Text copyright © 2017 by Kallie George
Illustrations copyright © 2017 by Stephanie Graegin
Designed by Phil Caminiti
Illustrations created in pencil
Cover art © 2017 by Stephanie Graegin
Cover design by Phil Caminiti
Hand-lettering by Sarah Pierson
All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.
ISBN 978-1-4847-4737-7
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
1: Hibernation at the Heartwood
2: The St. Slumber Supper
3: The Royal Rabbit
4: The Cheese Crumble
5: The Snow-Sculpting
6: The Morning Meeting
7: The Deer at the Door
8: The Spotted Sleepwalkers
9: The Shadow in the Storage Room
10: Hood’s Home
11: The Midnight Munch
12: The Greatest Gift
13: The Stuck Shipment
14: To the Rescue!
15: The St. Bright Eyes Brunch
Acknowledgments
Also by Kallie George
Preview of Heartwood Hotel, Book 3: Better Together
About the Author and Illustrator
To Vikki ♥
—K.G.
For Theresa and Sophia
—S.G.
Snow fell softly outside the Heartwood Hotel. It was sleepy snow, the kind that took its time to reach the ground. Mona the mouse watched through a small window in the ballroom, leaning against the handle of her dandelion broom. It was so quiet she could almost hear the flakes touch down.
St. Slumber’s Supper was finally over. The food was eaten, the music was sung, and gifts were given out by Mr. Heartwood: little sweet-smelling pillows filled with herbs and lavender, to help the hibernating guests sleep soundly until spring.
And now they had all gone to bed—the groundhog, some toads, turtles, and ladybugs, and so many chipmunks no one could keep track of them.
Even the Higginses, who were hedgehogs, were hibernating. Mr. Higgins was the gardener and Mrs. Higgins was the housekeeper. They weren’t needed since only a few non-hibernating guests were booked for the winter months. Most animals in Fernwood Forest, whether they slept through the winter or not, stayed at home.
The Heartwood Hotel was Mona’s home now, and she loved it, from the heart carved on the front door to the stargazing balcony on the topmost branches to all of her new friends, like Tilly, the red squirrel maid, and Cybele, the swallow songstress.
Tilly said that the winter season was always really boring, but Mona didn’t mind. She had been a maid at the Heartwood only a few months since arriving, wet and afraid, in the fall. But already she had helped save the hotel from wolves and earn it a top review in the Pinecone Press. As proud as she was of that, it would be nice to finally rest and roast acorns in the fireplace this winter.
Mona could smell roasted acorns now, their delicious aroma floating up from the kitchen downstairs. The staff was having their own little feast later, and she could hardly wait.
Her stomach grumbled, but she turned her attention back to the task at hand and made a final sweep with her broom, putting the last bits of twine, leftover from the gift-giving, in the dust basket. The twine could be used again, so it would need to be taken to the storage room. But the basket was too full for Mona to lift. She’d have to ask Tilly for help.
Mona was just leaving the ballroom to find the squirrel when she heard a voice in the hallway.
“Ah, shadow, what’s that you say? A toast to you? Yes, of course! A toast.” There was a pause, then a gulping, smacking sound, followed by a happy sigh.
Mona recognized the voice. It was the groundhog, Mr. Gibson. He was supposed to be in bed!
She found him just outside the ballroom, staring at his shadow on the wall.
“Mr. Gibson, can I help you?” asked Mona.
“Oh! Is the party over?” The groundhog turned around. He was holding a small sweet-smelling pillow in one paw and a cup in another. His nose was shiny and sticky with honey.
“Yes,” said Mona. “It finished a while ago. But if you’re still hungry, I can find you something to eat.” She knew how important it was that the hibernators were well fed.
“So kind of you. The staff at the Heartwood is always so thoughtful. You even gave us gifts.” He shook the lavender pillow. “But no, I am stuffed,” he said, patting his stomach. “Even my shadow is full.” He chuckled, then gave a big yawn. Before Mona knew it, he’d fallen asleep right on his feet!
