Return of the Evening Star

by Diane Rios

Now you are come all my grief is removed,

  Let me forget that so long you have roved.

  Let me believe that you love as you loved,

  Long, long ago, long ago.

  Do you remember the paths where we met?

  Long, long ago, long, long ago.

  Ah, yes, you told me you’d never forget,

  Long, long ago, long ago.

  Then to all others, my smile you preferred,

  Love, when you spoke, gave a charm to each word.

  Still my heart treasures the phrases I heard,

  Long, long ago, long ago.

  The last notes of the song floated up and away into the dark sky. Everyone was exhausted. Slowly the gathering began to disperse back to the hospital. There was much to do before they could leave. Everyone who needed a bed, or a shower, was welcomed into the undamaged wing of the hospital. Mrs. Goodweather, Mrs. Eames, and Britta the kitchen maid retied their aprons and got to work in the partially scorched kitchen with the squirrels helping, making a simple, nourishing dinner for everyone. Brisco and the bears began to clear the yard and drive of debris and damaged ambulances. The maids and the footman from Ashton House made themselves useful and helped the nurses change the sheets and get everyone tucked in as comfortably as possible. Lord Winchfillin proved himself quite proficient at getting the younger wounded animals to settle, telling them stories which they listened to with wide eyes, as the nurses bustled about.

  Finally, everyone was taken care of at the hospital, and Lady Ashton insisted that all of Chloe’s friends come home to Ashton House. Everyone readily and gratefully agreed. It would be wonderful to bathe properly, eat a home-cooked meal, and sleep in a comfortable bed. Lady Ashton assured them that they must stay as long they liked to recuperate, and when they were ready, and had quite recovered, she wanted to discuss the future.

  But first they must address the present.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  ALL THE REMAINING DOCTORS, ORDERLIES, and ambulance drivers were still tied up in the wagon that had brought them up from the docks. They were being guarded by bears, who were having a wonderful time playing a game they had just invented called “Swat the White Coat.” The white coats hated this game, and they cowered in the back of the wagon, cringing out of the reach of those claws. Uncle Blake was one of them. He screamed every time a bear took a swipe.

  “Swat that one hard!” growled Livermore, a half-grown black bear who had had enough of Blake’s irritating shrieks. “I’ll give you three points!”

  “Just a minute there!” called out Mrs. Goodweather, appearing with Chloe, the Artist, Brisco, and the others. The bears looked annoyed at being interrupted, but the same bear who had guarded the silver pantry—whose name was Ursula— recognized Mrs. Goodweather, and told the other bears to stop. They did so, growling nastily at the white coats.

  The people approached the wagon.

  “What should we do with them?” asked the Artist.

  “We can’t let them go,” said Brisco. “They’ll be back up to their old tricks in no time at all.”

  “I have an idea,” said Mrs. Goodweather. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the blueberry pie she had picked up from the dining room.

  “This ought to do the trick.”

  She broke the pie in half, and then nodded at Brisco and the Artist. The two men understood her at once and moved forward to grab Uncle Blake by the head and shoulders, holding him fast.

  “What are you doing?” Uncle Blake hollered. “Let me go!”

  He watched as Mrs. Goodweather slowly approached him with the pie. Uncle Blake squirmed fearfully in the men’s arms.

  “I don’t want that! I won’t eat it! You can’t make me!” Blake locked his jaw closed defiantly.

  “Oh yes, you will!” said the Artist, wrenching Uncle Blake’s head back.

  “Oh yes, we can!” said Brisco, forcing his fingers into the side of Uncle Blake’s mouth. At the same time Mrs. Good-weather rushed forward and smashed the half pie against his lips.

  “Mmph . . . mmmphph . . . GAH!”

  Uncle Blake couldn’t breathe and was forced to gasp for air whereupon Mrs. Goodweather shoved half of the entire pie right into his mouth. Brisco squeezed Blake’s cheeks so hard he could not open his mouth to spit out the pie, and finally he was forced to swallow or suffocate. When he swallowed the pie, Brisco let him go.

