Before we go, Ginny said, stopping halfway through the kitchen, you need to get a snack to hold you over. We will likely be gone for hours, and you’ll work up an appetite from walking in the cold.
What should I get? I asked, setting down my boots.
Go to the pantry and fill your pockets with peanuts. That’s the easiest thing I can think of.
And for you? I asked, quietly opening the pantry door.
Oh, just a few biscuits will do. I’m more worried about you.
In the dark pantry I felt for the bag of peanuts—the kind still in their shells and sold in large bags. Both pockets? I asked. That’s a lot.
Extras will come in handy, Ginny assured me. Better safe than sorry. It is a chilly night, and it’s snowed some while you were sleeping.
Snow, I thought excitedly as I stuffed my pockets full of peanuts. I then took a handful of dog biscuits and stuffed them deep into my coat pocket beneath my mittens. After pushing the pantry door just to, I faced Ginny again.
Are you ready? She asked happily with a quick flick of her tail.
Yes. The combination of excitement coupled with my being dressed for outdoors made me feel suddenly too warm. I was more than ready to be out of the house.
Good, she said. Button that coat and get your boots on.
Chapter 3
Ginny hopped outside with silent ease when I opened the kitchen door. She spun about excitedly in the frosty air. And then, with utmost seriousness, she faced me again to watch me complete the final act of our escape.
With great concentration I stepped down over the threshold. My feet crunched very lightly in the dusting of snow coating the step. Carefully I pulled the door shut, turning the knob as slowly and gently as I could. I then turned, stepped down onto the walkway, and dug my mittens from my pockets.
The night was indeed cold. The snow was light and powdery, not wet and heavy, and only an inch or so deep at most. Around us a few flurries fluttered about, but the sky overhead was clear with the exception of a few stray clouds. The brightness of the snow under the moonlight made the outdoors seem far brighter than the inside of the house had been. In contrast, the sleeves of my red-checked wool coat appeared remarkably bright against that white backdrop.
Are you warm enough? Ginny asked.
Very warm, I said, standing there bundled up like a mountain climber.
You’ll be glad for all those layers as the night goes on, she said with a hint of humor in her voice.
I looked over at the thermometer that stood facing the kitchen window. It read seventeen degrees.
It’s only seventeen, I said, watching the vapor of my breath rise up before me.
And it might drop lower as the night goes on, Ginny replied. Now you see why I insisted on so much clothing.
Are you warm enough? I asked, though I already knew the answer.
Snug as can be in my fine coat which you keep so well brushed, she answered. Now, follow me.
Ginny whirled around and started off across the back yard. After a few steps she looked back and warned me to walk slowly and quietly until we were away from the house. Being so heavily bundled, and having my ears completely covered by a thickly-cuffed wool stocking hat, I could not perceive the true volume of my steps as I clomped along in my heavy pack boots. The majority of the crunching sounds was of the frozen grass beneath the snow, not the snow itself. Ginny could lope along comfortably without barely making a sound, while I, though I was lighter than she was, had to focus to make progress without excess noise.
We made our way across the back yard, past the corner of the skating pond, its icy surface now coated with snow, and trudged up a slight grade and entered the head of the walking trail. It was a trail my father had cut that lead to the top of Raccoon Hill and then circled back around to the inn. The other end of the trail came out at the far end of the property, just below the guest quarters. Lots of guests liked to walk that trail.
Are you sure you’re warm enough? Ginny asked, just as we entered the trail. Once we get away from the house, there will be no time to come back for more layers.
I’m almost hot except for this, I told her, brushing my mitten over my cold nose. And it feels funny to walk with peanut shells pressing on my leg every step, I said, patting my bulgy pockets.
I suppose I worry too much, Ginny said. And as for the peanuts, you’ll see the reason for them in time. I doubt you’ll have many left to bother you on the walk home.
So we’re taking a long walk?
Not nearly as long for me as it will be for you. The distance isn’t great, but we’ll be cutting through the woods, and the going may be slow for you.
