A True Home Page 4

  It was growing cold in the hotel now, and one morning Mona decided to ask Mrs. Higgins for a warm blanket for her bed.

  Mrs. Higgins was wrapped in a blanket herself, at her desk. Tilly was pouring her some tea while they went over a schedule.

  “Of course, Mona, you may have a blanket. Of course,” said the hedgehog, dabbing at her red nose with her handkerchief. “And bring one up to Miss Cybele on Twig 44 while you’re at it. She put in a request.”

  “I can do that, ma’am,” said Tilly quickly.

  “It’s best if Mona does it. Miss Cybele is very…shy.”

  Tilly didn’t look pleased, so Mona didn’t stay to hear any more and hurried out to the laundry room. She found the softest blanket she could and carried it up to the swallow’s room. She was about to knock when she heard a noise inside. Not just any noise: singing. Though she knew it wasn’t polite, she pressed her ear against the door to listen.

  “Tweet-trrit, chiddy-deep,

  Onward, southward, wing to wing,

  Here we soar, hear us sing,

  Onward, southward, home we go,

  Where flowers bloom and warm winds blow.”

  The tune drifted into a series of lovely “Tweet-trrit, tweet-trrits.” Then it stopped.

  Mona waited and then knocked, hesitantly, on the door.

  A moment later the swallow opened it a crack, just enough to poke her beak out. “Yes?” she said timidly.

  “I’m so sorry to disturb you,” said Mona, “but I’ve brought the blanket.”

  “The blanket?”

  Mona held it up. “You requested it?”

  The bird nodded. “Oh yes,” she said.

  She was about to take it in her beak when Mona added, “I heard you singing. It was beautiful.”

  “Oh?”

  “It was…better than the Blue Bow Warblers,” continued Mona enthusiastically.

  Cybele gave a tiny chirping laugh and then, after a pause, said, “My flock liked my voice, too. I…I always led the migration melodies.”

  “Was that what you were singing, a migration melody?”

  “Part of one.”

  “Oh,” said Mona, wondering what the rest of it was like.

  As though the bird had read her mind, she quietly added, “If you would like, I could sing the rest of it for you.”

  Mona knew the rules. She wasn’t supposed to talk to guests, much less be entertained by them, but the swallow opened the door and Mona couldn’t help it. She stepped inside.

  She hadn’t been in Cybele’s room before. Usually Tilly cleaned it when Cybele visited the stargazing balcony. Unlike the other bird rooms on the twig floor, which had birdbaths built into their balconies and many roosting pegs stuck into the walls, this room was bare and small. It didn’t really seem like a bird room at all, except that, instead of a bed, there was a nest of twigs, moss, and blankets built up in one corner of the room. There was a single peg on the wall, which looked more like a coat hook than a roosting peg. Below it was carved something that made Mona’s eyes go wide: another heart. Just like the one on her suitcase, except this one had an inscription below it:

  “It is so nice of Mr. Heartwood to let me stay here,” Cybele explained, “considering how few Fernwood farthings I have. Supposedly he’s let other guests who are in need stay here before.”

  “Mr. Heartwood is really kind,” agreed Mona as she added the blanket to the nest, wondering who the other guests could be.

  Cybele took her place on the roosting peg, so Mona sat down on the moss rug to listen to the swallow sing.

  The rest of the song was as wonderful as the first part she’d heard, and when it was done, Mona clapped and Cybele glowed.

  “Would you like to hear some others?” asked the swallow.

  “Please!” replied Mona.

  And so Cybele began another, about the sea, and when it was finished, another about the moon.

  “That’s one of my favorites,” Cybele said shyly when she was finished, adjusting her wing in its sling. She looked out at the sky. “At night, I gaze at the moon and think of my flock. I wish I could be with them.”

  “What happened?” asked Mona quietly.

  “It was the storm, on the day of the Acorn Festival. A gust of wind took me by surprise and knocked me into a branch, and I sprained my wing. I can’t fly south with a sprained wing, so I came here. I’d heard about the Heartwood and knew it was a safe place to stay. I hoped my wing would heal quickly, but it hasn’t, and now I know I must stay until the spring, though I have barely enough farthings even for this room, especially if it’s a long winter….But worse…although the hotel is so comfortable and I’m treated well, it’s not the same as being with my friends. It’s lonely. I’m lonely.”