  Blake began to change. His hard, pinched-looking face softened, rounded, and filled out at the cheeks. His greasy hair shrunk back into his head and became silky-soft, curly locks. His beard growth disappeared, his neck shortened, and Blake’s red-rimmed, watery eyes grew round and bright as a child’s.

  Uncle Blake was a child. His skinny frame absorbed the power of the pie almost instantly, and he zipped through adolescence in a matter of seconds. Within a few more seconds he was a very small child, and an angry one. His short legs collapsed on the ground, and he immediately threw a tantrum, squalling and beating the earth with chubby fists. Celeste took pity on him then, and moved forward to help him to his feet, but the transformation was not yet complete. Even as Celeste reached toward the child, he shrank to an infant. Uncle Blake’s angry cry became the hungry cry of a tiny baby, who wanted nothing more than to be fed.

  Celeste stooped down and gathered tiny baby Uncle Blake into her arms. She looked kindly down at his little pink face and jiggled him gently up and down. Uncle Blake giggled happily. His thoughts were those of an infant, and his anger had completely melted away, replaced by a sweet smile and an adoring expression as he gazed up at this nice woman holding him.

  Ursula the bear came up, intrigued by this strange transformation, and peered over Celeste’s shoulder. The bear made a funny face at Blake who cooed in delight and broke out in a peal of baby laughter.

  The other half of the pie was divided between the remaining white coats. Brisco and the Artist made them all eat the pieces, with the help of the bears. There wasn’t enough pie left to change them all into babies, but it was enough to make them teenagers, which wasn’t ideal, but besides a sullen attitude and a lot of eye rolling, they became harmless enough. Mrs. Goodweather said if they didn’t behave themselves she would make more pies in a jiffy and turn them into toddlers, which seemed to adequately subdue them.

  Baby Uncle Blake and the teenagers were taken to the hospital nursery where they joined Mr. Gog and the others who had been transformed earlier, and were being tended to by the kind nurses. Two of the bears had taken quite a fancy to the children and wanted to help. King Auberon reluctantly gave his permission for them to stay for a while and help babysit, before returning to the woods. The bears proved themselves surprisingly gentle with the babies. They loved to gently poke their tummies and make them laugh. The babies in turn loved to crawl on top of the bears and pull their long hair. The bears were remarkably tolerant, and merely squashed the tots gently flat when their antics got out of hand.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  THE NEXT MORNING WAS ALREADY UPON them. The sky in the east turned golden, and the overnight fog disappeared, leaving behind dew that sparkled over the land in the rising sun. As the minutes ticked by, the sun rose higher, its golden fingers gently gilding every tree, every rock, and illuminating the ruins of the hospital.

  The crows had never gone to sleep, and now they rose one by one from the damp trees, circling in the rose-colored sky, and calling to each other.

  “A new day!”

  The crows were joined by a chorus of other birds, all the birds who had helped win the battle, and all of their family members. They rose from the trees and flew out over the ocean to be met by gulls, who flew higher and higher over the cliffs of Fairfax, calling down to the sea.

  “A new day has come!”

  In front of the hospital people were moving about, loading their loved ones into wagons and carts, and slowly beginning to return to their homes. The Fairfax police had been found lost in the woods, and were now helping to restore order.

  Th
e bear Ursula and her sister Nita donned aprons and caps, and were busy wheeling patients in and out of the hospital. Whitestone and Nettle the squirrels had also elected to stay behind and help wherever they could. They had been instrumental in getting messages back and forth during the battle, and would continue to do so until the telegraph lines started working again.

  Chloe and her mother were gathered around the wagons from Ashton House, come to take them all home. All her friends were there, and the servants. Chloe was exhausted, but so excited to finally be going home she hardly noticed. She climbed into the carriage Mr. Mason had sent for and settled in cozily next to Lady Ashton. Shakespeare poked his head out of her pocket and climbed out onto her lap. Lady Ashton had already met the white rat, and found him to be completely charming.

  “Oh, mother, I can hardly believe we’re going home!” Chloe sang out, petting the rat happily. “My dear, dear Shakespeare, we are going back to Ashton House! We shall have such lovely, fun times again!”

