by Jodi Kendall
“I think it’s a great idea,” she said, smiling. “Emily and I will see what we can find out.”
“Awesome!” Lou and Amelia high-fived.
Dad motioned to me. “Your turn, Josie!”
“Okay.” My fingers searched the gift in my lap. I carefully unpeeled the Scotch tape, unfolding the newspaper wrapping and revealing a book: Charlotte’s Web. I blinked, confused. I hadn’t read it in a long time because it was always tucked away with Ellen’s books, but it looked the same as always, except—except for a bookmark, near the end. I flipped to the page and felt my heart swell and balloon, as if it was filled with more emotion than I could hold inside.
The bookmark was just a cut piece of white printer paper, but something was written on it: Thought you could use some inspiration.
I moved the bookmark out of the way, and my fingers paused on the scene when Charlotte the spider is sick but working hard to spin webs and save Wilbur’s life at the fair.
In every place Charlotte’s name was printed, a tiny piece of paper was carefully taped over it with the written name Josie. And where Wilbur’s name had once appeared, it now said Hamlet.
I hugged the book to my chest. Tears filled my eyes as I made eye contact with Ellen. “Thank you,” I said.
My older sister smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“That doesn’t look upcycled,” said Sarah, squinting her eyes.
I closed the book and placed it on my lap. Hamlet’s eyes were fluttering closed, and her hairy pink skin was warm against my palm. “It’s between Ellen and me,” I said. “But it’s perfect.”
And it really was.
This book meant that Ellen recognized how important Hamlet was to me—and that she believed I had the power to save her life.
Suddenly, as I looked around at my big, wild family, I realized that they’d all been supporting me in different ways.
I glanced over at Sarah and remembered how it felt when she gave me the grips at my gymnastics meet. She had believed in me, too.
I watched as my siblings opened their presents, and when it was Tom’s turn, I remembered the advice he’d given me earlier that winter.
The only one holding you back is you.
His encouragement had helped me focus in gymnastics and get past all my fears about being too tall and not as good as the other girls.
Even Dad! Maybe he didn’t like Hamlet, but he protected her from Ms. Coburn’s wrath. And although he hadn’t seen my first back tuck at gymnastics, he had given me rides to and from practice and cheered me on at the big meet.
When it finally came time for Mrs. Taglioni’s turn to open her present, I could barely contain my excitement. She studied her gift for a moment without saying anything. I had used an old National Geographic Kids magazine as the wrapping, making sure that the photograph of the sloth bear stretched across the top. Mrs. Taglioni’s lips flickered with the hint of a smile as her fingers traced over the glossy paper. Then she carefully unwrapped it, revealing the Tuxedo Pigeon feather inside.
“What is it?” Lou asked, leaning closer.
Mrs. Taglioni’s face twisted as she studied the end of the feather, where I’d remade it into something she could wear.
“A hair barrette,” she said, turning it over carefully in her hand. Then she whispered in awe, “I once knew a bird with this coloring.”
The old woman pulled a makeup compact from her purse, and while staring at the mirror, carefully pinned the Tuxedo Pigeon feather into her hair. She smiled—a genuine, happy smile—and looked around the room. “I’m afraid I don’t know who this is from,” she admitted.
My parents looked confused, but my sisters glanced in my direction. They knew as well as I did how long that feather had been in my possession.
I raised my hand, like I was in class. “Me. Um, me, Mrs. Taglioni.”
“Well. Thank you, my dear.” Then the old woman winked. “It’s lovely. Now I’ll always be ready for a special mission.”
“Oh, yeah!” Tom snapped his fingers. “The Tuxedo Pigeon. I totally forgot about that feather. Man, I haven’t seen one of those birds in ages! Remember, Mrs. Taglioni?”
My jaw dropped in surprise. “Mrs. Taglioni, you’ve heard of the Tuxedo Pigeon?”
“She’s the one who told me about it,” said Tom. “When I was a kid.”
“I’ve not only heard about it,” Mrs. Taglioni said, leaning forward. “I used to own one.”
“Really?” Ellen held her face with her hands, leaning forward. “Will you tell us the story?”
