A True Home Read online

  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 978-1-4847-4736-0

  Visit www.DisneyBooks.com

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1: Mona the Mouse

  2: The Acorn Festival

  3: Trouble with Tilly

  4: Pledging a Paw

  5: Tilly Gives a Tour

  6: The Skunks’ Stay

  7: The Big Stink

  8: Miss Cybele’s Song

  9: The Woodpecker’s Warning

  10: Brumble the Bear

  11: The Front-Desk Disaster

  12: The Wicked Wolves

  13: Tilly Tells the Truth

  14: The Heartwood Hoax

  15: Being Brave

  16: A True Home

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Kallie George

  Preview of Heartwood Hotel, Book 2: The Greatest Gift

  About the Author and Illustrator

  To Luke: Home is where the heart is,

  and my heart is with you.

  —K.G.

  For Theresa and Sophia

  —S.G.

  Home is where the heart is, or so she’d heard. But Mona the mouse had never had a home—at least not for long. A dusty hay bale, an abandoned bird’s nest, a prickly thicket—in her short life she had lived in more places than she had whiskers. And now her latest home, an old hollow stump, was being flooded out by the storm.

  When she’d found the stump in the summer, with a mushroom table already in place and the stream nearby, it had seemed too good to be true. Why had no other animal claimed it for its home?

  Now Mona knew. She watched, perched on a root in the corner, shivering and scared, as the water rushed in, swirling around her bed made of moss, lapping at her table, threatening to wash away her suitcase.

  The suitcase was all she had left of her family. It was made from a small walnut shell and had a tiny heart carved on the front. Mona reached for it now.

  Time to move again, she thought with a heavy sigh as, holding the handle tightly, she waded out of the stump and into the storm.

  Rain beat down on the trees of Fernwood Forest, which were just beginning to turn the colors of fall. Instantly, Mona was soaked—from nose to tail. Her paws sank into the wet ground with every step.

  Which way should I go? she wondered. To the right was a farm, but it was very far, and it had a cat. She knew because she had once tried to live there. So it was either to the left or straight ahead.

  She was about to go straight when…CRACK! Lightning flashed and Mona jumped. To the left it was, then. She headed deeper into the forest, hopping from twig to leaf, trying to stay out of the mud.

  If only there were a rock to burrow under, or a clump of mushrooms, or a hollow tree. But there wasn’t. There wasn’t even a sign of another animal. Everyone else must be hidden away in their homes, Mona thought, safe from the storm.

  Soon rain was collecting in her ears. She shook the droplets of water out of them, but it only helped her hear the frightful storm more clearly. The wind whistled, whipped, and whirled—and brought with it the sound of howls. Wolves!

  Mona squeaked, quickening her pace. The wolves howled again. They sounded far away. But wolves were wolves, and any small animal was scared of them. They were hunters and not to be trusted. Nothing was worse than wolves.

  The rain fell harder still. Is this how she would go—like her parents, swept away by a storm? If only she had a paw to clutch, or someone to tell her everything would be all right. But she was alone.

  And then, at last, Mona spied something: an enormous tree, rising so high she couldn’t see the top of it. And it was hollow! She hurried toward the opening.

  But right away she knew this wasn’t a home for a mouse. This was a bear’s den. No bear was in it now, and likely one hadn’t been for a long time. Still, the faint smell of fur, fish, and berries hung in the air, and she knew she would never be able to sleep soundly there. What if a bear did come back? Although she wasn’t as scared of bears as wolves—she had lived near a bear for a while, and it had been more interested in eating berries than in eating her—she didn’t relish the idea of being trapped in a den with one.

  So, reluctantly, Mona scurried out, back into the storm.

  A stream, swollen by the rain, blocked her way. She looked for a place to cross. A stick had fallen over it. Mona was good at balancing—all mice were—and she was almost across when she looked up and saw, in the dark bushes ahead, eyes!

  The glowing eyes of wolves! She was certain. Not just one pair, or two or three, but so many that Mona couldn’t even count them. Her heart leapt into her throat while her paws slipped from the stick and…

  Splash! She fell into the water.

  Whoosh!

  Just like that, instead of by wolves, she was swallowed by the stream, which gulped and gushed and carried her away.

  Water filled her mouth, and she coughed and sputtered. Clinging desperately to her bobbing suitcase, she was swept along by the current down a hill, past bushes and ferns and rocks and roots, deep into the forest.

  Farther and farther the stream carried her. She scrambled up onto her suitcase and watched as the trees grew mossier and more and more twisted. This must be the heart of the forest, she thought—somewhere she had never been.

  At last, the stream slowed into a pool made from some large roots. One root reached forth like a helpful paw, and Mona grasped it and clambered out of the water.

  She gasped. There in front of her rose another enormous tree. This one, however, was more than enormous. It was…majestic.

  Giant branches fanned out around the top like a crown. Golden leaves blocked the rain and wind. In between roots, moss grew so neatly it looked as though someone had tucked it in and trimmed it to fit. Maybe someone had…for in the trunk, just above her head, was a carving.

  It was a heart, like the heart on her suitcase, but in the center of this heart were the initials HH.

  What could it mean? she wondered.