I looked back in the direction of the inn. The dark-shingled roof sparkled with fresh snow. Beyond the building I had a perfect view of the ski hill as it slanted down and away into the dark valley below. Beyond, stretching several hundred acres in all directions, were the tops of many trees, their shapes distinguishable by the light dusting of snow under the moonlight. Beyond the apple orchard sat the little downtown area of Maple Grove, with its three traffic lights blinking and a few dozen street lights lining the short Main Street. Though we lived on the hill overlooking it, we were still a part of it. All 2, 147 of us called it home Moving my eyes back to the inn, I picked out my bedroom window and pictured my room—where I should have been fast asleep. Even though I didn’t yet understand the purpose of the evening’s excursion, there was something enlivening about being outdoors on a midnight adventure. Cold nose or not, I was very glad to be on the side of the house I now found myself. Without Ginny, I certainly wouldn’t have attempted anything of the sort. But with her, I felt safe, confident, and free to enjoy the strange and exciting experience.
At the thought of Ginny I turned suddenly to face her and asked, Now that we’re outside, what is this about?
It’s about our land and our home, she answered rather gravely. And it’s about all of the animals that call Raccoon Hill home.
Uncle Chuck? I asked, already guessing the answer.
Yes, him, Ginny said with a faint hint of a growl. He and that awful wife of his have been working on your parents for years now. These past few weeks, they have been working even harder. You heard some of it before you went to bed, but after you fell asleep, I stayed awake and listened to everything. It’s not good news, Ethan. Not good at all.
No, I said. I couldn’t imagine my parents caving in to my rotten uncle. They had sounded as firm as ever before I’d fallen asleep. I couldn’t imagine what my aunt and uncle could have proposed to cause them to waver.
As I was pondering this, Ginny suddenly stood at full attention, ears pricked, her body tense with focus. I followed the direction of her gaze with my eyes. She was watching something back in the woods just off the trail. Then, from behind a stump a few yards away, I caught a sense of movement in the shadows. My heart jumped as I felt the presence of someone other than Ginny suddenly so near to us. A moment later, that small sense of movement became a certain little shape. Towards us the shape scurried, until a little ball of fur with a face that was both dark and light became clear to my sight. It was plump little a raccoon, for which our hill had been long ago named. Before Ginny the raccoon stopped, sat up on its haunches and began to make sounds like purrs and squeaks.
“I thought you’d never make it,” I heard a funny little voice say at the exact same time.
What? I said to Ginny.
“We’ve plenty of time,” said Ginny’s voice, but louder, stronger. In my head it was still her usual voice, but at the same time it was also in my ears, just like anyone else’s voice would be.
What? I repeated, tilting my head and patting my ears. I was so accustomed to the effortless presence of Ginny’s soft voice living in my head with me that I could not make sense of the sudden change in her tone, nor the new presence of the raccoon’s strange voice. All in all it made for a very puzzling few seconds. I was beginning to suspect my hat of playing tricks on my ears.
“Ethan,” Ginny said, turning back to face me, “I am using my stronger voice now, not the secret one I typically use with you.” Her mouth moved nothing like the wide movements she made when barking, but rather very subtly. “Don’t be frightened by it. Grow accustomed to it. You will hear many more voices like it this night.”
In a state of curious confusion, I stepped up closer to Ginny and the raccoon. Aside from the presence of their voices, it felt very unusual for me to be so near to a wild animal, albeit such a small one. Normally we only saw raccoons from a distance, in most cases running in the opposite direction from us. Often times Ginny would chase such critters away from the garbage cans in the early mornings and evenings. Now, standing there, the two of them looked so funny to me, such an odd couple to be standing so near to one another conversing, that I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of them. And with my laughter, my temporary confusion quickly gave way to amusement.
“It hardly looks like the same boy,” said the raccoon, pointing his whiskery little masked face in my direction. Its voice struck me as being that of a male.
