Lawn Mower Magic

by Lynne Jonell

  Scrrrreeeaaak … scrrrreeeaaak …

  It was a dry, metallic sound, like two butter knives scraping together. Derek whipped around. There was nothing behind him but the shed and the rusty old mower. Only the mower was not quite as close to the shed as before.

  Derek stared. Had the mower moved?

  Tate frowned and set the machine back against the side of the shed. “Don’t play with the lawn mower, Celia. You might hurt yourself.”

  “I didn’t touch it!” said Celia.

  Tate sighed. “Okay, then, don’t let Mr. Bunny play with the mower.”

  Celia stuck out her lower lip. “Mr. Bunny didn’t do anything. He’s just eating grass, and I’m just throwing grass, like this—”

  Scrrrreeeaaak … scrrrreeeaaak …

  The children’s attention snapped to the lawn mower. Four pairs of eyes grew wide as the curving blades scraped again. The wheels moved away from the shed a second time.

  There was a sudden and alert silence.

  “Do it again, Celia,” said Abner, his voice strained.

  Celia backed up. Then, feeling safer, she threw another handful of grass. Most of it missed the mower completely. But a little—a very little—fell on the rusty mower blades.

  And the blades moved.

  The children hardly dared to look at one another. Every heart leaped with a fearful joy. Was it true? Had magic, the deep magic that came from under the hill, happened to them again? Or—and this was the fearful part—were they somehow mistaken?

  The mower had hardly moved, but the bits of grass wafted up from the blades as if caught in a tiny, curling breeze. They swirled about the children and fell back down to settle on the cement slab.

  Celia took a breath and started to speak, but Tate clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Don’t say it,” Tate whispered fiercely. “Don’t say the word until we’re sure. We’ve got to test it.”

  Abner nodded. He bent down and ripped up two handfuls of grass. As if in a trance, Derek did the same.

  “On three,” said Abner. “One—two—three!”

  The boys opened their fists above the mower, and four clumps of fresh grass fell into the dull and rusty blades. The mower gave a rasping sound, like a metallic chuckle, and leaped forward.

  “Look out!” cried Tate. She jerked Celia out of the way.

  Abner stared in shock. The mower made a clever wiggle around him and rolled off the cement slab. With a whirring, chewing sound, it dug happily into the long grass.

  “Catch it, Abs!” hissed Tate. “Before the parents see!”

  The mower whipped from side to side as the wheels turned this way and that. Abner jumped forward, took three long strides, and grabbed the handle.

  The machine settled down when it felt his touch. Abner swung around and the mower turned sweetly, heading back to the cement slab like a dog to its kennel. But it didn’t stop when it bumped into the shed. It kept right on bumping, its wheels spinning, as if it couldn’t believe there wasn’t any more grass.

  Derek had not moved. He gazed at the machine with awe.

  “A lot of help you were,” Abner said. He let the handle go and wiped his forehead.

  Derek ignored this. “It wants to mow,” he said happily. “It wants all the grass it can cut.”

  “It sure does.” Abner scowled at the mower, which was still banging against the shed. “I wish it would calm down, though.”

  “I guess I can say the word now,” said Celia. “It’s magic!”

  “It’s better than that,” said Derek, his eyes shining. “It’s my train ticket home!”

  “We’ve got to get Dad to agree first.” Tate glanced across to the little studio where her parents were still talking.

  “He’ll never let us use it if it keeps bashing the shed!” Abner was exasperated.

  “Why don’t we just tell Daddy it’s magic and let him mow?” Celia asked. “I bet it will go faster than the gas mower.”

  “I bet it will, too,” said Tate. “But don’t you see? Dad can’t believe in magic—he’s a grown-up. He’ll just think there’s something strange and wrong about it. For sure he’ll think it’s too dangerous to use something he doesn’t understand.”

  “Magic is dangerous,” said Abner. He eyed the mower, which was ramming a good-sized dent in the side of the shed. “Maybe we shouldn’t use it, either.”

  “Come on, Abner!” Derek begged for the second time that day. “It’s not dangerous. It’s just been cooped up too long. You’re happy to be outside again, aren’t you, Mowey?”

