Emmy and the Home For Troubled Girls (11 page)

“No, I want them to learn,” snapped Miss Barmy. “Besides, they need the exercise.”

Merry looked as if she were getting dizzy. “I'll help,” said Ana suddenly. “Let Merry get off for a while.”

Miss Barmy ignored her. “Bring me the archery set, Cheswick.”

Ana stiffened as Cheswick pulled a bow and arrows out of his sack. Was he going to shoot her? But no. Miss Barmy put the bow in Ana's hands, and
notched an arrow to the string. Ana flinched slightly at the touch of her claws.

“There you are, dear. While the other girls are cutting glass, I want you to practice archery. Shoot this arrow as high as you can, over and over. When you can shoot it over the third shelf up, I'll let your little friends rest.”

Ana glanced at the girls' faces, already weary, and felt a slow, cold anger. Somewhere in the distance, church bells rang faintly once more, but this time she didn't bother to pray. “Why are you making us do this?”

Miss Barmy smiled with all her pointed teeth. “Why, for your health, of course. And that reminds me. Father, shut that window, and don't open it again. Too much fresh air is bad for little girls.”

L
IGHT FILTERED THROUGH
stained glass and fell in patches of bright color on Emmy's lap. She tried to listen to the organ, the deep humming tones that filled the whole church with sound—but she couldn't stop thinking about the party at Rodent City.

She and Joe had gotten away as quickly as they could after Miss Barmy's announcement, but it had seemed an eternity before they were back at the Antique Rat, with Sissy kissing their cheeks to grow them back to their true size. Emmy hadn't drawn an easy breath until she was back at home and in her own bed.

What a horrible night it had been. And she felt so helpless. Miss Barmy was up to something—she knew that in her bones. But she had no proof.

The congregation shuffled to its feet for the first hymn, and Emmy looked over her shoulder as late-comers filed in. A familiar pudgy figure trudged
down the aisle, stopping to put a piece of paper in the box marked “Prayers.”

What was Thomas so worried about that he had to put it in the prayer box?

The hymn was over. Emmy sat down and tried to listen, but it was just announcements.

All right, so maybe Miss Barmy was planning something. Why should Emmy care what happened in Rodent City, anyway? She had plans for this summer, and they didn't include her rodent friends. Her friends—ha! Mrs. Bunjee had turned against her, and Chippy had gone crazy for Miss Barmy. Sissy tried too hard, and as for Gus—if only to avoid Gus the gopher, Emmy would happily never set foot in Rodent City again. And Ratty? He was probably rehearsing with the Swinging Gerbils, and good luck to him.

Everyone stood up again, this time for prayers. Emmy shifted her weight as an usher brought up the request box … The pastor was reading them now. Most of the names Emmy didn't recognize. Her mind drifted off …

“Ana. Berit.”

Emmy's head snapped up.

“Lisa. Lee.”

Emmy turned her head to look for Thomas. He was sitting with his head bowed.

“Merry Pumpkin.”

Emmy shrugged uneasily. Thomas could pray for a miracle if he liked, but she, for one, planned to forget about the girls. If the police couldn't find them, there was certainly nothing
she
could do.

 

Emmy sat alone on the sidelines of the soccer field. Joe's team seemed to be winning, but she didn't want to ask the score. The only people she knew (besides Thomas, who was chasing grasshoppers) were Joe's parents, Peter Peebles, and the girls who were sitting on a small grassy knoll beneath a shade tree.

Joe's father yelled too much. She had embarrassed herself in front of Mr. Peebles. And as for the girls, Emmy knew what they thought of her. “Stuck-up,” Kate had said to Meg and Sara, and “I'm never going to ask her to do
anything
again.”

Emmy felt the heat rise to her cheeks. If only she
were
stuck-up, it would be easy. She wouldn't care whether they liked her or not.

But she did care. She cared more than anything.

“Hey!”

Emmy looked around, then down. Of course; she should have known it would be another rodent. This one was small, round, and bouncy. Had it been at the party?

“Why are you crying?” The mouse jumped on her knee. Its fur was a soft tan, with a white star-shaped patch on the back of its head, and its tail was a long and delicate question mark.

“I'm
not
crying,” Emmy said stiffly.

“Close enough.” The mouse scanned her critically. “Listen, sad-eyes. What is it you want?”

“Nothing,” mumbled Emmy. She wasn't going to tell her problems to a mouse, no matter how cute.

“Don't give me that.” The mouse put a paw on its hip. “Make a wish. Pick one thing you really want, and tell me.”

Emmy sighed. “That you would go away?”