  Mona nodded, and added thoughtfully, “I guess I’ve never really had many friends.”

  “Oh,” said Cybele, looking surprised. “But you are so kind and friendly. I thought you must have lots of friends.”

  Mona shook her head. “I’ve never stayed anywhere long enough.”

  “What about here?” said Cybele.

  “I’m new,” said Mona. “I arrived the same day as you. But I do like it here, very much.” As the words left her mouth, Mona realized it was true, despite her troubles with Tilly.

  “I like it, too, even if I miss my friends. In fact, I’ve even started to make up a song about the hotel. Would you like to hear it? It’s not quite finished, though.”

  Mona knew she should leave, but how could she resist a song about the Heartwood? She nodded eagerly.

  Cybele had just begun,

  “Heartwood Hotel, Heartwood Hotel,

  Where feathered and furred together can dwell,”

  …when, “Ahem!”

  The door, which they hadn’t fully closed, swung open to reveal none other than Mr. Heartwood himself, ducking down to peer into the tiny room. Behind him, Mona could just see Tilly’s whiskery face.

  “I knew it, sir,” said Tilly impatiently. “I knew she was in here.”

  Mona’s heart began to pound. Tilly had told her not to speak with the guests. It was a rule. And she hadn’t just been talking with Cybele, she had been sharing secrets and listening to the swallow’s singing!

  But Mr. Heartwood didn’t look the least bit upset. “See, I do. But hear, that, too,” replied the badger, who was too big to enter the room but remained, grinning, in the doorway, with Tilly trapped behind him. “Miss Cybele, would you be so kind as to finish your song?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Please,” encouraged Mr. Heartwood.

  Cybele paused, then nodded and cleared her throat.

  “Heartwood Hotel, Heartwood Hotel,

  Where feathered and furred together can dwell,

  Where rest can be had from troubles and fears,

  Where wings can repair and joy reappears…”

  It was a happy, warm song of seedcakes and soufflés, bubbly baths and staircases that led up to the stars. It made Mona want to dance. When Cybele was done, not only was Mona clapping, but Mr. Heartwood was, too. Even Tilly reluctantly joined in.

  “Brava!” said Mr. Heartwood. “Very well sung, Miss Cybele. I am so sorry to disturb you, but we were looking for our maid”—he gestured to Mona—“and we’ve found her again. And found something else, too. A voice…Yes, what a voice. Miss Cybele, I know this is a trying time for you, but I must ask, will you share your voice with our guests?”

  Cybele gave a small peep, but Mona whispered, “Oh, everyone would love it, and perhaps it would make your stay less lonely.”

  Cybele paused. Then she slowly nodded. “I guess…one song. You’ve been so generous to me, Mr. Heartwood, it is the least I can do.”

  “Of course. And if that goes well, and you do choose to keep singing, it would be my honor to waive your room fee in exchange, and upgrade you to a proper bird room as well.”

  “Really? Are…are you sure?” stammered Cybele, hopping off the peg in excitement.


  “Sure as my fur.” Mr. Heartwood grinned again, his eyes catching sight of the heart just below the peg. He tugged his whiskers as he glanced at Mona and then back at the heart. “I wonder…” He gave his whiskers a twirl, then cleared his throat. “Well, well. Nothing’s wrong that ends in song. Miss Tilly had me worried about you, Miss Mona, but no need. Keep up the good work.”

  “Thank you,” said Mona. She couldn’t help but smile.

  “Humph,” said Tilly, but only under her breath. To Mr. Heartwood she said, “I’m glad everything turned out, sir.”

  Then they all left Cybele’s room to return to work. Mona was the last, and when she waved good-bye, she saw that instead of a tear in the swallow’s eye, there was a twinkle.