  Mona couldn’t resist. Slowly, she reached up on tiptoe to touch the carving.

  CLICK.

  The heart pressed inward, and a door in the trunk swung open.

  With a squeak of wonder, Mona stepped inside to warmth, light, and the delicious smell of roasted acorns.

  The room was large—very large for a mouse—big enough for a group of small animals to gather. Across from the door was a stone hearth, unlit but decorated with a garland of colorful leaves. A mossy rug lay in front of it, surrounded by a couch and chairs made of twigs, which were lined with more moss. To the left stood a large wooden desk with a big book and twig pencil on it. And from the ceiling hung rings of candles, casting a soft golden glow.

  Mona had never been in such a fancy place.

  Who lives here? she wondered. But there was no one around to tell her.

  There was the faint sound of music and laughter, however, coming from behind the hearth. Mona took a few more steps into the room and spied an open doorway near the fireplace. The sound was coming from there. M
ona started in that direction, but paused. She was a mouse, after all, and she had to be careful. She sniffed cautiously.

  The smell of roasted acorns was stronger now. Surely animals who ate roasted acorns weren’t a threat. And then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a sign above the hearth. She hadn’t seen it before because it was half covered by the garland of leaves. She could just make out what it said:

  WE LIVE BY “PROTECT AND RESPECT,” NOT BY “TOOTH AND CLAW.”

  Relieved, Mona followed her nose and ears through the doorway, down a short hallway decorated with more garlands, and to another door—a much larger one with a plaque on it that read BALLROOM. It was slightly ajar, enough so Mona could slip through.

  Inside was another marvelous sight, and a much more lively one! Rabbits, chipmunks, squirrels, hedgehogs, birds! Even a lizard. And largest of all, a badger! Not muddy or wet like her, but dressed up and dancing, eating and laughing. Mona clutched her suitcase tightly and looked around in awe. She had only ever encountered a few animals at a time in the forest, never so many all in one place.

  Against one wall was a table stacked with food: mushrooms, juniper berries, licorice roots, and acorns—oh, the acorns! Mashed, steamed, fried, souped—so many types that Mona didn’t recognize many of them. And in the center of the table, a giant honeycomb with cups beside it to scoop out honey to drink.

  Not far from the table, above a small stage, was a banner—THE FIRST ACORN FESTIVAL: CELEBRATE AUTUMN’S ARRIVAL—and on the stage, three beautiful dark blue birds crooned. Their song came to an end and the room filled with applause.

  “Thank you. Thank you!” said one of the singers. “We are the Blue Bow Warblers, and we’re honored to be singing our final concert here before our flight to the south. We’re happy so many of you could make it, despite the storm. And now, though it is raining outside, we can make it sunny in here with one of our favorite melodies, ‘Moon Shine, Sun Rise’!”

  More applause filled the room, and whistles and cheers, too. As the birds burst into another tune and the dancing started again, Mona’s mind raced.

  Were all these animals staying here? Where had they come from? Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice.

  “Hello, Miss Mouse.” The lizard stepped in front of her and gave a short bow. “Were you searching for help at the front desk? My apologies. My name is Gilles. How may I help you?”

  Mona noticed he was wearing a bow tie around his neck, and a large key, which was made of wood and had a heart-shaped top. He was exceedingly clean—a glistening green, as though his scales had been polished—and he seemed hesitant to get too close to the muddy puddle that had collected on the wood floor around Mona.

  “I…I…” stammered Mona.

  “I am afraid we are full tonight. Booking for the Acorn Festival took place months ago. Why, we were overrun with messenger jays bringing room requests. You should have sent one yourself.”

  Mona found her voice: “I didn’t know. I’ve never been here before. Where…where am I?”

  “Where are you?! Why, Miss Mouse, this is the Heartwood Hotel.”

  “What is that?” asked Mona.

  “Only the finest hotel for forests around!” exclaimed Gilles. “The Heartwood Hotel has roomed such guests as the speed-race champion Randolph the rabbit and the duchess squirrel Henrietta the Third. It has hosted the wedding of the richest skunks in the forest and boasts festivals for every season. Not to mention its reputation for rest and relaxation.” The lizard’s tongue flicked in and out as he continued. “Why, no other spot can guarantee protection from wolves, coyotes, and cougars. ‘Sleep in safety, eat in earnest, and be happy at Heartwood.’ That’s Mr. Heartwood’s motto—one of many, actually. Please don’t tell Mr. Heartwood you haven’t heard of us. He will blame the Pinecone Press. They have yet to review us. Reviews of French hotels, reviews of Italian ones, but of Heartwood? None as yet.”

  “The Pinecone Press?” said a booming voice. “Is this the elusive reviewer at last?” Joining them at the door was none other than the largest animal in the room, and perhaps the oldest, too, Mona guessed from the stoop of his shoulders. It was the badger, with glossy black fur and a smart jacket and vest. Not just one, but an entire set of wooden keys hung around his huge neck.

  Mona trembled. Badgers were not always kind to mice, and this one gazed down upon her with a particularly stern look.

  “Oh no, sir,” said Gilles. “This is not the reviewer. This is Miss…” He paused. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

  “Mona,” she said.