Mrs. Taglioni shared how her younger brother used to attend exotic bird shows around the world, and that a long time ago, he brought one back for her. But they didn’t realize at the time just how magical a Tuxedo Pigeon was, because most of the time it looks just like a normal pigeon.
“When it’s called on a mission, its feathers change—and then nothing can stop it,” explained Mrs. Taglioni, dancing her hands through the air as if a pigeon could fly into the room at any moment. “Not bars of a cage, or cement walls, or a closed window. Poof! Just like that, one day the Tuxedo Pigeon was gone.”
“Did you ever see it again?” asked Sarah.
Mrs. Taglioni nodded. “It still lives around this neighborhood . . . somewhere. But it’s an extremely busy bird, of course, and it really doesn’t like cold weather.”
“Is this for real, Dr. Stern?” asked Amelia, glancing at the vet.
“Quite,” she said with a smile.
I stared at the old woman resting in the recliner, and it was like meeting someone for the first time. All these years—and memories—with Mrs. Taglioni in my life, and I’d never once tried to get to know her . . . I’d only judged her. And maybe she’d judged me a little, too.
Suddenly I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.
“Why’re you upset, sweetie?” Mom asked, handing me a tissue.
“I’m not,” I said, wiping my nose. “I’m just happy she likes the present.”
And I was. I leaned in closer to Hamlet, and she nestled her snout into my wool sweater. It felt like the end of something, but the beginning of something else, too.
“And now for my gift!” Mrs. Taglioni said, reaching into her purse. “But Josie may have to help me with this one.”
She handed me a cube-shaped package wrapped in tin foil. It was labeled Hamlet. I tore it open, and Hamlet’s nose perked up as a familiar smell filled the room. “I thought your pig and I could make up after that fence escapade,” Mrs. Taglioni said. “A peace offering.”
Homemade corn bread!
I gave it to Hamlet, who happily gobbled it up, licking every crumb she could sniff out on the blanket and floor.
“What a wonderful gesture,” said Mom.
“That’s so nice, Mrs. Taglioni!” exclaimed Amelia, and I nodded in agreement.
The old woman beamed as Hamlet closed her eyes and settled back into her cozy nap, happily full from the treat. “You know, my William loved pigs . . .”
“Who’s William?” I asked.
“My late husband. He passed away many, many years ago.”
“Oh . . . I’m sorry.” I didn’t know Mrs. Taglioni had ever been married, but I guess it made sense because she’d always been a Mrs. to me.
“It’s all right, child. I have only fond memories.” She got to her feet just as “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” began to play on the radio. “Now it’s about time for this old lady to get to sleep. Merry Christmas, everyone. Thank you for the company this holiday.”
“Merry Christmas!” everyone echoed back.
“Here, take some cookies home with you,” said Mom, wrapping a plate in plastic wrap.
“Wait—” I stood up. “It’s really snowing out there. I’ll walk you home.”
I grabbed our coats from the closet and swung open the door. A strong gust of wind swept into the house, and I helped shield Mrs. Taglioni from the falling snow as we walked down our stoop and up her front steps next door.
“Thank you, Josie,” Mrs. Taglioni said to me as she unlocked her door.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Taglioni,” I said, wrapping my scarf more tightly around my neck. We exchanged a smile and I added, “I’m glad you spent it with us.”
Walking back to our stoop, I saw the lit-up Christmas tree and everyone in the living room through the big bay window. It was like watching one of those silent movies. Tom was doing some kind of hopping dance with chicken arms, and I wondered if the “Dominick the Donkey” song had come on the radio again, and Amelia was talking into her handmade telephone with Dad. Hamlet’s front hooves were up on the windowsill, and she stared back at me from behind the frosted glass.
The city was so quiet, I could almost hear the falling snow over my beating heart.
Chapter 24
BRAINSTORM SESSION
I slapped another glossy poster onto a street pole, securing it with a piece of duct tape at the top. In bold, careful calligraphy, Carlos has written FREE PIG TO GOOD HOME and below it, Fernanda had used Photoshop to insert one of Lucy’s photos of Hamlet.
