Because after supper, Tilly came into their room with a dish of leftover acorn soufflé and two forks. “I heard about the rug,” she said. “That Duchess! Now there’ll be no rug in the lobby—and lots of extra work, cleaning all the snowy pawprints. It’ll probably be spring before we get a new one!”
It’ll be sooner than that, thought Mona. She was tempted to tell Tilly her idea, but stopped herself. After all, gifts were supposed to be surprises. She knew that much.
Instead, she shared everything that had happened that day, and they spent the rest of the night discussing the Duchess and eating till they were stuffed.
That was a really nice thing about Tilly. She was as good at listening as she was at grumping.
I’ll start the rug tomorrow, thought Mona when at last she snuggled into her bed. Tomorrow there’ll be lots of time.
But she was wrong. The next day was even busier. And the next.
Even the snow hadn’t stopped new guests from arriving. At first it was rabbits, who, upon hearing the Duchess was staying there, decided to check in, too. And then a band of birds arrived. Not a flock, but a band, called the Dove Tones. They had flown all the way from the city for a winter retreat. Before Mona could blink, a whole week was crossed off on the Days till the Dews calendar.
“A special activity is what we need—a sculpting contest in the snow,” Mr. Heartwood said one lunchtime, “to keep spirits high—and the noise inside low.”
“Are you worried about the hibernators waking up?” asked Mona.
Mr. Heartwood shook his head. “No, no. The suites are deep underground, and temperature, not noise, is key. But I could use a nap or two.” He sighed, and his sigh became a yawn. “Even a night of fun would do.” He yawned again, then was suddenly whisked away by Ms. Prickles, who began to speak to him in a hurried hush.
Mona turned to Tilly. “A sculpting contest! It’s so exciting,” she said, while she buttered a beechnut biscuit.
“Sounds like a lot of work, that’s what,” replied Tilly. “We’ve never done anything like this in the winter. At least not as long as I can remember. It’s always been too quiet.”
Still, Mona liked the preparing. That afternoon, she and Tilly bundled up and headed to the courtyard.
In the fall, Mr. Higgins fought a constant battle with the leaves, keeping the colorful clutter raked up. But now the courtyard was all white and smooth, the way a bed looked in the Heartwood when the sheets were tugged tight. The snow had covered all the plants except for the tops of a few bushes and the tall blackberry-vine walls, on which they hung lanterns.
Together they stomped down areas for guests to build their sculptures, and beside each station they placed baskets filled with pretty things to decorate the sculptures, including holly berries and twigs, moss and polished nutshells, and even shiny pebbles. Then Mona helped Tilly shovel a path between each station and pile up the snow for the guests to build with.
Last, they swept some of the snow from the frozen pond in front of the hotel, in case anyone wanted to go for a skate.
“Have you ever skated before?” asked Tilly.
Mona started to shake her head, but then she remembered when she and Tilly had tied rags to their paws to clean the ballroom floor. “Was it like that?” she asked Tilly, after reminding her.
“Sort of,” said Tilly. “But that was more slipping. Not really skating. Skating takes lots of practice. I skated at Fernwood Pond with my family when I was little. I’ll show you later if you want.”
“I’d love you to,” said Mona.
“Good,” said Tilly. “It’s about time we had some fun.”
The snow-sculpting night was fun. Cybele sang, while the guests worked on their sculptures: snow bunnies with holly-berry eyes and carrot ears, and snow squirrels with small snowball tails. Even the doves made a beautiful snow bird, indented into the snow, marking its outline with tiny polished pebbles. Mona got to see them all as she passed out dishes of hot crab apple pudding and cups of spiced tea.
The only guest not working on a sculpture was the Duchess. She stood alone, under a sparkling snow umbrella, complaining and criticizing everything, even the giant snow bunnies that were clearly being made in her honor.
“I don’t see why she doesn’t go back inside if she hates it so much,” muttered Tilly, coming up behind Mona.
Mona wasn’t sure either. Maybe the Duchess was just stubborn. Or maybe it was something else. Mona remembered the Duchess questioning how much she actually knew about her, which really wasn’t much at all. Maybe the Duchess had a secret.
