Cress Watercress Read online

  Chapter 1: The Bare Windows of Home

  Chapter 2: Dinner by Moonlight

  Chapter 3: Where We’re Going

  Chapter 4: Agatha Cabbage

  Chapter 5: The Grown-Up Sort of Secrets

  Chapter 6: Light a Candle in the Darkness

  Chapter 7: Wolves Walking the Walls

  Chapter 8: Where We Were, Really

  Chapter 9: What to Watch Out For

  Chapter 10: The Oakleaf Family

  Chapter 11: Snow Alert

  Chapter 12: Planning a Heist

  Chapter 13: The Hive and the Honey

  Chapter 14: Grounded

  Chapter 15: On the High Seas

  Chapter 16: Castaways

  Chapter 17: Midnight Invitation

  Chapter 18: Two Chimneys

  Chapter 19: Under Lock and Key

  Chapter 20: Fricassee

  Chapter 21: Freedom and Blunder

  Chapter 22: Temper, Temper

  Chapter 23: Nasty

  Chapter 24: Out Alone

  Chapter 25: The Final Something or Other

  Chapter 26: The Secret of the Landlord

  Chapter 27: Lullaby for a Moonless Night

  Chapter 28: Fever

  Chapter 29: Hide-and-Seek

  Chapter 30: Tree of All Seasons

  Chapter 31: Sparklio!

  Chapter 32: Being Found

  Chapter 33: A Mysterious Creature

  Chapter 34: A Note of Surprise

  Chapter 35: Hereabouts

  1

  THE BARE WINDOWS OF HOME

  Mama yanked down her homemade drapes and stuffed them into the carryall. The windows stared squarely out into the newness of how things were now. Mama said, “I think it is time.” She pulled her apron strings tighter. She didn’t look at her children. “Is everyone ready?”

  Cress shrugged. Her mouth was dry, her words locked silent.

  “You’ll need to carry him, Cress,” said Mama. “I have my arms full. Can you manage?”

  Kip was disagreeable, all sour milk on salty soap. “NO GO.”

  “Don’t fuss,” said Mama. “This is hard enough. Be a good little bunny for Mama.”

  Kip threw himself in the middle of the empty warren. Gone now, the rag carpet that had made the floor soft. When Kip kicked, he hurt his feet. He cried harder.

  Mama put down the map, the parcels tied in string, the carryall, the valise full of carrots. She picked up her little Kip. Since the rocking chair was gone, too, she rocked on her heels.

  “Why won’t you settle down, cuddles?” asked Mama. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

  “He wants his stuffed carrot,” said Cress.

  “Want ROTTY,” said Kip.

  “I must have packed it and sent it ahead,” said Mama.

  “No,” said Cress. “It’s stuck in the hood of his onesie. Look, Kip! Here’s your carrot.”

  “ROTTY,” said Kip. There were more tears, and from more than one pair of eyes.

  “And now we’re ready,” said Mama. Kip went into the snuggly. Cress grabbed Mama’s paw and held on tight.

  They left their home for the last time. No one bothered to lock the door or to look back at nobody waving goodbye.

  2

  DINNER BY MOONLIGHT

  The setting sun was a lumpy clementine in a net bag of string clouds. The air, so cool and damp. A few birds moaned in falling tones. “Where are we going?” asked Cress.

  “You’ll see when we get there,” said Mama crisply. Cress knew that was the end of talking for now.

  Kip, sucking on the tip of his stuffed carrot, fell silent. But Cress thought she heard him murmur, “Papa?”

  She couldn’t bring herself to say, “No Papa,” so she said, “Look, Kip. There’s a little broken circle in the sky. Mama, is that the moon?”

  “You’ve seen the moon before,” said Mama. “You know the moon.”

  “I don’t remember,” said Cress. “You never let me go out at night.”

  They didn’t talk any more. The grass looked like dinner and then it tasted like dinner. Dinner by moonlight, thought Cress. Papa would love this.

  Papa would have loved this.

  3

  WHERE WE’RE GOING

  Mama had lost her map.

  On the other side of the water, the ducks slept. They were too far away to wake up for directions.