Mona smiled and leaned her broom against the wall. “Come on,” she said, gently waking him. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“Ah, so kind, so kind,” replied Mr. Gibson.
The groundhog trundled sleepily after Mona, down the hallway, through the lobby, to the stairs. He kept on mumbling to himself, “Ah, shadow, come along, too. Bed for both of us.”
His shadow, and Mona’s too, did follow them down the staircase, bobbing on the wall in the light cast by the glowworms.
Down, down, down Mona and Mr. Gibson went, past the kitchen, laundry, and staff bedrooms to the suites deep underground, nestled between the Heartwood’s roots.
The hallway was darker here, earthy and cool. There were special vents that carried air from outside to keep the rooms just the right temperature. Too cold and the guests wouldn’t be able to sleep. Too warm and they might think it was spring and wake up early.
No one sounded awake now. Snoring—from squeaky to rumbling—echoed down the passage. Mona led Mr. Gibson down the hall, past the storage room, then doors big and small, all closed. Hanging on each doorknob was a sign: DO NOT DISTURB TILL THE DEWS.
Except for Mr. Gibson’s doorknob, where the sign was flipped the other way: I’M AWAKE. PLEASE TIDY MY ROOM.
Mona led him inside.
A lantern softly lit the room, which was sparsely decorated save for pictures of sleeping animals on the walls. Like all the hibernation suites, the bed took up most of it. This one had been specially prepared for the groundhog and was made of sweet-smelling dried grasses.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Gibson, with another yawn, as he undid his tie. He lay down on the bed and, right away, seemed to fall asleep.
“No problem,” whispered Mona. “Happy hibernation, Mr. Gibson. Rest well.”
She was about to leave, taking the lantern with her, when the groundhog sat bolt upright.
“SHADOW!” he cried.
Mona jumped.
The groundhog’s ears were pricked, his eyes wide.
“Mr. Gibson, what’s wrong?”
But he didn’t seem to hear her. “Shadow!” he cried again, shaking his paw in the air. There was no shadow anywhere to be seen, but Mr. Gibson kept crying, “Shadow, oh, shadow. This is a bad sign. This is bad, bad….”
“What do you mean? What’s bad, Mr. Gibson?” She tried to keep her voice calm, but her heart was racing.
“Danger!” cried the groundhog, though Mona couldn’t tell if he was answering her or still speaking to his invisible shadow. “Danger rises,” he continued. “It rises outside and it creeps within.”
“What do you mean?” Mona asked again, her heart beating even faster now.
But Mr. Gibson didn’t reply.
Instead, after
a long moment, he fell back against the bed. “Shadow, shadow, shadow,” he murmured, but the edge was gone from his voice. He gave an enormous yawn, and with that, pulled the blanket over him, closed his eyes, and began to snore.
Mona’s tail was trembling as she tiptoed out of his room, shutting the door quietly behind her and flipping the sign. Mr. Gibson’s sign was the only one that read PLEASE WAKE EARLY FOR SHADOW-SPOTTING.
Back in the hallway, she took a deep breath. She was probably overreacting. Surely, there was no danger here. “Sleep in safety, eat in earnest, and be happy at the Heartwood.” That was one of the hotel’s many mottos.
Even so, Mona hurried to tell Mr. Heartwood the groundhog’s grave, and peculiar, prediction.
It was time for the staff’s supper, so Mona hurried to the kitchen, hoping to find Mr. Heartwood there to tell him about the groundhog’s warning.
But when Mona walked into the kitchen, all thoughts of the groundhog and his prediction left her head. She knew about the special supper—but she hadn’t expected the kitchen to be decorated so nicely. It was almost as fancy as the dining hall upstairs!
Hanging from the roots on the ceiling, between the baskets and pots, were bright red holly berries and spiderwebs shaped like snowflakes. The cupboards, dug into the dirt walls, were also framed with festive berries. And on the wall there hung a large calendar that read DAYS TILL THE DEWS with a picture of a spring flower on the last square. Although delicious smells filled the air, there were no platters laid out on the table. Instead it was heaped with packages wrapped in brown paper and tied with brightly colored twine. There were even packages piled up in the shell sink!