“Indeed,” answered Ginny. “It’s a cold night for such a small boy to be out. The bulky clothing is necessary. That’s what’s making him appear so different.”
“Good or bad?”
“Definitely good,” Ginny answered.
“I should hope so,” said the Raccoon. “Given our special guests tonight, I wouldn’t like to be a bad boy meeting the Earthkeepers. Haw-haw!”
“He’s a good boy,” Ginny said firmly. “There’s no question about it.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” said raccoon. “It’s just that I’ve known a boy or two in my day. Mean little things they can be. Throwing rocks and sticks and whatnot. And that’s if you’re lucky enough to avoid the ones with those pellet guns.”
“There is no such meanness in this boy, I promise you,” Ginny said. “He is very friendly once acquainted. See for yourself.”
“Is that so?” said the raccoon, again looking in my direction. He hopped forward so that he was only a few feet before me, then resumed his seated position.
I stood motionless as I looked down at him, still feeling a little perplexed. I didn’t know whether to keep on laughing at the scene before me, or to pinch myself in order to distinguish reality from a dream I might very well be lost in. Perhaps I really was in that room beyond that window I’d just been staring at, and dreaming the most vividly odd dream of my life.
It’s all right, Ginny then assured me silently, drawing my full attention. Meet your new friend.
“Prowler they call me,” said the raccoon, his mouth barely moving “And you are Ethan.”
Do I shake his hand? I asked Ginny while looking down at the raccoon, beginning to stretch out my arm in his direction.
“Shake what?” said Prowler, looking suspiciously from me to Ginny. “I haven’t got any hands, you silly creature.”
“That is something only humans do,” Ginny told me. Then to Prowler she said, “The boy is merely being polite.”
“Ah,” the raccoon exhaled. “I … Well … I …” His nose began rapidly sniff-sniffing as he attempted to speak, its vigorous actions seemingly out of his control. He stretched his neck, moving closer to me; the whiskers of his snout wriggled in every direction. “Say, little man, what is that hearty, delicious smell?”
Prowler? I said. That’s your actual name?
“That it is,” he replied between his intense sniffs. “So they’ve called me all my life.”
And you can understand me?
“Sure I can understand you! I’m,” sniff-sniff, “answering you, aren’t I?”
“The peanuts,” Ginny said to me. “That’s what he’s smelling. Offer him one so he can think straight.”
Prowler’s already shiny eyes seemed to shine all the brighter as I removed my mitten, beaming with anticipation. I felt my own face frozen in a smile as I closed my fingers around a scratchy, dry shell and plucked a single peanut from my pocket. Extending my arm, I held the nut out to him. With a quick snatch of his paws he accepted the gift. Clutching the shell between two paws with ten little toes that were so much like my own ten fingers, it felt as if I’d passed the peanut to a human much smaller than myself. His light touch was cold and faintly ticklish. I couldn’t help but laugh a little.
“There,” Ginny said over the sound of Prowler excitedly cracking the shell. “That should get us off to a good start on a new friendship.”
“Yes,” agreed Prowler, his hands speedily spinning the shell as he munched and cracked. “A wonderful start.” Crack-crunch. “And a good boy,” Munch-munch, “he seems to be.”
I didn’t know raccoons ate peanuts, I said.
“Raccoons eat anything and everything,” Ginny informed me. “They’re like small pigs covered with fur.”
“Mmm, yes,” agreed Prowler, chewing the nut and then licking every last trace of its presence from each piece of shell. “M-mm, we all must eat.”
Few enjoy their meals as much as the raccoons, Ginny said in a soft, humorous tone.
I smiled and said nothing.
“And speaking of meals,” Ginny said to Prowler. “It seems that brother of yours has been rummaging through our trash cans again. Just a few nights ago I caught him making a grand mess of things and chased him from the yard. I thought we had reached an agreement on that matter.”
“Oh,” muttered Prowler, still licking his little paws for every last trace of peanut oil. “Bandit is a bandit. What can I say? He lives up to his name, that’s for sure.”
