The cow tossed her head and ogled him, and seemed about to swish him with her tail or buck him into the air, but changed her mind.
“Hi,” said the bird to the cow. That’s all he said. No speeches. No complaints. No lists. His emoji seemed to be trying to catch sunlight on its tongue.
The cow gave something like a shrug and snacked on some grass.
The driver clambered down into the weeds and hobbled as fast as he could along the length of the truck.
“HEY!” he shouted at the cows. “Hey, get back here!”
He’s trying to keep them from wandering off, said Moo, so he can finish taking them to the hamburger factory.
Ms. Goolagong wore a thoughtful expression.
“So talk to them,” she suggested. “Call them.”
Moo nodded. She got an intense, concentrating look on her face.
Amy decided to help.
Come here, she thought at the cows.
More cows stumbled out of the truck. Some looked dazed, some were cut and slightly bloody, and some limped, but they all looked whole. They also looked glad to be alive and out of the truck.
Come here! Amy broadcast. Ooooooooover heeeeeere!
You’re doing it wrong, said Moo, still concentrating.
“There’s a right and wrong way to think stuff at cows?”
You’re thinking words, Moo told Amy. They don’t know words. Think cow stuff at them.
Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaay…cow stuff. Amy closed her eyes and sent summer daydreams across the field.
Grass. Milk. Baby cows. Warm sun. A breeze to keep flies away.
(“What’s going on?” asked Oliver, and Ms. Goolagong filled him in.)
Open meadows. Bright moons. Cool, fresh water. Yellow wildflowers.
The cows drifted toward the woods. Many of them lifted their heads, ears twitching, as if listening. Tuba rose into the air again and seemed to be trying to coax them along.
“MooooOOOOoOoooooooOOOOooooooo,” he sang. “MoooOOOOOOOOOOoooo!”
“[TOTALLY UNSUITABLE WORD]!” bawled the truck driver. He did his best to keep up with the cows, but his leg was having a bad day. He pushed and shoved, trying to turn them around, but they weren’t having it.
“Back up some,” said Ms. Goolagong. “Stay out of sight.”
They did as she said, still calling to the cows.
Sweet hay. The warmth of other cows. Taking a nice, hot poop in an open field.
The cows were trotting now. The driver limped along, falling behind, shouting.
There’s a guy who’s probably going to get in a lot of trouble, thought Amy.
As she thought this, the cows stopped trotting and surged across the field at a full run.
“Um,” said Amy.
“Something spooked them,” remarked Ms. Goolagong.
No, said Moo. They’re not scared; they’re happy. Look at their symbols!
She was right, Amy saw. Over every bovine head bobbed a bright spinning heart, or a rainbow, or a pink sunburst. Even the limping cows, in the rear, were obviously wild with joy and freedom.
Which was wonderful and nice, but it occurred to Amy that the cows, in their happiness and enthusiasm, were picking up speed and getting uncomfortably close.
“Um,” she said.
“Um indeed,” replied Ms. Goolagong. “Perhaps if we jog over behind this convenient tree here…”
They didn’t jog; they ran, all of them following the witch back toward the woods and then huddling behind a thick, proud old walnut tree.
“It would be a shame and an embarrassment,” said Oliver, “to survive everything else and then be crushed by happy cows.”
A moment later, the herd came thundering past, smashing through leaves and underbrush. For a short time, the universe was a moo-storm of hooves and horns, rolling eyes and rainbows, with the earth shaking and the atmosphere smelling like a barnyard.
“MooOOOOOooooOOOOoo!” said a lot of the cows as they flew by.
“Mooooooo!” answered Moo.
“Mooooooo!” answered Amy and Oliver and Ms. Goolagong.
And then the stampede was past, pounding away through the trees, receding, leaving the humans behind in a great mess of smashed-up woods, saying “My goodness!” and “Wow!” to each other.
Halfway across the field, the driver stood scratching his ear and looking defeated. Over his head, a rain cloud poured, and flashed lightning.