Mona turned to Tilly to say so when she noticed a basket full of candied bark in Tilly’s paws.
“Are those more gifts?” asked Mona, trying to keep the worry out of her voice.
“Yes,” Tilly said. “They’re for everyone who entered the contest. Mr. Heartwood doesn’t like to choose favorites. He asked me to go fetch these. He must be almost ready to hand them out.”
With that, Tilly hurried off to Mr. Heartwood, who was examining a sculpture at the far end of the courtyard.
More gifts—and Mona hadn’t even started hers! She still needed to fetch the twine. But when? And then she realized—now was perfect. She was alone, and everyone was busy. The crab apple pudding was gone, and the guests were anxiously waiting for Mr. Heartwood to see their sculptures. No one would miss her, not for a moment. Plus she needed to take in the dishes anyway.
And so, she piled them up on a tray and hurried back into the Heartwood, her head lost in visions of her gift.
The hotel felt empty. Everyone was outside, except a few guests who were warming themselves by the fire. Mona gave them a friendly nod, then scampered down the stairs. The kitchen was quiet, too, except for a pot bubbling over the fireplace. But it was a mess. It seemed like Ms. Prickles had opened every cupboard and pulled everything out. She must have been looking for something, thought Mona, as she did a quick clean and made space on the table for the dishes.
At last, she headed to the staircase. When she reached the hibernation hall, she tiptoed, even though the snores were much louder now, and she didn’t have far to go.
Around the first corner was the storage room. She’d passed it many times, especially when preparing the hibernation suites, but had never been inside.
Now, after plucking the lantern from the hook on the wall, she slipped in. There was no door, only a curtain draped across the doorway.
Perhaps because, unlike the other rooms in the Heartwood, the storage room was nothing special. The walls were rubbly and undecorated, the floor rough, and the ceiling bare except for a cluster of roots, from which hung a few bunches of herbs.
It was a just a plain old burrow, filled with boxes and crates and bags, in rather messy rows, with labels like BEECHNUT BISCUITS, DRIED MUSHROOMS, and ACORN FLOUR. But the room was cool, and did smell good, rich, and nutty. There were also some lawn chairs and a pile of pillows, extras for the hibernation suites.
And there, beside the pillows: twine. Three whole baskets of it!
Mona was just looking for a place to hang the lantern when she heard a noise.
A scratching, a scritch-scritch-scratching. The sound of footsteps, clawed ones, in the dark!
Mona froze and held her breath. Who would be in the storage room in the dark? Certainly not Ms. Prickles or Mr. Heartwood. Her ears perked, listening, but there were no more sounds. She held up the lantern and stared down the rows of food: the stacks of seeds and roots, bags of dried berries and mushrooms. She didn’t see anything. Nothing scampered; nothing scurried.
“Hello?” she called out. There was no answer.
“Hello?” she called out again.
“Mona?”
Mona jumped. She turned to face Tilly, standing in the doorway.
“There you are!” Tilly said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing here?”
Mona wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want to tell about the twine. Not yet, at least. She wanted
the gift to be a surprise.
Luckily Tilly was distracted. “I thought we were going to skate together.”
“Oh!” said Mona. “I forgot, I was…”
Tilly humphed.
“Doesn’t matter now. The Duchess needs you. She wants some honey cakes. I was going to fetch them, but you can do it instead.”
Mona nodded quickly. “We can skate after.”
“It’ll be too late,” said Tilly. And she strode off, muttering, “I guess skating wasn’t that important.”
Mona felt bad. For a moment she wondered about rushing after Tilly and telling her why she was in the storage room. But she hadn’t even started the gift, and telling Tilly would ruin it. So she stopped herself and instead turned to find the honey cakes. If she hurried, she’d still have time to fetch the twine, too.
There was no time, however, to worry about the noise she’d heard in the shadows. Besides, it was probably just her imagination.
