into the kitchen when you’ve finished mopping,” she whispered and left. Didn’t even look back to see if I’d nodded in agreement or anything. When I finished, I picked up the tray. I noticed a big jar holding some scummy-looking water with bubbles along the sides. It smelled bad, so I took that too.
Back in the kitchen, Georgie was putting things away. “Those go on the left side of the sink,” she said. “Dirty dishes on the left, clean and sterile dishes on the right. You can scrape the food into this trash can.”
I plunked down the tray and tossed bits of dried-up fruit and brown mess into the trash. I picked up the jar to pour the nasty water down the sink.
“Stop!” cried Georgie. I nearly dropped the jar. “Don’t pour that out, that’s a squonk!”
“A what?”
“A squonk. It’s a patient, not trash.” Georgie took the jar away from me. “Oh, dear, it had been looking so promising, too.”
“What’s a squonk?” I asked.
“Squonks are very shy creatures, ashamed of their appearance. Imagine a cross between a duck-billed platypus and a toad, with slimy skin and lots of warts. They cry constantly because of their ugliness. When captured, they dissolve into tears to avoid being seen.” She draped a dishtowel across a countertop and gently set down the jar.
The water was quivering in an odd fashion, with a swirl in the center like a blob of brownish jellyfish. Tiny bubbles rose to the surface and popped, releasing a rotten egg smell. “How do you know what it looks like?” I asked.
“Kris said this one is very bold for its kind. When we leave it alone long enough, it solidifies again, so I’ve caught a few glimpses. Sometimes it sings, so we know it’s doing well. They usually don’t range this far south. Squonks are a breed of ‘fearsome critters’ that Paul Bunyan’s lumberjacks discovered.” Georgie leaned over the jar. “There, there, pretty; it’s just Eric.”
“Paul Bunyan?” I said. “He’s not real. He’s just a character in stories.”
“So are unicorns, but that creature out in the barn is just as real as you are, and so is this squonk.” She picked up the jar, taking pains to carry it level so the water wouldn’t slosh too much, when Allegra and Dr. Brancusi came in.
“What’s the squonk doing in here?” Allegra demanded.
“Just a little misunderstanding,” Georgie said. “Eric thought the jar needed cleaning. I’ll put this back where it belongs.”
“Cleaning?” Allegra screeched. “Did he hurt it?” She whirled around to glare at me as Georgie slipped past her with the jar. “Mom, I told you this was a bad idea. He doesn’t know anything; he’s going to mess things up.”
“How was I supposed to know that stinky water was a—a creature?” I said. “It doesn’t look any different from the mop water. Nobody told me about it and it was next to all those other dirty dishes. I wouldn’t hurt anything on purpose.” It wasn’t fair. All I really wanted to do was hang out with Moonpearl, and all I did was clean up stinky messes.
“Allegra,” Dr. Brancusi said, “he couldn’t have known.” Allegra pouted, her mouth all scrunched up. The doctor sighed, then turned to me. “We haven’t had any new help in a long time. I’m afraid we’re not doing a very good job of training you.”
I blinked at that. I wasn’t used to grownups apologizing to me. “It’s OK,” I said.
“Why don’t you go out to the barn and muck out the stall. The unicorn is in the paddock. I’ll be out in a bit and show you how to curry her and what to feed her,” she said. I didn’t need to be told that twice, so I left.
Mucking out the stall wasn’t so bad this time. It didn’t stink as much as that squonk. As I pushed the loaded wheelbarrow over to the compost pile, the unicorn came trotting over to me.
“Hey, beauty, hey, Moonpearl,” I said as she stopped a few feet away. I stretched out my hand and waited. She stepped closer and nuzzled my fingers with her nose. It was so soft, like the skin of a ripe peach. Slowly, I turned my hand over and rubbed between her nostrils. The little whiskers on the end tickled. “Hey, darling, you like me, don’t you?” I whispered to her, real low. I slowly ran my hand along her nose to the base of the horn, but I didn’t touch it. Her ears flicked and I drew my hand back.
“She doesn’t want you to touch that,” a voice rumbled. Something brushed my leg. It was that cat, Timothy. The unicorn took a step back and nudged the cat’s side with her nose.
“I didn’t.”
“Good,” said Timothy. He rubbed up against my leg again. “It’s a thing of power, that horn. Not to be trifled with.” He sat down and began cleaning his fur. “She likes you, you know.”
“Really?” Pleased, I looked at Moonpearl, who rubbed her muzzle against my arm.
“Can’t see why.” Timothy sniffed. “You’re just an ordinary boy.”
“Not that ordinary,” said the doctor, walking up with a bucket full of brushes. “He’s coped pretty well with all the strangeness we’ve thrown at him.” She set the bucket down next to me. “Here, let me show you how to groom a unicorn. I’ve done it twice now, so that makes me an expert, I guess. They didn’t cover this in vet school, but she seemed to like it.” The doctor pulled a couple of brushes out of the bucket and handed me one. I slipped my hand under the strap on the back just like she did.