  Lady Ashton waved her handkerchief out of the window as the carriage pulled away down the drive. “Goodbye!” she called to the nurses and the bears on the lawn. “Goodbye and thank you!”

  Everyone piled into whatever wagon they could, and set off down the road, away from the hospital, the tree house, and the forested hills behind them, toward Fairfax, and finally to Ashton House. It was a jolly journey with all the servants singing, and the Artist playing his flute. Brisco led them on a round that had everyone confused and laughing as they rolled down the road. When they arrived at the doors of the great house, everyone piled out and immediately went to their rooms to rest and wash up for dinner.

  Ashton House became a merry place once more. Over the next few days, the servants went into a flurry of cleaning. Every window in the house was opened, and washed until it sparkled, every floor was vigorously swept and mopped, and all the doors flung wide to the fresh, sea air. For days, dust rags and mop ends could be seen shaking from doors and windows as the maids gave everything a good going over. All the curtains and linens were taken down, washed, and hung to dry in the orchard, so that for one whole day it was a magical place, the trees swathed in multicolored fabrics that billowed in the wind, and made wonderful tents for Chloe and Shakespeare to play under.

  Mrs. Goodweather stayed on to help the family settle and to exchange cooking tips with Mrs. Eames. The two ladies struck up a solid friendship, and enjoyed strolling through the gardens of Ashton House, picking vegetables and discussing different ways to prepare them. Together they cooked up many delicious meals for everyone, and the kitchen stove never cooled. The aromas wafting through Ashton House carried the most delicious smells of rich and savory gravies, baked bread and rolls, and the sweet and sugary smells of pies, cookies, and cakes. Everyone ate as much as they liked, and nobody complained about the dishes. It was so wonderful to be home again, no chore seemed difficult or tedious. Every moment was a pleasure.

  Avery and Celeste Hart had each been given rooms, and Lady Ashton had generously offered them a place to stay for as long as they liked. She was so grateful to them for trying so hard to help her daughter that she said they could consider Ashton House their home forever if they chose to do so.

  When she heard this, Chloe jumped up and down and begged the Harts, “Oh, please do! Please do! Nothing would make me happier!”

  Avery and Celeste looked at each other, and then Celeste looked quickly at Brisco. There was an awkward pause as everyone suddenly looked at each other, and then Avery broke the spell and laughed. “Well I can’t speak for my sister, dear Lady Ashton, but for my part I’d like to thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind offer. I would love to stay, at least until I am fully recovered, and then we can see.”

  Celeste and Brisco looked slightly uncomfortable, and Lady Ashton broke in kindly to save any embarrassment. “Perhaps it is a little too soon to be making such big decisions. I think I’m getting ahead of myself. You must all stay or go as you please, of course! I only hope you will all stay as long as possible.”

  The Artist refused a room in the big house and chose instead to stay in the airy rooms above the stable. There he was quite comfortable, and spent long afternoons with Mr. Darby the gardener, cleaning up the grounds and gardens. When the work was done, the Artist painted the portraits of anyone who would sit for him, and they all took turns posing.

  Chloe was delighted to have the Artist at Ashton House, and she spent special afternoons showing him all her favorite places. She took him to where she had fallen in the creek, and first seen the Illuminata flowers. She showed him the otter’s den, and the place near the house where the rabbits had nodded at her, and one windy day she took him to the same cliffs where the gull had smiled. Inside Ashton House she showed him her reading nook where she first met Shakespeare, during the storm.

  Everything seemed even more beautiful to her now, than it ever had been before. Knowing how easily it all could change made Chloe relish every moment with a profound kind of gratitude. Now everything seemed to sparkle, even the most ordinary things—especially the most ordinary things—and a song was always on her lips. She was home again.

  The town of Fairfax itself was recovering from the war. What remained of the hospital was quickly rebuilt into a small clinic, run by the nurses, and by the bears. The rubble was cleared away and the walls repaired and painted. King Auberon had reluctantly given his permission for Nita and Ursula to stay on as long as they liked. Mrs. Goodweather had gone back to the hospital for a little while to help the nurses and the bears put in a large, organic garden. They planted corn and lettuce, tomatoes and beans, peas and spinach, and they planted fruit. Berries and melons were planted, and Mr. Mason and Mr. Darby the gardener promised to plant a large fruit and nut orchard behind the hospital in the spring. Chloe looked forward to the plums and apples and hazelnuts they would yield.