  “Mowey?” mouthed Tate.

  “Okay,” said Abner. “Maybe if we put the mower in the shed, it will quiet down. If we can get it to stay still, Dad will think it’s a regular mower and let us use it. Come on, Derek. Help me. Tate, will you hold the door? And, Celia, get out of the way.”

  “I always have to get out of the way,” Celia mourned.

  “That’s because you’re the littlest,” said Derek. He grabbed one side of the mower handle.

  “Careful,” said Abner as the wheels spun. “Okay, let’s back up into the shed. Pull.”

  “I’m not the littlest,” Celia protested. “Mr. Bunny is.”

  “That’s right,” said Tate, opening the door wider as both boys squeezed through. “You have to stay out of the way so you can keep Mr. Bunny safe.”

  “Oh.” Celia watched as the mower bumped up over the threshold and into the shed.

  But the thumping noises didn’t stop. And now there was clanking, too, and the sound of falling tools. Celia poked her head in. The mower was banging against the wall.

  “Is it mad at us?” Celia asked. She wound Mr. Bunny’s blue ribbon nervously around her fingers.

  “It can’t get mad,” Abner said. “It’s a lawn mower. Lawn mowers don’t have feelings.”

  “Ordinary lawn mowers don’t,” Tate said. “This one might.”

  Derek caught a falling shovel and a fishing rod and propped them up again. “Maybe it’s a little grumpy,” he said. “It’s like it’s just waking up after a long sleep.”

  Celia looked at the restless mower. She thought she saw a bit of green. “Or maybe it still has some grass on the blades.”

  “Hey, I bet you’re right!” Abner leaned over the mower, speaking above the steady thud–thud–thud as it bashed the wall. “But how can we get it off?”

  “Don’t put your hand in the blades, Abbie!” cried Tate.

  “I won’t,” said Abner hotly. “I’m not stupid.”

  Celia tugged at Abner’s shirt. “Mr. Bunny can help.”

  “Oh, give it a rest, Celia.” Abner shrugged her off.

  “No, really! He can!”

  “Quiet, Celia!” Tate said. “We’re trying to think!”

  Abner stuck his head out of the shed and pulled it back in with a dismayed look on his face. “The parents are coming!”

  “Mr. Bunny can help,” Celia said stubbornly. She unwound the rabbit’s neck ribbon and held it out. “This can dust off the blades.”

  “Right!” Derek grabbed the ribbon and doubled it over. Then he whapped it across the mower blades, lightly and fast.

  “Careful!” Tate said, but Derek didn’t bother to answer. The blades were already slowing down. And then, after a last quick dusting, they stopped.

  “Just in time!” whispered Abner as grown-up feet scraped on the cement slab. “Good work, Derek.”

  “It was my idea,” Celia reminded them as she took back the ribbon.

  “What was your idea?” said Mother at the door.

  “And what was all that noise?” asked Father. “It sounded like the whole shed was coming down!”

  Abner turned to Tate. So did Derek and Celia. When something had to be explained to grown-ups, Tate was the one who did it best.

  “The noise was because of the idea,” she said earnestly. “We thought there might be a mower here you could use. And we found one and pulled it out, and then some of the other tools and things f
ell down. The mower made them fall,” she added, being perfectly truthful.

  Abner looked at her in admiration.

  Mr. Willow glanced at the rusty lawn mower and shook his head. “That was good of you kids, but there’s more lawn on this hill than I have time to mow with a push mower. Your mother and I are going into town. She’s going to drop off some paintings, and I’m going to look at new lawn mowers. I’ll see if the old one can be fixed, but I doubt it’s possible.”

  “Dad?” Derek tugged at his father’s sleeve. “Could I mow?”

  “With the new mower? No, they’re too dangerous,” began his father.

  “I meant with this one.” Derek patted the old-fashioned mower’s handle as if it were a friendly dog. “It’s not dangerous at all. And I really want to.”

  “But whatever for?” asked Mother. “This hill is far too big for a boy your age to mow. That’s your father’s job.”

  “But if I did mow the whole hill, could I get money for it?” Derek persisted. “Enough to buy a train ticket?” He dug in his pocket and handed them Ben’s invitation.