  Nearby, thorny branches tangled, a dark sword fight profiled against cliffs of silvery moon-cloud.

  The family froze when Monsieur Reynard came by with a mouthful of hen, but his jaws were busy. He couldn’t bother with Mama and her children tonight.

  “We made it,” said Cress as they hurried by, trying not to stare.

  “Just luck,” said Mama. “The fox had already chosen his meal.”

  “Do you think we should have helped that poor hen?” asked Cress.

  “She was too dead, I’m afraid,” replied Mama.

  “Oh.” Cress thought about it. “Did a fox get Papa?”

  “Hush your lips!” Mama glanced at the baby. But Kip was asleep, dreaming of dipping carrots in honey.

  Mama put her paw on Cress’s shoulder. “We may never know what happened to Papa,” she said. “But here we are, and the forest is home to more than one fox. So we must take care. If only I hadn’t lost the map.”

  “Do you know where we’re going?” asked Cress.

  “Of course I know where we’re going.” Mama paused to stroke her whiskers and look around. “I just don’t know the way.”

  4

  AGATHA CABBAGE

  I wish I knew what I did with the map,” said Mama for the third time that night.

  Cress said, “You left it on the floor when you were cuddling Kip.”

  “Why didn’t you pick it up if you saw it lying there?” asked Mama.

  “I wasn’t in charge of the map,” said Cress. “I can’t be in charge of everything. I have the towels and the teaspoons. Not to mention Kip on my back.” Cress didn’t add that she had been too close to tears to speak.

  “You should have pointed out that I dropped it.” Mama tutted. Cress readied for a sound scolding. However, just then, a figure crossed their path in the moonlight, striping the horizon with black and white.

  “Oh, my pearls and pistols. What do we have here? Humble country folk out for an evening stroll?” asked a lady skunk, peering through a lorgnette. “And far from home, by the look of your shabby luggage.”

  “Good evening, madame,” said Mama.

  “The little ones are out late,” said the skunk. “I disapprove.”

  “Oh, do you?” asked Mama blandly. “Well, it can’t be helped tonight.”

  “Not how I’d raise children, if I had any,” replied the skunk. “But don’t let me keep you. I’m off to the opera. Notice my lorgnette. Notice my chinchilla.”

  Wrapped around the skunk’s neck, the chinchilla shyly lifted her head and murmured, “Howdy-do.”

  “Lady Agatha Cabbage is my name,” said the skunk. She squinted through her eyepiece at Cress. “My, what a charming little girl you are. Little frou-frou, little bunnykins, would you like to become my lady’s maid? My last maid ran off. Useless. It’s so hard to keep good help. Do come, child. I need help.”

  Cress was pretty brave but no way, no way. She pouted.

  “Oh, she couldn’t possibly,” said her mother.

  Lady Cabbage frowned and said, “I would give her sound training in manners, something you haven’t managed to do yet.”

  Cress pressed her face into her mother’s apron strings and held her breath.

  “She’s getting an education already,” said Cress’s mother. “She is homeschooled. Very well, I might add.”

  Lady Cabbage snif
fed. “What could you possibly teach her at home school?”

  “What home is,” said her mother. She glanced about. “And where.”

  The skunk pushed the point. “But where is your home?”

  “We were looking for a certain Mr. Owl who is said to have rooms to let,” admitted Mama. “But we’ve lost our way.”

  “Mr. Owl? I know where that old crankcase lives,” said the skunk. “I can show you. There are some nasty spiderwebs on the path. I suppose the opera can wait.”

  “You’re too kind,” said Cress’s mother to Lady Cabbage.

  The chinchilla twisted her head and whispered to Cress, “She’s not that kind. She doesn’t even like opera. She just likes to dress up and parade about.”

  “By the way,” said Cress’s mother, “a word to the wise. We just saw a fox go by with a mouthful of hen.”

  “I am scared of no fox,” replied the skunk. “I have a powerful cologne that drives predators wild. You’ll be safe with me. Come along.”

  “Just don’t get on her stinky side,” whispered the chinchilla.