Now Mona could begin working on the rug in earnest. She made a loom out of sticks, and every morning she got up early, before Tilly, to work on it, and every night she told Tilly she was too tired for their usual talks. Then, when Tilly was definitely sound asleep and snoring (Tilly always snored!), Mona took the rug out and worked on it some more. Over under, over under, she wove. Crisscross, crisscross, day after day was marked off on the countdown calendar.
The more she worked on the rug, the more Mona wanted it to be fully finished before anyone saw it. She wanted it to be a surprise.
Then one morning, she was surprised herself, by a loud knock. Tilly woke up at once, and Mona scrambled to stuff the weaving under her bed. Tilly rubbed her eyes. “Huh? What’s that? What are you doing, Mona?”
“I…”
“Mona and Tilly!” came Gilles’s voice through the door. “Mr. Heartwood’s called an early meeting in the kitchen. Hurry, scurry!”
Tilly raised her eyebrows, but asked no more about what Mona had been doing. Mona was relieved as they both pulled on their aprons and hurried to the kitchen.
In the kitchen, Mr. Heartwood was standing at the head of the table, with Ms. Prickles by his side. Instead of her usual smile, she wore a frown. And there was a box on the table with a label on it. BEECHNUT BISCUITS.
The box was empty.
Mona and Tilly exchanged raised-eyebrow glances, then took a seat together on the bench as others joined them. The carpenter ants, the laundry rabbits, even Tony the woodpecker, who was the hotel’s security guard, were there.
What’s going on? Mona wondered.
Once everyone had gathered, Mr. Heartwood cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming. I usually wouldn’t be so fussed, but because of the snow and the new guests, I must.”
He took a deep breath, gazed down at the biscuit box, then looked back up at all the animals. “Some of our food is missing.”
There was a collective hush, and then everyone started talking at once.
“What food?” said Maggie. “Not the carrots!”
“From where?” added Maurice. “From the kitchen?”
“From the storage room,” said Ms. Prickles. “First it was the cheese, and then I noticed our chestnuts were gone. Mushrooms, too. Last night I found this box of biscuits empty. It wouldn’t be so bad except we have so many guests, and the snow has delayed shipments….”
“Is it a thief?” cried Tony the woodpecker. “I have been on the lookout, but sometimes it’s hard to see with all this snow….”
“No—it can’t be,” said Gilles. “Not at the Heartwood. There are no thieves at the Heartwood.”
“There was a crumb I took,” said one of the carpenter ants, looking embarrassed. “Found it on the floor, yesterday. Thought no one would see that. It wasn’t from the storage room, though.”
“Marshal! Didn’t your parents teach you not to eat off the floor?” said another ant.
“A crumb or two, no harm will do,” said Mr. Heartwood. “But this is much more than that. However, there has never been a rule about taking extra food. There has never been a need. Why, we don’t even have a proper door for the storage room! I am sure this is simply a case of misunderstanding. Has anyone had a midnight munch? Or perhaps a midday brunch?”
No one said anything.
Mona remembered the noise she’d heard in the storage room. But if she mentioned it, how would she explain being there herself? Tilly had believed that she was there because of the Duchess. But that wasn’t the truth. Still, she hadn’t been stealing food, only taking twine, twine that wasn’t needed. And she hadn’t actually seen anything. Tilly leaned over, and it looked as if she was going to ask Mona something, when Mr. Heartwood continued.
“It must be a mistake with the records then,” said Mr. Heartwood. “With Mrs. Higgins asleep, we can’t be sure of what was and what wasn’t there before.”
“But I have checked her records,” said Ms. Prickles, “and…”
“I know, I know, dear Ms. Prickles,” sighed Mr. Heartwood. Suddenly the big badger looked very tired, and Mona remembered that he, too, was supposed to be resting like Mrs. Higgins. Instead it looked like he hadn’t slept for days. “All I ask is that we please refrain from extra snacks.”
Tilly’s eyes were wide. She loved her snacks. “Are we really running out of food, Mr. Heartwood?”
Mr. Heartwood smiled at them reassuringly. “It’s not as bad as all that. But we must be mindful. At least until the shipment comes.” He straightened the keys around his neck, and everyone waited for him to end his lecture with a rhyme. But he didn’t.