He turned and hobbled away. Toward the dead truck and…? Who knew what his plans were after that?
Moo mentally cleared her throat and said, Let’s go home. I don’t want to stay around here and see if the hamburger people come and try to round up my cows.
“I suspect someone will try,” said Ms. Goolagong. “But I think we know they won’t be successful.”
They did know that, didn’t they? thought Amy. Booyah!
“Nevertheless,” Ms. Goolagong said, “Gertrude is quite correct; it’s time we were going.”
They began making their way through the trees, back toward the pond and the clock machine. The sun grew a tiny bit fatter and redder and lower in the sky.
The wind sighed. Branches creaked. Away through the woods somewhere, cows lowed and smashed around in the brush, still joyful, still broadcasting happy thoughts.
A dark, feathery shadow came flapping, fluttering, out of the sky and hitched a ride on Amy’s shoulder.
His emoji was a thousand-watt lightbulb.
“The electric company thinks I’m made out of money,” he said.
* * *
—
THROUGH THE TREES. OVER fallen branches, around great boulders. Down small valleys and up hills…
Amy’s thoughts had left the present behind already, and she found herself getting mentally ready for the future, for home. She wanted quite badly to see Mom and Dad. She even kind of wanted to see Moo’s mom. And something was going to happen with the Big Duke. What? Was it going to be dangerous? Her stomach clenched. She found that she was afraid of this mystery. Would Moo be able to help? Would Moo’s mom even let her go to the field with the red X? Maybe if Amy asked super nicely. Should she explain about being able to hear Moo in her head? Would Moo’s mom feel left out if—
Amy gasped.
She clutched at Moo’s elbow and said, “OMG! MOO!”
WHAT? Moo, startled, stopped and glanced around to see what was wrong.
“OMG, Moo, I know how you can talk to your mom!”
Loud Girl! I thought something was about to eat us.
“Sorry.”
Fine. Let’s keep moving; I want to get there. Okay, so…?
“You can read, right? You can understand words people say, and you can read, but you just can’t say words or put them on paper?”
Moo nodded. I can decode, she said, but I can’t encode. That’s how the doctors explained it.
“Well, is there anything to keep you from pointing to letters in an alphabet? Or pictures, like if you had a big book full of pictures of all kinds of stuff?”
The idea interested and excited Moo; Amy could feel it.
I don’t know. I could try.
She sounded hopeful. Amy liked that.
I’ve been thinking about it, too, said Moo. Experimenting in my head, like you said. I also think I can do a lot—like, a LOT—with gesturing and acting things out, now that I can move.
She sounded sooooo hopeful. Amy almost hugged her.
Don’t hug me. Let’s just get there, get there, get there….
And then they were passing Ms. Goolagong’s cabin and descending the hillside toward the pond, toward the waiting clock machine.
I have something to confess, said Moo.
Amy looked at her sideways.
Every time w
e get up on this chair, it scares the absolute mrrzzl out of me.
Amy said, “I thought it was just me.”
“People would get along quite a lot better,” Ms. Goolagong said, “if they knew how much alike they all are inside.”
Amy thought about that while they all climbed into the rocking chair. Just like before: Oliver and the girls in the witch’s lap, with her strong arms holding them tight.
The clock…, said Moo.
“The clock is still set for home,” said Amy. “But let’s make sure we’re focused. Think about home.”
Amy closed her eyes and said, “Italian sausage and green peppers.”
Hoofbeats drew closer. The ground shook. Little objects all over the chair began to quiver, tinkle, and vibrate. At the same time, a faint green glow began to pulse through the wood, through the wires.
My porch, said Moo.
“School.”
My cows. My twenty-five-years-from-now cows.
“Mom and Dad pretending that I had died and that I smelled bad.”
The road in front of my house.
“Cows!” said Amy.