  Mother finished reading first. She raised her head and looked sadly at her son. “Oh, Derek. You must want to go very much.”

  Derek nodded twenty times or so.

  Father’s face changed. Derek could not be sure if his father’s expression was more stern or more loving, but it was more something. He waited, shifting from one foot to the other like a nervous batter at the plate.

  Father cleared his throat. “I admire your ambition, son,” he said. “But the fact remains that the hill is very large, and you are very small.”

  “He’s not that small,” Abner said.

  “And we’ll help him,” said Tate.

  The four children moved closer together. Four pairs of eyes pleaded with Mr. and Mrs. Willow.

  “All right,” said Father. “You can try that old mower if you like, but you’ll get tired of pushing it before long. I’m going into town to look at new lawn mowers.”

  “But what if we don’t get tired?” Abner spoke up. “What if you come back from town and the mowing is all done? Would that earn enough money for Derek’s ticket?”

  “Er …,” said Father, looking helplessly at his wife.

  “You always tell us not to give up before we start,” added Derek.

  “Please, Daddy?” Celia held up her rabbit. “Don’t buy a new mower until you see if we can do it. Mr. Bunny says ‘please,’ too.”

  “Oh, good heavens,” muttered their father.

  “You’re outnumbered, Frank,” Mrs. Willow said. She seemed to be trying not to laugh.

  Tate sensed the tide was turning in their favor. “How about this,” she said. “You go to town and look at mowers, but don’t buy any. And then when you come home, you can see how much we’ve done.”

  “Not much point in going to town if we don’t buy anything,” grumbled their father.

  “Now listen,” said his wife, “we wouldn’t buy a mower today, anyway. You know you always like to sleep on these things. You never make the final decision until the next day.”

  “That’s true,” Father admitted.

  “And I think we should let the children try,” Mother went on. “They want to do a nice thing for their brother, and … Well, if they did mow the whole lawn, you have to admit it would be worth a train ticket. Don’t you agree?”

  Mother leaned out of the car window, giving final instructions. “Now be careful! Drink plenty of water, and stop if you get overheated. I don’t want anyone getting sick.”

  “We promise,” said the children all together.

  “Stop worrying,” said Father. “They’ll be just fine.”

  “Why don’t you come with us to town, Seal?” Mother reached out a hand to her youngest daughter, calling her by her baby name. “They won’t need you to help mow.”

  Celia hesitated. Going to town with her parents usually meant stopping for ice cream cones. But she didn’t want to be left out of the magic.

  Abner and Tate glanced at one another. Celia wouldn’t be much help. And the last time they had run into magic, she had caused some big problems.

  “But we do need her,” Derek blurted out. Then he stopped in confusion. Why had he said that?

  Celia beamed.

  “All right,” said Mother, pulling her head back in the car. “Promise me that you won’t let Celia mow. She’s too little.”

  “We promise,” everyone chorused again.

  “You’re worrying about nothing,” Father told Mother as he put the car into gear. “They’ll quit before half an hour is up. Pushing a hand mower is a lot harder than they think.”

  The children watched as the family car rolled down the long driveway, bumped over the stone arch bridge, and roared off down the gravel road. From the high hill, they could see all the way to the crossroads. That was where their mother usually remembered something she had forgotten.

  They held their breath. But the car turned onto the main highway, its dark blue roof glinting in the sun.

  Abner went into the shed and backed out, pulling the mower. “Okay, Celia, you stay out of the way.” The wheels thumped down onto the cement slab, and he turned to Derek. “Listen. It’s not hard. The mower does the work, but you have to hold on tight.”

  “And mow in a straight line,” said Tate, “like Dad does. Don’t let it wiggle all over the place.”

  Derek nodded. His chest felt tight and his breath came quickly. It was the way he always felt before throwing the first pitch in baseball, or kicking off in football, and it was a feeling he loved. “Okay, Mowey—let’s go!” He gripped the handle, stiffened his elbows, and pushed the mower off the cement.

  For a moment, he thought it wasn’t going to work. Then all at once the handle shuddered, and the blades bit at the thick green grass. Derek yelped as the lawn mower surged ahead like a dog straining at the leash.