Lucy held the roll of silver tape and scissors, cutting off a piece for me each time I needed it. “I know you’re worrying,” she said. “You always get quiet when you worry.”
I put out my hand for another piece of tape but didn’t say anything. She was right, of course.
“You’ll find a good home for Hamlet soon,” she assured me.
I nodded in agreement, but inside I wasn’t so confident. I only had a few days left before the New Year’s Day deadline. And now it wasn’t just my parent’s deadline—it was the law.
“Have we gotten any emails yet?” I asked her. Since I didn’t have a cell phone and Lucy did, she connected the email account we created to her phone so she could check the messages more frequently.
Lucy didn’t meet my eyes. “Well . . .”
I stopped, rolling up the remaining posters into a big scroll. Something in my best friend’s tone didn’t seem right. “Well what?”
“I don’t know if I should read it to you.”
“Of course you should read it to me!”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you . . .” Lucy sighed. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and tapped the screen until she pulled up the email. “Hi, Josie,” she read aloud. “My friend saw your sign about giving away a pig. I might be interested. I live on a farm in Athens. How old is your pig? How much does it weigh? Please let me know ASAP because—”
She stopped. “Because what?” I said, hanging on every word.
“Because . . . my animals go to the factory in a few weeks. I could use the extra money and I’ll give you ten percent of the profits,” she finished.
Hearing those words made my stomach hurt. Hamlet. Going to a factory. No way—not on my watch. Not for a million dollars!
“I don’t understand . . . pigs are so fun. Why doesn’t anyone want Hamlet as a pet?” I slapped another poster onto a pole. Lucy handed me another piece of tape.
“Any luck with the animal shelters you called?” Lucy asked. “Oh—Carlos just texted. They’re all waiting for us.”
“None. And I’ve tried about a million.” I sighed. “They all say the same thing. They don’t take pigs, or they don’t have space, and they refer me to some other place, and then they say the same thing. I feel like I’m on a merry-go-round of nos!”
My hope was deflating. We looped back to the Three Stoops, where I’d hung the pink bike chain ten minutes ago on the gate to call a meeting.
Sully was dribbling a basketball on the brick front step where he had shoveled off the snow. “I’m out of posters,” he said in greeting. “Find a home for Hamlet yet?”
I shook my head. “We need to buy more time,” I told them.
“We’ve got to think bigger than animal sanctuaries,” said Carlos. His breath looked like a small cloud in the cold winter air.
Sully nodded. “That’s what a detective would do. You know, think outside the box.”
I tightened the scarf around my neck and sat down on the cold steps beside him. “Bigger how? Outside of the box—like outside of Ohio?”
Sully tapped his pencil on his notepad. “Forget animal sanctuaries. Who else would want a pig?”
“Not just any pig,” said Fernanda. “A massive farm pig.”
“A really slobbery hungry one,” added Carlos.
“Farmers?” I exhaled. “But the only farms I can find online are businesses, like meat factories . . .”
“Did you ask your parents to help you?” asked Lucy.
I stuck my hands in my puffy coat pockets. “Mom made a few calls with me yesterday, but then she had to take Amelia to the pediatrician for a checkup. I’ve barely seen Dad at all lately, and everyone else is busy with finals.” I sighed. “We’re on our own.”
“Hello, children,” said a pleasant voice. We all looked up. Mrs. Taglioni was all bundled up with a black coat, furry scarf, and tall boots.
“Hi, Mrs. Taglioni,” I said. I hadn’t seen her since Christmas Day. My eyes fell on the Tuxedo Pigeon feather pinned onto the top of her hat, and it made me smile. “Where are you off to?”
“Catching a train,” she said with a wink. “Even old ladies need an adventure sometimes.”
“Sounds like fun,” said Lucy. “I love riding the train!”
“Don’t stay outside too long,” said Mrs. Taglioni, wagging her finger. “They’re saying more snow tonight!”
“More snow?!” Sully slapped himself on the forehead. “I’ll be shoveling the stoop for the next week!”