All the staff was gathered around the table: Ms. Prickles, the porcupine cook; Gilles, the front-desk lizard; the laundry rabbits, Maggie and Maurice; and Tilly and Cybele, of course. Standing at the head of the table was Mr. Heartwood himself, a big badger and the owner of the Heartwood. Usually he wore a tie and a ring of keys hung from his neck, but not tonight. Tonight he was dressed very strangely indeed.
“Ooo, there you are, Mona,” said Tilly. “Sit here! Doesn’t Mr. Heartwood look great?”
“Why is he wearing his pajamas?” asked Mona in a whisper, as she took a seat beside the red squirrel.
“Those aren’t pajamas.” Tilly laughed. “He’s dressed like St. Slumber. You know!”
Mona shook her head. “I didn’t know there actually was a St. Slumber. I thought it was just the name of the hibernators’ feast.”
“Oh no,” said Tilly, looking surprised. “Your mom and dad must have told you about St. Slumber….” She stopped herself. Mona’s parents had lost their lives in a storm when she was just a mouseling. She had lived alone in Fernwood Forest for as long as she could remember, before finding the Heartwood. Tilly, too, had lost her family. Although Tilly’s loss was more recent—and to coyotes, not a storm—being on their own was something they shared.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Tilly, reaching for Mona’s paw and giving it a squeeze. “Well, St. Slumber is a…” She paused. “Actually—no one really can agree on what animal he was. Mr. Heartwood says he was a badger. Although I’m pretty sure he was a red squirrel. That’s what my mom said.”
“What did he do?” asked Mona.
“The story goes that he was the one who gave us animals our gifts. Thick fur to stay warm, big bellies to hold lots of food, and strong noses to smell food under snow. You know, all the things to help us make it through the winter. We always have a St. Slumber supper at the Heartwood to celebrate.”
“But where’s the food?”
“Gifts first, food after,” said Tilly.
“Gifts?” asked Mona.
“These are all gifts, of course,” Tilly replied. “You know! I’ve been talking about them all week.”
“I thought you meant the lavender pillows,” said Mona.
“The gifts we made for the guests? Oh no,” said Tilly. “These are the gifts to get excited about!” Tilly picked up one of the packages from the pile in front of her and gave it an inquisitive shake. She didn’t have a chance to explain further, however, because Mr. Heartwood cleared his throat, and everyone went quiet.
“St. Slumber’s way is the best, to start a season of calm and rest. Let’s give gifts to show we care, to keep us happy till skies turn fair.” Mr. Heartwood always spoke like this, and Mona was growing used to it. “Now, go to!” he added, spreading his arms wide.
Tilly didn’t hesitate. She eagerly tore open the package she was holding. “Oh! My favorite! Roasted acorn cake! Thanks, Ms. Prickles,” she called to the porcupine across the table.
“You’re welcome, dearie,” Ms. Prickles called back. She, too, was opening a gift, using a quill to snap the twine around a box. Mona watched as she pulled out a spoon carved from a seedpod. “Mr. Heartwood, it’s lovely!” she exclaimed.
All around the table, the animals were opening presents and smiling. Cybele was thanking Maggie and Maurice for a package of blank bark—“To write your songs on,” they said—while Gilles was tasting a colorful concoction of berries wrapped in leaves. “It’s a recipe from the tropics that a guest gave to me. I had to improvise with the ingredients a bit,” Ms. Prickles told him. “But don’t eat too much now. We have a feast coming.”
Everyone looked so happy.
“Aren’t you going to open your gifts, too?” Tilly asked Mona.
“My gifts?”
Tilly pointed to a stack of packages heaped up in front of Mona. “Those ones are for you.”
Mona couldn’t believe it. She had never gotten a gift before. The only thing she could remember being given was the key from Mr. Heartwood, for the rooms. Though that wasn’t really a gift, but something she’d earned. Now, though, she had a whole pile of them!