  One beautiful day Chloe took her friends up to the cliff where she and Mr. Mason had picnicked together. They brought their own picnic, packed in several baskets by Mrs. Eames and Mrs. Goodweather. They all spread out blankets on the grass and enjoyed the feast immensely. After lunch, they packed everything away and stood together at the edge of the cliff, gazing out at the ocean and listening to the waves pounding below. The gulls danced on the air around them, their soft cries soothing, and no one felt the need to say a word. When you’ve been through so much with someone, you can sometimes speak without talking, and at that moment they all felt the same thing—that their friendship would last forever, and indeed, that it had only just begun.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  IT WAS CLEAR THAT OTHER BONDS HAD been forged over the last few days, as well. While the others picnicked, waded in the sea, played badminton on the great lawn of Ashton House, and danced to the Artist’s merry tunes, Brisco and Celeste were often seen together, walking under the trees, and quietly talking. Everyone noticed, but no one remarked upon the shy glances exchanged between the two, and the blushes that bloomed on Celeste’s cheeks when Brisco stood near her. Before long they began holding hands on their walks, and soon they hardly left each other’s side.

  The days passed happily, until one morning the Artist suddenly put down his mug of tea and quietly announced, “It’s time for me to move along.”

  Chloe put down her own mug with a thud. “What? No! You can’t leave!” She hadn’t even considered the Artist might leave!

  “But I must, child,” said the Artist kindly. “I make my living on the road, and back to the road I must go.”

  “But you don’t have to make a living anymore!” cried Chloe. “You can live here, with me and Mother!” She looked anxiously at Lady Ashton, who nodded her head, yes indeed.

  “But I like to make my own living, and I like to travel,” the Artist said simply. “I wouldn’t be happy in one place all the time.”

  Chloe looked down sadly. If she were honest, she had known somewhere in the back of her mind that the Artist might move on again, but she had hoped it wouldn’t
be so soon.

  “But I will be back, certainly!” assured the Artist. “I will make a special point of it, my dear! But just now the road is calling me, and further adventures await.” He winked at Chloe, who tried her best to smile back.

  She asked him sadly, “Where will you go?”

  “I thought I might go north,” said the Artist. “Silas has very kindly invited Greybelle and I to visit as soon as we are able.”

  “Oh! Greybelle too?” cried Chloe in despair. “Is everyone leaving me?”

  “Now, now, my dear child,” said the Artist kindly, patting Chloe’s hand. “Greybelle wants to visit her family, you can understand that.”

  Chloe felt ashamed. Of course she could understand. She realized she was being selfish, and Greybelle had been the most loyal friend a person could have. Of course, she should go north as soon as possible and be with her family! Chloe sniffed back her tears, and smiled despite them at the Artist’s next words.

  “Don’t forget, my dear, the summer meeting in the north! Shall we go together?”

  “Oh, Artist, I would love to!” said Chloe, her tears forgotten.

  What could be more wonderful? she thought, as she imagined crossing the Bridge of the Gods, and of meeting Grey-belle’s beautiful family again, and hearing them all speak! And they would see Silas again, and . . . well, who knew what other wonders awaited them there?

  Chloe nodded her head vigorously, drying her tears and laughing at herself. “You’re right, as usual, dear Artist,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I will look forward to that very much!”

  Lord Winchfillin sighed wearily, from the other end of the table. “Well, I’m not going north, not now and not in the summer,” he said decidedly. “It’s all very nice of course, but it’s much too far and much too cold! No, I must return to my poor, ruined chateau and see what I can salvage from it. I am also anxious to see if any of my old servants are about and need assistance, the poor dears. Yes . . .” Lord Winchfillin had a faraway look in his eyes. “I want to do things a bit differently from now on, perhaps spend less, work more, live a little more simply.”