Mrs. Taglioni laughed, and it made Sully grin. “Don’t worry, child. There’s a warm front headed our way on New Year’s Day. All the snow should melt by then. Have fun and be careful!”
“Okay, thanks, Mrs. Taglioni,” I said. “See you soon!”
Mrs. Taglioni waved good-bye. We watched her walk down the block, her boots crunching through the sidewalk snow, until she disappeared from sight.
“I want to take a train somewhere,” muttered Carlos, opening a tin of colored pencils.
“We just got back from Thanksgiving in Chicago!” said Fernanda with a laugh. “Anyways, don’t forget Dad’s taking us to see the ice sculptures in a bit, so quit your grumbling.”
“You guys, I think Mrs. Taglioni just laughed! The world is coming to an enddddd!” said Sully, cupping his mouth with his hands.
“Very funny,” I said. “She’s actually really nice. Now back to Operation Home for Hamlet . . .”
Sully raised his pencil eraser in the air. “Okay. Only businesses are advertised in the yellow pages, right?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, so?”
“So you need to find a family—like normal people,” Sully explained. “People who love animals as much as you do.”
“Easier said than done,” I said. “I mean, we have posters all over the neighborhood, and Tom posted it on his Instagram. He’s up to like three thousand followers now, he said. And I asked Dr. Stern if she knew anyone who might want Hamlet. No luck!” I rolled back my shoulders.
Sully nodded. “You know, in the movies police always look for clues close to home. Maybe you should try that.”
Cars whizzed down the slushy road, and I exhaled again, watching my breath float and disappear into the thin, cold air. Closer to home? That was impossible. It was illegal to keep a pig in the city.
“You’re getting quiet again!” said Lucy.
“You can’t get frustrated,” added Fernanda.
“Yeah,” agreed Sully, trying to cheer me up. “You know what a cold case is? It’s an investigation with no leads. And you know what? I think a good detective who thinks things through can always find a lead. You just gotta think outside the box.”
Maybe Sully had a point. But I’d already asked Dr. Stern. And I didn’t know anyone who had a farm. Everyone lived in the city in old townhouses like mine, or tall apartment buildings downtown.
Think outside the box.
; Okay.
When was the last time I was on a farm?
“Well . . . Sarah used to take horseback riding lessons,” I said. “It was a nice place, not too far away. Maybe I should call them.”
Fernanda snapped her fingers. “Good idea! Horse stables at least have land and a barn and stalls . . . and they obviously like animals.”
“Starburst?” Sully extended a palm.
“Sure,” Lucy and I said, unwrapping the little square candies, while both the twins shook their heads. Sully shot me a knowing look, and Lucy continued, “What about goats? People who have goats probably like pigs. Maybe there’s a goat farm around here somewhere.”
“That’s not a bad idea . . .” My mind spun, trying to think bigger, and I felt my heart begin to race, like how it does before a gymnastics routine. “Our school did a field trip to some historical farm last year . . . a place that was like frozen in time, back in the 1800s or something,” I added. “They had a few animals roaming around.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Carlos grinned, looking up from his sketching pad. “That place was awesome. We got to milk a cow and wash sheep.”
“It was soooooo gross!” said Fernanda, making Lucy laugh.
“I think we’re onto something here,” I said, suddenly feeling excited. I got to my feet and dusted snow off the back of my pants. “Thanks, guys! I’m going to make some calls now.”
“Keep us posted!” said Fernanda. “Dad’s taking us to an ice sculpture exhibit downtown, but we’ll be back later.”
“Yep,” said Carlos, packing up his art supplies. “Good luck!”
“I’m coming with you,” said Lucy, spinning the roll of tape on her fingers. “It’s horrible when gymnastics is on break. . . . I get so bored being alone at my house while Mom and Dad are at work.”
“We’ll go hang more posters!” Sully gave me a thumbs-up, and I felt heat rise from my throat to my face, even though it was totally freezing outside and my cheeks had gone numb like five minutes ago.
“See ya. And thanks,” I said, turning down the sidewalk before Sully could notice that he made me blush. Lucy jogged up next to me and flopped her arm around my shoulders.