I already said—
“No, I mean here and now! Look!” Amy grabbed Moo’s chin and turned her head to face uphill, where an infinity of happy, frothing, stampeding cows had appeared, boiling and mooing toward them, wild with rainbows.
Amy whipped around in the chair.
“Concentrate, girls!” advised Ms. Goolagong. “Go now! Go, go, gogogogo!”
The cows weren’t quite on top of them yet, but they would be in a moment.
Amy and Moo held hands and squinched their eyes closed.
“Shoplifting!” cried Amy.
My mom! cried Moo.
The cows made an effort to go around them, passing on the left.
MooOOOoooOOO! SPLASH! RUMBLE RUMBLE RUMBLE! A galaxy of noise and smells. The ground heaved under the chair.
“My tent!” wailed Amy. “My experiments!”
My cow mask!
“My friend Moo!” roared Amy.
My friend Amy! roared Moo.
Suddenly the chair was tilting, falling, jostled on one side by a big, happy cow with black and white spots all over. Amy grabbed for Moo, for the back of the chair, for anything that would keep her from going over the side. Beside her, Moo poked desperately at the rabbit bell and missed.
The next instant, all four of them were in the air, flying and tumbling.
Amy came back down in the chair. Moo followed, landing across her lap.
SPLASH! Oliver and Ms. Goolagong came down in the pond.
“Oh NOOOOOOOOOO!” Amy cried.
NOOOOOOOO! shrieked Moo.
CRACK! Amy did not see the horn that sideswiped her head, but she heard it.
Loud, she mused.
The world all around was blurry and painful and glowing and green.
They fell through a hole in the world, and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell….
“WE’RE STILL FALLING,” said Amy to Moo.
Her voice was stretchy and odd, as if she were speaking in rubber bands. It sounded like: “WeeEEEe’RRRe still ffffffAaaaaaaaaaaaAAAALLllllinggg….”
Not unlike a didgeridoo, Amy thought, and even her thoughts were stretchy.
MaaaayyyyyyyBBBbbbeeEE iiiiiitttttt’sss diffffffffffffffeeerrrrreeennNNNNNnTTttttt, replied Moo (who LOOKED stretchy and blurry, as if she were a flashlight being waved around), goooooOOOoooing baaaaaack toooooowwwaaAAAArrrRRRRDDddd thhhhhe ffffuuuuuUUUuuutttuurrrrreee.
“NooOOoo,” said Amy, whose head throbbed and felt wet and bloody. “SommmMMmethiiiing’s wronnnNNnng.”
Indeed! What wasn’t wrong? Oliver and Ms. Goolagong had been knocked into the pond and were entirely gone, for one thing.
Iiiit’sss okaaaay, said Moo. They’re okaaaaaaay. I saw them get up and moooove awaaaaay from the cowsssssss. It’s the last thing I saaaaaaw….
Okay. Well, that was the important thing. Still, Amy’s heart gave a painful, sad stab.
For now, though, she sensed, it was important to figure out what else was wrong. The chair seemed to wobble in a way that didn’t seem right. They had been pushed and thumped and almost smooshed, after all, and the poor chair seemed to have started coming apart here and there.
Indeed, as Amy thought these thoughts, the arm on her side came away in her right hand.
“Mrrzzzzzzzzzzzzzl,” she said, feeling woozy.
Put it baaaack, said Moo. You haaave to fiiiiiix it.
“I knoooow,” said Amy. “I will. Just gimme a miiiiinute.”
Whatever had happened to her head was catching up with her. Maybe a little nap…
Moo shook her.
Amy fought off dizziness and struggled to fit the arm back where it belonged. There were these spindles and pegs, and some holes they fit into, except they weren’t fitting.
Moo leaned over to help. KERCHUNK! The arm popped into place, strong and sturdy.
There, said Moo. Now you can pass out.