“Come on! Start with this one!” Tilly handed her a small box wrapped in brown paper and tied up with twine. “I can’t wait till you see what it is!”
FROM TILLY & MRS. HIGGINS read a tag made from a piece of bark. Slowly Mona undid the twine and removed the paper. Inside the box was an apron, with a tiny lopsided heart sewn on the front pocket.
“I thought it was about time you had an apron your size,” said Tilly. It was true. Mona’s current apron was meant for a squirrel, not a mouse, and she often tripped over it.
“Mrs. Higgins made it, but I sewed on the heart,” continued Tilly proudly.
“It’s…it’s…” It was perfect, lopsided heart and everything, but Mona couldn’t get the words out.
“I knew you’d like it.” Tilly grinned.
Mona started to put it on, but Tilly said, “No, no, try it on later. You’d better keep opening, before supper starts. Me too!”
And so, Mona did. There was cheese crumble covered in blueberry sauce from Ms. Prickles, and a rolled-up piece of bark from Cybele.
It was the song the swallow had written, the one she sang for Mona when they first became friends.
Even Gilles had given her something—her very own subscription to the Pinecone Press. “So I don’t catch you reading the hotel’s copy. That’s meant for the guests only,” he explained, but Mona was sure she saw a twinkle in his eye.
When Mona had unwrapped the last package in her pile, Mr. Heartwood came over and set a VERY large present in front of her, which wasn’t wrapped, perhaps because of its size.
It was a walnut case, like the one she had lost in the fall, running from the wolves. Except that case had belonged to her parents, and her father had carved a heart into it. This one had clasps in the shape of hearts instead.
“This cannot replace the one you lost,” Mr. Heartwood said, “nor is it a case with which to roam. It’s a place for you to store your things, now that the Heartwood is your home.”
Mona gasped. It was beautiful, polished to perfection, and it even smelled good—rich and nutty and sweet.
“Oh, OH! Thank you!” she said. It didn’t feel like enough. But she had nothing to give him back, nothing to give anyone.
Mr. Heartwood, however, just waved his paw.
“Gifts are done. Back to your seats. It’s time at last for us to eat!”
Though Mona tried to enjoy the special St. Slumber Supper, her thoughts kept wandering back to the gifts. She had never owned so many beautiful things. If only she’d known. She would have given gifts to everyone. She hoped they knew that.
Later, in her room that she shared with Tilly, she placed each gift carefully in her new case. Except for her apron, which she played with, tying and retying the string into different bows.
“That’s just what my brother used to do. But instead of playing with his gifts, he’d play with all the wrapping. He was really little. I wish…” Tilly looked sad for a moment.
Mona wasn’t sure what to say, so instead she draped her apron over her chair to wear the next day.
Then Tilly took a big munch of her acorn cake and asked, “Do you like your gifts?”
“Like them? I love them,” said Mona. “But…”
“But what?”
“I didn’t get Ms. Prickles or Cybele or Mr. Heartwood anything. I didn’t get you anything….I didn’t realize….”
“I thought you knew about St. Slumber, otherwise I would have told you,” said Tilly. “It’s not a rule or anything. But everyone always exchanges gifts.”
Mona felt her stomach sink. “Always?”
Tilly shrugged. “You didn’t know. It doesn’t really matter.”
Still, Mona climbed into bed, worrying. Even if Tilly seemed to understand, what about the others?
I need to get everyone a gift, she decided. But what? She wasn’t a songstress, like Cybele. Or a cook, like Ms. Prickles. She didn’t have anyone to work with, like Tilly and Mrs. Higgins. She was good at ideas though. She would think of something.
And with that comforting thought, Mona eventually fell asleep to dreams of a mouse dressed in pajamas and a cap, carrying a walnut case with a heart on it, filled with presents.
In the morning, it was still snowing—harder now—and Mona remembered the groundhog’s warning.
The Greatest Gift Page 1