“This is a curry comb. Use it like this on her neck and body.” She started just below the unicorn’s head, rubbing the comb in little circles. “It loosens the dirt, so we can wipe it off easily. Don’t use it on her legs, I have something else for that.” I stretched out my hand and rubbed the comb lightly on Moonpearl’s white shoulder. She made a soft huffing sound. The doctor went around the unicorn’s head and began working on the other side. “Tell me if you see any sores or scratches on her skin, anything that looks unhealthy.”
I nodded and moved the comb along her sides. This was all I wanted, to be taking care of this beauty. She felt smooth and strong beneath the comb, that smell of earth and roses and pine rising from her skin.
“This will be one of your regular tasks, Eric,” said Dr. Brancusi. “After mucking out the stall and seeing that she has enough water and feed, you should groom her each day.”
“Really?” I said. “Thanks, ma’am.”
“No need to be so formal. You can call me Kris.”
I wasn’t sure about that; it didn’t seem right. Grandma always insisted I mind my manners. Dr. Brancusi noticed I wasn’t too comfortable with her suggestion and said, “Or how about Dr. B.”
“Dr. B., that’s good.”
I was working my way to the back of the unicorn when I noticed her tail. It wasn’
t long and flowing, like a horse tail or a girl’s ponytail. It was more like a lion’s tail, covered with fur, with a big tuft of long hair on the end. The tail was white, but the tuft was darker. I hadn’t really paid attention to it before; I just thought her tail would be like a regular horse’s. Dr. B. saw what I was looking at and gave a little laugh.
“It surprised me a bit too, but she’s not really a horse. We’ll use a different brush for the tail and a comb on the tuft,” she said.
“Poor sort of creature that needs so much help cleaning herself,” said Timothy. “But then, we can’t all be cats.” He stuck his hind leg in the air and licked it, making a circle of himself. I laughed and the cat glared at me. He was almost as bad as Allegra for giving me the stink eye.
Dr. B. taught me how to use a body brush and how to comb out the unicorn’s mane and tail tuft, and then wipe down her legs and face with a soft cloth. We changed the bandage on the hurt hoof, and I got to prepare the gauze and ointment this time.
Next, Dr. B. showed me where she kept the feed and where the new water spigot was. We hadn’t needed running water when the barn was used as a garage. The unicorn seemed hungry and I wished I’d remembered to bring her a carrot or an apple.
“It’s about lunchtime for people, too. Would you like to join us?” asked Dr. B.
Lunchtime? I didn’t know it was that late.
“No thank you, ma’am, I mean, Dr. B. I’m expected home.” I left the barn, but said over my shoulder, “I’ll be back tomorrow, right after school. Gotta go.” I ran for home, hoping Dad hadn’t missed me yet.
Chapter Six
I RACED UP THE RIDGE, stopping to catch my breath at the top. Dad’s car was still in the driveway, so maybe I was back in time. I ran down to the house. Just as I reached for the screen door to the kitchen, Steve opened it. “Where’ve you been, dweeb?”
“Working.”
“Oh, yeah, the animal thing. Might want to change your clothes,” he said.
I looked down. There were wood shavings all over my shirt, and more stuff on my shoes. I just had time to change my shoes when Dad hollered for me to hurry.
I knocked straw and shavings off my pant leg as I went down the steps. Dad and Steve were already buckled in, so I slipped into the back seat.
“You’re late,” Dad said, looking at me in the rear-view mirror. Why did everybody have to cut their eyes at me? He didn’t sound too mad, though.
“Sorry.” I slumped back in the seat. Steve fiddled with the radio, and nobody said anything more. We got there about eleven forty-five, not too much later than our usual eleven thirty. Nothing ever changes at the Three Oaks Nursing Home. The same two old men were sitting in chairs by the front door, nodding at everybody who came in. When we walked into the lobby, it struck me how it smelled like the animal clinic—strong and sharp, like bleach and pee.
Mrs. Wheeler came rolling up. “Have you seen my Betty? She’s coming to take me home today.” Dad had told me that her Betty died twenty years ago. I wasn’t sure which was sadder, that she didn’t remember or that she was always disappointed because Betty never came.
Grandma was lying in bed, her hair all scraggly on her pillow. She still had that IV pole with the bag of stuff hanging from it. She must have been doing better though, because she was wearing her Sunday clothes. I couldn’t get used to how tiny she looked in the bed. Maybe it was the rails on each side, like a little kid’s bed.
We tried to be quiet because she looked to be asleep, but she smiled without opening her eyes and said, “I hear my boys.” Dad leaned over and kissed her forehead.
“Hey, Mama,” he said. “I brought your magazines.” All her magazines and mail have been coming to our house since she moved to Three Oaks. He plopped down in a chair next to the bed.
“Set them on the dresser; I’ll look at them later,” she said, opening her eyes and waving her curled-up hand to the side. She held out her arms. “Come on, now, where are the rest of my kisses?” Steve gave her a quick peck on the cheek and took up his place in the chair by the window.