“ ’Kay,” said Amy. But an instant later she got a funny feeling, like when you are in a car that takes a curve really fast and smooshes you up against the door, and then—
POW! Leaves leavesleaves and FLYING THROUGH THE AIR and LANDING (“Ow!”) on her back and rolling (Ow! Hello?!) and leaves leavesleavesleaves…
And lying there in the leaves, near the pond, with birds flying by and gray clouds scooting overhead.
We’re back, said Moo, close by.
Amy finally managed to pass out without getting interrupted.
* * *
—
AMY AWOKE TO A dull throb at the side of her head and an old woman hovering over her.
“Ms. Goolagong,” she whispered. Of course.
“Welcome home,” said the witch.
Her queenly hair was a gray waterfall now. She might have shrunk a little bit; it was hard to say. Certainly, she still had that tall feeling about her, but it seemed that her shoulders stooped somewhat and…well. She had, generally, the same old-people look that most old people have. Sort of like she needed a fresh coat of paint, but also wise and twinkly and comfortable.
Amy’s head felt hot and sore. She raised a hand to her temple, and her fingertips encountered cloth, as if her head were wearing a big sock.
Ms. Goolagong brought bandages and some kind of cream, said Moo, leaning into view on Amy’s other side. She saw the cow hit you when we took off, and figured you’d need doctoring of some kind.
“I’ve had twenty-five years to think about what you might need,” said the witch. “And I obviously thought it out just right.”
“I’m not dying?” asked Amy, trying to sit up. “Am I paralyzed or concussed or brain damaged?”
Moo and the witch helped her sit up.
“You can stand when you feel like it,” said Ms. Goolagong. “No, you’re not any of those things. If you were concussed, your eyes would be goofy or there’d be other signs. Besides, I can tell.” She waggled her fingers in the air, witch-magic-style.
Amy recalled the witch coming over the hill as they took off, that first time, aboard the chair. Back when they assumed she was a witchier witch. A bad witch, presumably.
It occurred to her that Ms. Goolagong—this older version of Ms. Goolagong—had actually just now seen them leave. Seen them launch. Or vanish or whatever.
“Why were you shouting ‘No’?” Amy a
sked her.
Ms. Goolagong looked puzzled. She said, “Hmm?”
“I remember when we were about to whoosh away through time,” said Amy, “you were coming over the hill, running at us, yelling, ‘No!’ ”
That’s right, said Moo. That’s true.
The witch laughed. She reached out and laid a hand on Amy’s shoulder.
“ ‘Go,’ ” she said. “Not ‘no.’ I was hollering at you to go, because…well, it looked like you were hesitating, or having difficulty, and at the same time, you were arriving, back from the past. I don’t know what would happen if all four of you were stuck here in the same time-space together. Not to mention that if you didn’t leave in the first place, you couldn’t very well be returning. It just seemed best if you went ahead and left, so I yelled at you to go. It seems to have worked out.”
The girls agreed.
“But,” said Amy, “twenty-five years! You got knocked out of the chair and stuck back in time! It’s not what was supposed to happen!”
Ms. Goolagong laughed and shrugged. “Who’s to say,” she said, “what’s supposed to happen? We’re all here finally. We’re all fine, more or less.”
“Oliver?”
“Fine, more or less. Don’t you worry about Oliver just now. Worry about now.”
It was amazing, Amy reflected, the things that seemed possible now. In just a day or two, she had come to know so much more than she’d known before. She almost felt like a different person. Or a bigger version of the same person. Or…well, there would have to be experiments.
“So,” said Amy. “We’re home, then. Timewise.”
Moo and Ms. Goolagong nodded.
Amy could feel it, actually. Her own time had its own feeling.
One time her parents had sent her off to her grandmother’s for half of a summer. When she had come home, it had been just slightly like entering a house for the first time. All the familiar things seemed new, just for a few seconds—the carpet in the hall, the smell of the kitchen, her own room, neat and clean—and then the familiarity had come flooding back, like comfortable clothes you had worn six thousand times. This, now, was like that.
Two Girls, a Clock, and a Crooked House Page 16