  Cybele’s first performance took place at the last dinner of the squirrels’ convention. Everyone loved her. She didn’t sing just one song—she sang many. Even after the squirrels left, she kept singing every night. Mona was happy to see her grow more confident. It made her feel more confident, too. She had made a friend in Cybele, and in the Sudsburys, who were always requesting her help. But Tilly was still far from friendly. At least to Mona. She did see Tilly bring soup and handkerchiefs to Mrs. Higgins for her cold, and even hot honey to Cybele after a long night of singing. So why did the red squirrel treat Mona differently? She wanted to ask, to know why Tilly behaved the way she did, but they were so busy. There was never time. There was always something going on at the Heartwood Hotel.

  RAT-A-TAT-TAT! Mona was in the middle of cleaning Cybele’s new room, which was now her job, despite Tilly’s protests, when she heard the noise.

  RAT-A-TAT-TAT!

  The sound came again. Was it a woodpecker? There was a woodpecker, Tony, on staff, but Mona had never properly met him. He was always quick to leave after meals.

  She hurried to the shutters and pushed them open, but before she could step out onto the balcony, Tony the woodpecker swooped from a top branch and, spying her, cried, “Alarm! Alarm! Didn’t you hear it? Inside! Inside at once!” Then he clung to the trunk and pounded his beak into it again, RAT-A-TAT-TAT!

  Mona’s heart pounded, too, as she hurried out into the hall, where she ran into Tilly.

  The squirrel was frantic. “It’s the alarm! Quick, quick, we need to gather in the dining hall.”

  Mona followed Tilly down the stairs, wondering what could be going on. Mr. Heartwood will take care of it, Mona tried to reassure herself.

  But in the dining hall, Mr. Heartwood looked as concerned and unsure of what to do as everyone else. Lunch had clearly been interrupted. Plates of food lay half eaten or untouched on the round tables. No one seemed hungry anymore except one shrew, who was gobbling up plateful after plateful in a nervous state.

  Most of the staff had gathered on one side of the room, while on the other side the guests huddled, including Cybele and the Sudsburys. The swallow looked frightened, and Lord Sudsbury was sitting on a chair taking deep breaths while Lady Sudsbury rubbed his shoulders. Ms. Prickles was looking after them, offering tea and soothing words. She was clearly upset, too, despite her demeanor, because her quills were raised, and she almost poked a guest!

  “I thought this was a safe place,” moaned Lord Sudsbury loudly.

  “Yes, so did I!” added a chipmunk.

  Others joined in the cry, and Mr. Heartwood, hearing this, strode onto the stage. “Please, dear guests, stay calm. There’s nothing to fear, as long as the staff of the Heartwood are here. We will keep you safe.” Then he gestured to Cybele. “Perhaps some soothing tunes would help calm everyone’s nerves.”

  Cybele took her place onstage again and began to sing, but for once her voice wobbled.

  Mr. Heartwood had returned to muttering and pacing back and forth in front of the staff when the woodpecker swooped in through the doors. He landed next to the badger. The guests looked over questioningly.

  “Did everyone hear? Is everyone here?!” the woodpecker said loudly. His crown of red feathers was ruffled and there were wood chips caught in the feathers on his chest.

  “Hush!” said Mr. Heartwood. “No need to further alarm anyone. Now tell me at once—quietly—what is going on?” Mr. Heartwood’s voice was neither poetic nor poised.

  The woodpecker darted his head side to side, at last saying in punctuated but almost whispered words, “It’s a bear! A bear, Mr. Heartwood. A great big one. It came right up the path, just as you please!”

  “A bear?” Mr. Heartwood exclaimed. “A bear! And what is it doing now, Tony?”

  “It’s at the front door. Yes. It’s at the front door, trying to get in! It hasn’t found the hidden lock, but it could at any moment!”

  Maggie and Maurice, the rabbits, threw their paws around each other. Tilly moaned, “Oh, oh, oh,” while Mrs. Higgins said sharply, “But it’s late fall. Bears should be ready for sleeping.” Mr. Heartwood nodded to Mrs. Higgins. “Indeed! What in blithering brambles is he doing here? Tony, your post is the most important of the jobs in this hotel! What were you doing? Were you at rest? You know you cannot! You must protect the guests!”

  Mona had never seen Mr. Heartwood so angry at any of the staff before. Tony looked very upset.

  “I…I…” stammered Tony.

  But Mr. Heartwood was still furious. He huffed. “Now see the situation we are in…Why, I don’t know where to begin!” He tugged his whiskers mightily.