I gave my kiss next, but I let her hug me, too, sitting on the bed with her. Hugging Grandma used to be like being wrapped in a blanket, folded in safe. She was still soft, but she didn’t feel so big anymore. She took a deep breath, sniffing my hair, and let out a long sigh.
“You smell like the woods,” she said, hugging me tighter. “I’d almost forgotten what a good smell that is.” She let go and I sat back up. She pulled herself up a little straighter in the bed too, petting my arm, her eyes bright. “I do miss being in our woods.”
Dad was clicking through the channels on the TV and Steve was watching as he looked for the game with their favorite teams, so they didn’t especially notice what happened next. Grandma pulled a long white hair off my shirt sleeve—a unicorn hair, probably from Moonpearl’s mane.
“What have you been playing with, Eric?” she asked. “This is too long to be dog hair. Looks more like a horse hair.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a job, helping that lady vet who bought your house. Um, there’s a horse staying in the barn now that I’m helping take care of.” As I told Grandma about the clinic, she found another hair on my pant leg, and a third on my shirt front. I had lots of white hairs clinging to my clothes. I tried brushing them off, but then they stuck to the bedcovers.
Raising her hands to her face, Grandma took a deep breath. Then she stretched out her fingers and spread them flat, the unicorn hairs lying in the middle of her hand. That hand had been all twisted up since forever because of arthritis, and that first finger was so crooked she could barely move it. Open and close, open and close, her fingers moved slow and smooth. The fingers were still crooked, but they moved.
“All right!” shouted Steve, pumping the air with his fists. “Did you see that?” At first I thought he meant Grandma’s hand, but he was looking at the TV, not at us.
“Right into the stands,” said Dad. “Sweet.”
“Those two would rather watch baseball than eat,” said Grandma, smiling a bit as she watched them. Steve flashed her a grin and then turned back to the game. Well, it was the beginning of the World Series. Grandma looked at me, then carefully brushed the unicorn hairs into a little dish on her bedside table that held bobby pins and safety pins. “I’ll just keep these,” she whispered, “to remind me of my favorite blue-eyed grandbaby.” She’d called me that since I was little. My eyes were blue, but Steve’s were brown. I picked another hair off my pant leg and added it to the pile. She patted my hand.
“Speaking of eating, I do believe it’s dinnertime,” Grandma said in a loud voice. “Jimmy, help your old mother into her chair.”
“Sure, Mama,” said Dad, coming around to the side of the bed. He helped her with the covers and eased her feet over the side. I hopped off the bed and rolled the wheelchair out of the corner. I was excited. Grandma hadn’t been out of bed when we were there in a long time; she usually said she was too tired.
I positioned the wheelchair next to the bed. She put her hands around Dad’s neck and he leaned back, lifting her off the bed and swinging her toward the chair. One leg was still sort of twisted up from when she had that stroke. I scooted the wheelchair up under her and she settled down into the seat. She motioned for her hairbrush. I handed it to her and she primped for a bit, swinging her right foot back and forth.
“OK, boys, let’s roll!” Grandma cried. As Dad pushed the chair, Grandma waved to everybody in the hall on the way to the dining room. I pulled the IV pole alongside them, Steve shuffling behind us.
We found a table where we could all sit together. Dad and Grandma started talking about a whole bunch of people from her church who I didn’t know. She was using her right hand to eat with again.
This set me to thinking. I had never heard of unicorn hair being magic. Of course, I hadn’t heard much about unicorns, period, except for the one-horn business, so what did I know?
Steve nudged my foot with his under the table. “Check it ou
t,” he whispered, nodding in the direction of the girl bringing the tray.
“You already have a girlfriend,” I said.
“So? Doesn’t hurt to look.” He leaned back so the girl could set down the tray. “Thank you, miss,” he said. She seemed a bit surprised, but kept on taking the plates off the tray and arranging them in front of Grandma.
“Stevie, quit distracting the girl,” Grandma said. “He’s a good boy, just a bit full of himself,” she said. The girl asked if we needed anything, then left.
Grandma gave me her dinner roll. I munched down on it, still wondering about the unicorn hair. If three little unicorn hairs made her hand so much better, maybe Moonpearl could make her all better, well enough to come home. I guessed not to her home, because Dr. B. probably wouldn’t sell the farmhouse back to us. We couldn’t afford to change it back to the way it was even if she did. But I’d give up my room and move in with Steve if it meant that Grandma could live with us and not in this place.
Chapter Seven
THAT MONDAY WAS THE FIRST school day since I’d started working at the Brancusi Animal Clinic. Dr. B. didn’t expect me until late in the afternoon, so when I got off the bus, I was surprised to see Timothy trotting down the driveway. He stopped a few feet away and craned his neck around, scanning the area. I looked too, but didn’t see anything unusual, at least not more unusual than a Cheshire cat.
“Hurry up, boy,” Timothy said. “They need your help.” Before I could answer, he took off across the yard. I dumped my backpack on the front porch and ran after him. Timothy was nowhere to be seen when I stopped on the clinic’s kitchen steps to catch my breath.
The Unicorn in the Barn Page 4