  “Miss Mona is here for a room, but I’ve told her we’re booked, Mr. Heartwood, sir,” said Gilles.

  “Ah, I see.” The badger sniffed, his great nostrils fanning out wide.

  Mona swallowed hard. “Oh, please, I have no place to stay. My home was washed out in the storm. Please. I…I think there are wolves out there.”

  “Not nearby, certainly,” huffed the badger. “We never see those beasts in this part of the forest. They live in the Great Woods, beyond the Fernwood Foothills.”

  “No, they weren’t nearby,” replied Mona. She had seen the wolves before the stream had carried her away. Had that been in the Fernwood Foothills? She didn’t know the parts of the forest and what they were called.

  “I see,” the badger said again, twirling the white whiskers on the sides of his cheeks. His gaze caught her suitcase and he peered closer. “A heart. What a coincidence.” He looked back at her intently.

  “I’ve always had it,” said Mona. “It belonged to my family.”

  “And where are they now?”

  “I lost them a long time ago in a big storm like this….”

  “You did, did you?” Mr. Heartwood tugged his whiskers, his eyes concerned. “And so storms strike, not once, but twice…” He looked like he might say something more, but he simply gave his whiskers an extra-hard tug and then looked back at the party and glanced down at the floor, which was messy with bits of food. “Ah, crumbs. We have more than a few. A night for a night, that we could do. You’re a small sort of helper, but an extra paw is an extra paw. Gilles, make it be. Take her to Tilly.”

  Then, with a nod and a toothless grin, Mr. Heartwood returned to mingling with the guests.

  “Well, I say.” The lizard’s tail twitched.

  “What did he mean? I don’t understand,” piped Mona.

  “Mr. Heartwood will let you stay for the night if you are willing to clean up after the party with Tilly, our maid. Probably mentioning the wolves helped. Mr. Heartwood has a soft spot for any small animal in trouble, and he especially dislikes wolves. His wife was taken by them, you know, while she was on a journey to visit her sister. That’s why he started the hotel: to create a safe place for animals, especially traveling ones, to stay. But sometimes I think he forgets that it is a hotel, not a safe haven for every wet whisker that comes by. Of course I don’t mean any disrespect to you, Miss Mouse. In any case, you’d better come with me.”

  “Oh, thank you,” said Mona.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” said Gilles, opening the door wide. “You haven’t met Tilly.”

  Mona followed Gilles away from the party and back into the lobby, to a candlelit staircase near the stone fireplace. She could see that it went up and down many floors.

  “Come, come.” The lizard gestured to her. “Tilly will be in the kitchen.”

  The lizard led her down to the floor below and along to the end of a hallway. Gilles pushed open a swinging door to reveal a room smaller than either the lobby or the ballroom, but still bigger than any of Mona’s old homes.

  The kitchen was filled with even more delicious smells than the ballroom. Baskets of nuts and berries hung from roots on the ceiling over a long table that was cluttered with pots and bowls, spoons and serving trays. Cupboards were dug into the dirt walls; some were open, showing stacked dishes and jars of dried seeds and herbs of all kinds. A sink, made from a large shell, was filled with dirty pots and pans. The
re was a fireplace in a corner, and over it hung a pot, bubbling with acorn mash.

  A plump porcupine was stirring the mash with a particularly long quill. She wasn’t alone. A red-furred squirrel with a very bushy tail sat at the table, nibbling at a giant puffy cake.

  “Don’t poke your paws into everything, Tilly, dear,” chided the porcupine. “There’s got to be enough for Mr. Heartwood. You know how hungry he gets after a party.”

  “Yes, Ms. Prickles.” The squirrel reluctantly pushed the dish away. “But after the party…that’s when I have to clean up. I won’t get a chance to eat anything.”

  “I’ll set some seedcakes aside for you, dear.”

  “I like acorn soufflé better,” muttered the squirrel, just loud enough to be heard.

  Soufflé? That must be the name for the puffy cake, thought Mona.

  “It’s for the guests—you know that,” replied the porcupine, turning around and shaking her stirring quill at the squirrel, only to catch sight of Gilles and Mona. “What’s this? Gilles? Who have you brought us? Not a guest, surely.”

  “Of course not,” replied Gilles, as though offended by the suggestion. “She’s a new maid—Mona. Mona, this is Ms. Prickles, our cook.”

  “Hello, dearie,” said the porcupine.

  “And this,” continued Gilles, gesturing to the squirrel, “is Tilly.”

  Mona stuck out her paw.

  But Tilly didn’t take it. Her tail bristled instead. “New maid?”

  “Just for the night,” continued Gilles. “She will help you clean up after the party. In any case, they’re Mr. Heartwood’s orders, not mine. He wants you to help her find the brushes and an apron.”

  “A mouse? Help? Mice are too small to be maids.” Tilly’s tail bristled up even more, bigger than her body. “And she can’t help anyone clean anything. Why, she’s just tracking in more mud!”

  “Your problem, not mine,” said Gilles, heading out of the kitchen, but not before the porcupine said, “If you’re going back upstairs you might as well bring up the soufflé, before Tilly eats it all.”