  5

  THE GROWN-UP SORT OF SECRETS

  If Cress had ever been outside at night before, she had been too young to remember it.

  Soft rain often misted her mornings. As if her mother had stayed up all night weaving the weather they wanted for a safe breakfast. Calm dawns turned into lazy afternoons, then blue and amber evenings.

  But this vast night felt haunted with the grown-up sort of secrets. Pierced with silent watchings by hidden eyes. Or so Cress imagined.

  Also sort of beautiful. Look, a scum-green pond with white glints bobbing on the wind-ruffled surface. “Mama?” asked Cress, pointing.

  “That,” said Mama, “is the reflection of the moon.”

  “Only one moon, but a thousand reflections!” said Cress. “Like so many seeds spilled from one silver spoon!”

  “My, but your girl is fanciful,” remarked Lady Cabbage. And then, “That could come in handy if she can tell stories.”

  “Keep close, Cress,” said her mother.

  “Not to get personal,” asked the skunk, “but why are you taking rooms in Mr. Owl’s establishment? It’s a bit of a dump. A comedown.”

  “I don’t like to talk about it.” Cress’s mother raised her eyebrows meaningfully as if to signal: Not in front of the children.

  “Do tell,” urged the skunk. “As I live alone, I relish a chin-wag now and then.”

  Mama peered at the snuggly on Cress’s back. Kip was asleep. He would hear nothing. His baby snores smelled like warm damp cotton.

  “Go ahead, Mama,” said Cress. “I can stand to hear it.”

  Mama said softly, “We were living in a proper warren on the riverbank. We ate at dawn and dusk, like most rabbits. Every now and then, my husband went out at night to find ginger root and honey for a tea I make.”

  “Divine,” said Lady Cabbage insincerely.

  “The tea is good for the baby, who often has trouble breathing. He’ll outgrow his ailment. Probably.” Mama sighed. “But one night last week, Papa went out and didn’t come back.”

  “Husbands will do that,” said Lady Cabbage. “Not that I know personally. I was never married.”

  “Not this husband,” said Mama stoutly. “No, when Mr. Watercress failed to return at dawn, I felt in my bones that the worst had happened. A step too far in a dangerous direction. Trouble. Because nothing would keep my husband away but an untimely death.”

  The chinchilla wiped her damp eyes on the skunk’s neck, but Lady Cabbage was too absorbed in the drama to notice.

  Cress’s mother spoke with determination: “I can’t leave my children home alone at night. But I need to collect the honey and ginger root. So we’re moving to a place where others live close by. Who may be helpful in a pinch. I heard from a sparrow that a basement flat at Mr. Owl’s recently became available. I’ve taken it sight unseen. That’s where we’re going.”

  “Not to dampen your jollity,” said Lady Cabbage, “but Mr. Owl isn’t likely to be much help. He’s not the babysitting type. Never budges an inch to help anyone.”

  “We don’t have the privilege of choice,” said Mama.

  “Here is where we must stop listening to sad stories,” said Lady Cabbage. “A certain tightly wound old snake lives under these rocks, or nearby. His nickname is the Final Drainpipe. He won’t take kindly to being awakened by all this jabber.”

  “What’s a drainpipe?” asked Cress.

  “Hush, now,” said Mama.

  “Where you’re going isn’t the best neighborhood, I fear,” said Lady Cabbage. “Down-market.”

  “You hush, too,” said Mama to the skunk. This surprised Cress, but the skunk fell silent. Which was something of a relief.

  Cress looked and looked for the whiskery snub-nose of her father poking out from a shadowy clump of bracken. She kept not being able to see him. She could imagine him being there any minute, and the next minute, and the next. But he wasn’t.

  The slender moon became fretted by the branches of a dead tree. It looked like a sideways smile of broken teeth, which made Cress feel strange. Then the smile joined up again when they passed the tree. This also made Cress feel strange.

  Everything made her feel strange.

  Except the chinchilla, who was holding her nose because the skunk had just made a little odor of disapproval. That made Cress laugh.

  6

  LIGHT A CANDLE IN THE DARKNESS

  The little moon had climbed higher. The floor of the pine forest was crosshatched with brown needles. Walking on them raised up a smell like the balsam sachets Mama often made up for gifts.