  “Settle down now! Straighten it out,” he yelled, wrestling the mower out of its zigzag path.

  There was a lot of grass, but the mower was more than up to it. After its long sleep in the toolshed, it almost pranced through the thick lawn. Its blades whirred with a quiet, satisfied sound, and grass spit out behind it like chopped salad. Derek felt proud, steering the headstrong machine across the yard. Behind him, he heard the others cheering.

  He saw a tree ahead and leaned hard to one side to circle the trunk. The mower resisted at first. Once it got the idea, it seemed to like going round and round. Derek was dizzy before he figured out how to dig in his heels and swing the mower off at an angle.

  It was almost as good as an amusement park ride. Better, thought Derek as he circled another tree, because at the end of it he would have earned enough money for a train ticket. He could hardly wait to see the guys.

  The mower seemed to be speeding up. Maybe it was only now fully awake, or maybe some of the rust had chipped off. Either way it was going faster than he wanted to go. Round and round, back and forth, it kept right on mowing and it wouldn’t stop.

  Derek’s arms felt tired from gripping the handle so tightly. His legs didn’t want to walk another step, much less run.

  Where were the others? He could use a break. “Abner!” he tried to shout. “Tate!” But he was so out of breath that his voice was hardly more than a whisper.

  Maybe they had gone to the house to get him some water. Derek hoped so with all his heart. It was hot out in the sun, and his baseball cap had fallen off.

  In the kitchen, Abner, Tate, and Celia had decided to make lemonade. Their mother liked the real thing instead of the powdered kind, so she kept a bag of lemons on hand. The children were squeezing them and making a mess.

  Celia spilled the sugar, and the mess got worse. Then she stirred too hard, and the lemonade splashed out and wet the sugar on the floor. When she tried to help clean up, she slipped and knocked over the wash bucket. Soapy water flooded everywhere.

  Tate stood with her hands on her hips. Abner reached for a towel.


  “I’m sorry,” said Celia. “I was just trying to help.”

  Tate picked up a sponge. “You’ll help us more if you stay out of the kitchen.”

  Celia sat in the front hall and watched through the window as Derek went past with the mower.

  Why had Derek said they needed her? They weren’t going to let her mow. And now that she had spilled the sugar, they wouldn’t even let her help make lemonade.

  Celia held a sticky Mr. Bunny close as she watched Derek come around again. He was walking quickly. In fact, he was trotting. As he passed, he seemed to be yelling something.

  Celia thought for a minute. Then she went back to the kitchen. “Derek’s mowing fast,” she told her brother and sister.

  Abner was on his knees, wiping the floor with a dish towel. “He’s got to mow fast if he wants to get it all done.”

  “No,” said Celia, “I mean really fast. I think he needs help.”

  Tate pushed the hair out of her flushed face. “He probably just needs someone else to take a turn. I’ll go, Abner.”

  Tate stepped out the door, but Derek whipped by before she could do anything.

  “I told you,” said Celia as a long, drawn-out “Taaaaaaate!” drifted back from behind their brother.

  “Wow,” said Tate.

  “Get ready,” said Celia. She stood at the corner of the house. “Here he comes again.”

  Tate got into a half-crouch and held her arms out. The whirring sound of the mower got louder. As Derek went by, she grabbed the handle and took off with a jerk.

  Derek let go with a groan of relief. He fell down flat on the cut grass.

  Celia bent over him. “Do you want some lemonade? There’s some in the house.”

  Derek nodded weakly. He felt as if he had played too long without a substitute.

  The door slammed behind Celia, and Derek sat up. He had mown an amazing amount in a short time. The top of the hill was shorn, and the long grass around trees and outbuildings was neatly trimmed. Down below, the lawn was still shaggy, but the mower did not seem to be getting tired. In fact, the more it mowed, the faster it seemed to go.

  When would it quit? Derek wondered. Maybe they could try to stop it by running it into the shed again. But the mower would keep right on bashing until they dusted off the grass. The last time, Mowey had almost banged a hole in the wall before they got it to stop. If the shed had to be fixed, that would cost money, too. Would it cost as much as a train ticket?