It was as quiet and chilly inside the kitchen as out that morning. No one ate many seedcakes or drank much tea, Mona included.
She, like everyone else, had lost her appetite.
“Let it snow, because we’ll go
To the happy Heartwood tree.
By the fire, we’ll retire
And sing our melody….”
Dimitry crooned, while the other members of the band accompanied him on their instruments. The Dove Tones were practicing on the stage in the ballroom late one night, while Mona swept up and Cybele listened, intrigued by the city band. Their song was catchy, thought Mona, even if it didn’t quite ring true: not with all the wary eyes and whiskery whispers that had filled the Heartwood since the morning meeting.
A few more wintery weeks had passed, and even more food had been found missing. Everyone was upset about it. Maggie thought it was the ants. “Ants eat a lot! Way more than you think.” Maurice thought it was the Duchess. “She’s probably doing it just to be mean!” Tilly worried someone might think it was her. “I do eat a lot.” But sometimes Mona noticed Tilly glancing at her suspiciously. Tilly had caught her twice, doing something she couldn’t explain—not without giving away her secret. Why didn’t she tell Tilly what she was up to? It was silly to be so stubborn, but for some reason she didn’t want to tell. Not yet. That’s the thing about a secret: sometimes you don’t know if you’re keeping it, or if it’s keeping you.
She glanced across at the ballroom window. It was almost blocked by snow. Mr. Gibson had been right. Danger was rising, snowy danger. There was only a little sliver of moonlight at the top of the window, like a slice of cheese on a thick seedcake. But so far, the danger hadn’t crept inside.
Or maybe it had. There was a thief at the Heartwood, after all. What if that thief wasn’t a staff member or a guest but someone creeping in from outside?
And just as she thought that, a shadow blocked the moonlight. Only for a second though, as if something had stepped in front of the window and away again.
“Did you see that?” Mona asked Cybele.
But Cybele wasn’t there. The swallow was onstage, talking with Dimitry.
Mona glanced back at the window. Probably it wasn’t anything—but still. It couldn’t hurt to step outside and see.
So she hurried to the back door, just down the hall. Although they’d been keeping the front door and path shoveled, they had given up on the
back door, which was now blocked shut, but there was a little stepladder set up against the wall inside. Mona climbed it and slipped through a window.
Outside the Heartwood, the night was cold and quiet. The only sounds were the creaking of the trees and the soft crunch of her paws on the snow. The moon glimmered and the Heartwood windows glowed like stars.
Mona looked and listened carefully as she made her way through the courtyard. Everything was covered in white.
Suddenly, she saw something—a big silhouette—and jumped, startled. But it was just one of the snow sculptures, a bunny, half-buried now in a drift.
Mona was beginning to feel silly. Silly and cold. After all, why would anyone from outside risk traveling all the way to the hotel in this weather just to steal cheese and chestnuts, but leave the Duchess’s real valuables alone? It didn’t make sense.
She had decided to give up and go back inside when she saw it. A pawprint. Not just one, but a few. They were hard to make out because new snow had started to fill them, but they were definitely prints.
She began to follow them around the tree, her heart starting to race, until she almost ran headfirst into Tilly!
The squirrel was dressed in a sweater and was shouldering a shovel. Snow covered her ears, as though she’d been out in it a long time.
“Mona? What are you doing here? Don’t tell me Mr. Heartwood sent you out to clean the vents, too? I told him I could do it by myself.”
“Oh,” said Mona. “No, he didn’t. I…”
“He didn’t? What were you doing, then?”
“I—I…” she stammered.
Tilly grumbled. “Mona, I don’t like this. You keep sneaking around. What’s going on?”
“I just…I saw something. Something from the window. I thought…”
Tilly’s eyes narrowed.
“You saw ME,” said Tilly. “Sheesh, Mona! You’re acting so strange lately.”
“But look! Prints in the snow. Maybe it’s the thief.”
Tilly rolled her eyes. “Those are MY prints! Come on, I’m finished, and I’m starving. Do you want to go roast some nuts? I always used to roast nuts for my brother, Henry. He was too little to roast them himself.”
The Greatest Gift Page 3