“You might speak to him,” Ginny said. “Or else I will speak with him.”
Prowler shook his head. “Talking to Bandit is about like talking to this here empty shell.” With those words, he gave the largest remaining portion of shell one last sniff, turning it over in his grip, and then tossed it aside wearing an expression of one suffering from profound loss. “Bandit might better have been named No-Ears or Never-Listens,” he concluded.
“Well,” Ginny began, with a little hint of an irritated growl. But before she could finish her threat, she was interrupted by another voice.
“Never Listens?” it said. “Never listens! Ha! I listen! And I hear everything!”
Chapter 4
I looked up into a nearby tree, following the newest voice. A few seconds of searching revealed the fury form of another raccoon—Bandit, I presumed.
“I’ve listened to you all,” he said, “and not one of you knew I was here. Ha! Which of us, then, has the hearing problem, hey?”
“It’s a defiance problem,” Ginny growled, her nose pointed toward the branch on which Bandit was crouched. “And if I catch you one more time—”
Making a sound that resembled a miniature laughing hyena, Bandit suddenly sprang from his branch, rushing down the tree trunk in a few long strides, catching us all off guard. As Ginny dove to meet him (only to put a scare into him, I assumed) Bandit leapt from the base of the tree trunk, just clearing her back, did a quick roll and tumble, recovered, and then darted between my feet.
Stepping back in surprise, I almost tripped over him. And the next thing I knew I was standing at the center of a chase. Bandit zipped around me, using me as a sort of shield, while Ginny, keeping her weight low to the ground, circled in an angry pursuit. This lasted only a few seconds, until Ginny wisely stopped suddenly in her tracks and spun round. Bandit, running dizzily, jesting and laughing all the while, could not adjust in time, and nearly ran straight into her open jaws.
“No more games,” Ginny said, pinning the little trouble maker to the ground with her paw. “Do you understand me?”
Bandit had covered his eyes with his paws when he’d been caught. As Ginny spoke, he slowly lowered his forelegs—his arms you might say—and looked around at us all. “What a serious, sad bunch of saps you all look like,” he finally said. His voice cracked as he spoke, gradually giving way to laughter again. He stuck out his tongue at us all, and then brok
e into a fit of uncontrolled, squeaky, purring laughter.
“Hold it now,” said Prowler. Taking hold of his brother by the scruff of his neck with both paws, he gave Bandit a good shaking. “Before you get yourself into any more trouble, you listen to me. Ginny is fair and more than patient. Always has been. Tonight isn’t about trash cans or chases. We’ve got serious business to attend to, all of us. Do you hear?”
“Business, smishness,” Bandit said, then broke into another fit of laughter. “You crack me up!”
“This is no time for laughing,” Prowler told him. “In case you’ve forgotten, we have special guests to entertain tonight.”
“What, you mean the boy?” laughed Bandit, pointing his paw at me and then laughing all the louder. “He’s the shortest, puffiest, silliest human I’ve ever seen! Haw-haw-haw-haw-haw!”
Prowler sighed as he let go of his brother. Bandit slumped to the ground, breathless from laughter and shaking from his nose to the tip of his striped tail.
What’s so funny? I asked.
“Nothing. Raccoons are silly creatures,” Ginny told me.
Prowler made an “ahem,” sound.
“You aren’t a fraction as careless as this senseless brother of yours,” Ginny told him. “The only matter he puts any thought into is stealing food.”
“Well,” Prowler said, clasping his paws together and wringing them thoughtfully, “I can’t argue with you on that point. There’s just no getting through to him. Never has been. That’s what I was saying before he arrived.”
“We can’t have him behaving like this before the assembly,” Ginny said.
“No, it wouldn’t be good,” agreed Prowler.
“Can we trust you to stay away from the assembly?” Ginny asked Bandit. But the shaking little ball of striped fur only laughed harder, tumbling and rolling in the snow, beating the ground with his clenched paws.
The Earthkeepers Page 3