  “No respect, no respect whatsoever,” said Gilles, and it took Mona a moment to realize he was talking about the bear. “Doesn’t he know where he is?”

  “We’ll have to do something soon,” said Mrs. Higgins. “Or Lord Sudsbury…Well, you know….” She glanced over at Lord Sudsbury, whose tail was beginning to shake.

  “But, Mrs. Higgins, can’t we just get rid of him?” cried Tilly. She was trembling, she was so frightened.

  “Don’t worry, dearie. There, there,” Ms. Prickles comforted, having joined them.

  She started to say something else to Tilly, but Mona didn’t hear, for Maggie, one of the laundry rabbits, burst out, “We can launch an attack from the second-floor windows. We can throw pots and pans—those are heavy….”

  “I have shears!” said Mr. Higgins.

  “Decorum!” said Mr. Heartwood. “Decorum, everyone! Attack? Do intelligence we lack? We are the Heartwood. We must think of a different plan; we run by rules. We must use these as our…as our…tools!” His rhyme came in a stammer, which was unlike him.

  As the animals clustered and began to discuss, Mona wondered about what Gilles had said about the bear not knowing where he was.

  Maybe, thought Mona, this bear really doesn’t know where he is. Everyone thought he was trying to get into the hotel to attack them, but maybe something else was going on. She remembered the bear’s den she had come across during the big storm. It did look a bit like the Heartwood. Could that den be what the bear was looking for?

  Mona had to find out quickly, before something bad happened. If the animals attacked him, he would get mad. A mad bear was far different from a bumbling, confused one. She quietly scurried from the crowd.

  She had almost reached the dining hall door when Tilly saw her. “Where are you going?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  “I…I’m going to see the bear. I think he might be lost.”

  “You’re WHAT?” said Tilly. “You have to stay here. Those are the rules. Besides, it’s a bear….You can’t just…”

  “But I can,” replied Mona. “And I’m going to.”

  For the first time, Mona ignored Tilly, to Tilly’s great annoyance, and headed bravely into the lobby to face the great bear.

  The lobby was empty and quiet, except for the booming thump, thump, thump! coming from the door as the bear pushed his shoulder against it over and over.

  Brave as she might have felt before, now that she was alone and facing the thumping, Mona began to tremble.

  She took a deep breath to slow her racing heart and marched up to the entrance. When there was a pause in the
thumping, she carefully opened the door a crack and slipped out, quickly closing it behind her.

  A mountain of black rose up in front of her. The bear was not only gigantic, but also very old. Mona could tell from the silvery streaks in his fur. He smelled like years of fish and dusty dens. He gazed left and right, then back to the Heartwood.

  “Shucks. It’s just not…here,” he grumbled. His voice was gravelly and sounded ready for rest.

  He seemed confused. Could she be right? Was he lost? Mona had to ask him. She cleared her throat as loudly as she could, trying to get his attention. “Mr. Bear, excuse me.”

  But the bear didn’t hear her. Or even seem to see her. Not even when he pushed on the hotel door with his snout, just missing the heart by inches. Mona jumped out of the way to avoid being crushed. The bear thwacked his nose hard, and the force of it caused him to fall back on his haunches.

  “Shucks,” he said again in his deep, tired voice.

  Mona tried again, a lot louder. “Oh, Mr. Bear!” she shouted. Still no luck.

  So she pulled a seedcake left over from breakfast from her apron pocket and threw it up at him. She hadn’t expected her aim to be so good. PLUCK! It hit him right on his nose.

  “Hey.” The bear swatted at his nose with his paw, then looked down to see where the cake had come from. He spied Mona.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Huh?” he replied, blinking at her.

  “I’m sorry!” she repeated loudly.

  “For what?”

  “For the…” Mona shook her head. “Oh, never mind.” She cleared her throat again. “Mr. Bear,” she began.

  “Brumble’s the name,” he said.

  “Mr. Brumble, I think you’ve come to the wrong place.”

  “Aw, shucks. I wondered why there was a door. I’m looking…” He gave a mighty yawn.

  “Looking for your winter den?” finished Mona.

  “My den?” said the bear, surprised. “It’s here?”