  “Just up this knoll and, voilà,” said Lady Cabbage. “I won’t say misery. I won’t. Lips sealed. See for yourself.”

  They stood at the base of a towering old oak tree. Most of its smaller branches had fallen off. Perhaps it had been struck by lightning. Maybe more than once, until it had become a standing wreck of grey dead wood. Nothing green or lively about this place.

  “Well, well,” said Mama with an attempt at cheer. “I wonder if the landlord is home.”

  “Where would you expect me to be at this hour?” said a hoarse voice from above. The scratching of talons upon scarred bark.

  They all looked up.

  “Good evening, Mr. Owl,” called the skunk. “It is I, Lady Cabbage, come to call.”

  “I know who it is,” said the owl. “I could hear you coming a mile off. Besides, your perfume announces you.”

  “You should know,” whispered the skunk, “that he’s blind.”

  “But I’m not deaf,” called the owl. “My hearing is keen. Make a note of it.”

  “Mr. Titus Pillowby Owl, may I present your new tenants, some rabbity mother or other, with two children in tow. The Watercress family, I think they’re called.”

  Mr. Owl didn’t bother to swivel his head. “Ah, yes. You’ve taken the basement lodgings. Rent is ten moths a night. Failure to pay on time means you forfeit either your rooms or yourselves. Luckily I’m not fond of bunny hash, but I might change my mind. Take it or leave it.”

  “That’s outrageous!” said Cress’s mother.

  “In return,” said the owl, “I will keep watch over your children. They will be safe. No one messes with me. I promise not to abandon my post here. You can go scratch up whatever you need to make your son his medicinal tea. We worked this out already, didn’t we?”

  “You surely did,” piped up a sleepy songbird in a nest. “I did the tweeting myself.”

  Mama peered into the single room. It was crammed into the roots of the oak. The carpet was too large. It rolled halfway up two opposite walls. But there was the rocker she’d sent on ahead, and the chipped teapot, and the portrait of Papa propped up on the dresser.

  Mama fluted her voice skyward. “How do we catch the moths?”

  “Light a candle,” advised the owl. “Light a candle in the darkness. Moths can’t resist a flame. They flutter near,
get stuck in the wax, and die. It’s sad but it happens, Ms. Watercress.”

  “Mrs. Watercress,” she corrected him. “I had preferred being Ms., but with my husband so recently gone, it comforts me to use Mrs. for now.”

  “I’ll bid my adieu,” said Lady Cabbage. “If you change your mind and want to send your daughter off to a life of service in a fine home where she can learn some manners, send me word. Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

  The owl cleared his throat. “Bye-bye, Agatha Cabbage. Watch out for the Final Drainpipe.”

  “He had better watch out for me,” she replied. Her chinchilla shivered.

  A wind came up, a distant loon warbled with a lonely voice, and the Watercress family dove into their new digs.

  As Mama fumbled for the box of matches, Cress said, “I could tell you didn’t like that skunk.”

  Mama said, “I’ve never heard of any opera troupe in these woods. I don’t trust folks who put on airs. Stay away from her, Cress. For your own good.”

  7

  WOLVES WALKING THE WALLS

  It’s not so bad, is it?” asked Mama, lighting a brass lantern.

  Cress didn’t answer.

  “It’s only one room,” said Mama, “but doesn’t that make it cozier?”

  “Why did you bother bringing the drapes?” asked Cress. “There aren’t even any windows except that narrow slit where the tree has split.”

  Mama sighed. “We’ll want our privacy, living so close to other folks.”

  Cress turned her back on her mother.

  Kip woke up and looked around. “Papa?” he murmured.

  “We’ll be safer here,” said Mama. “Cress, help me unpack.”

  Kip crawled into the balls of yarn that spilled out of Mama’s valise. When he had finished messing them up, he said again, “Papa!”

  “This is our new home, Kip,” said Mama. “Would you like a biscuit?”

  “PAPA!”

  Cress put some carrot juice in a sippy cup. That usually helped. But Kip threw the sippy cup out the door. He wailed.