The mouse blinked up at her, and Emmy felt suddenly ashamed. “Sorry, I didn't mean that. Let's see.” She hesitated, looking around for inspiration.

“Do you want a new bike? More toys? World peace?”

“Sure. I'll take world peace.”

“Just kidding. World peace is for everyone. Pick something for
you
.”

Emmy smiled. She was starting to like this little mouse. She looked across at the group of girls—larger now, more had joined them—and pointed at them with her chin. “Okay, then, I wish I could go to a pool party with those girls. Or a sleepover.”

“Is that all?”

“That's a lot,” said Emmy. “Because it will never happen.”

“I don't know,” said the mouse. “Why don't you go over there and say hi?”

Emmy shook her head.

“Just do it,” urged the mouse. “What's the worst that could happen?”

“They could laugh at me,” said Emmy promptly, “or ignore me, or say something mean, or trip me and pretend it was an accident, or—”

“They don't look
that
mean,” said the mouse, squinting. “Go on. You won't get your wish if you don't take the first step.”

Emmy watched the mouse bounding away—it jumped an amazing distance for such a little thing—and thought about what it had said. It was true that
the girls weren't really mean. They just had gotten the wrong idea about her.

Well, maybe it was worth a shot. Her heart beating lightly in her throat, Emmy walked along the sidelines. She would speak to Joe's parents after all, and on the way …

“Hi!” said Emmy, as she walked by Meg and Kate. Then she was past, and breathing again. At least she had shown them she wasn't as stuck-up as they'd thought—

“Hey, Emmy!” Meg ran up behind her and fell into step. “Listen, my mom said I could have a sleepover tonight. Do you want to come?”

Stunned, Emmy tried to act normal. “Sure—I'll just have to ask my parents.” She thought of something else to say. “Should I bring anything? Chips?”

“Just your swimsuit. It's going to be a pool party, and we're having pizza, too.”

Feeling as if she were in a dream, Emmy asked to borrow Mrs. Benson's cell phone. As she punched in her number, she dimly heard Mr. Peebles tell the Bensons that he couldn't stay but hadn't been able to resist stopping by to see how Joe was doing.

“After all, he's my—let's see—not a nephew, exactly …”

“You're my cousin, Peter,” said Mrs. Benson promptly. “So that makes him—”

“Hello, Mom?” said Emmy into the phone. “Oh, Maggie. Could you get Mom, please?”

“—first cousin once removed,” finished Mrs. Benson.

“Close enough,” said Mr. Benson. “Look at that boy go!”

At last Emmy's mother got on the phone and gave permission. Mr. Peebles walked back to his office, and Emmy shyly joined Meg and her friends on their blanket.

Of course it was just a coincidence that she'd been invited, Emmy thought as she sat with the girls. The tan-and-white mouse had just given the advice grown-ups always gave—to smile, be friendly, say hi. And for once it had happened to work. There was nothing mysterious about it at all. And the fact that it was a sleepover
and
a pool party—well, that was coincidence, too. Kids had parties like that all the time.

There was a sudden commotion near the tree trunk behind Emmy. “Oh, he's so cute!” squealed one of the girls.

“Good doggie,” coaxed Meg. “Do you want to play?”

Emmy turned to see a white puppy frisking at the edge of the blanket. He had dropped a stick, curiously wrapped with paper and twine, right in front of Kate.

“Ugh, dog slobber,” said Kate.
“I'm
not throwing that thing.”

“Why is it all tied up like that?” wondered Sara aloud.

“Hey, there's writing on it. Cut the string, somebody. Who's got a nail clipper?”

Meg had a jackknife in her pocket, and worked the blade under the tight strings, wet with dog drool.

“Read it, Meg.”

“What does it say?”

“Not much—it's all chewed and wet. See?”

“It says, ‘help us,'” said Kate, looking closely at the paper, “and here's another word—might be ‘up'—up something. ‘Upsies'?”

“‘Upstairs,'” said Meg, looking over Kate's shoulder. “And ‘prison'—no, it's ‘prisoners.' Here, unfold it—there's another line. ‘We are only four inches tall'…”

The girls all laughed.

“It's just some kids pretending,” said Meg. “Here,
puppy, go fetch!” She tossed the stick, and the puppy shot off, barking happily.

“Does anybody know these kids?” asked Kate. “Ana, Berit, Lee something—I can't read the rest …”

Emmy caught her breath. “Could I see that?”

She looked at the paper in her hand, and the pieces suddenly fit together. Of course the police hadn't found the girls when they'd searched. They would have been looking for full-sized children, not girls that could fit inside a teacup.

Emmy got up, unable to sit still any longer. “Just stretching my legs,” she said vaguely. She walked off and looked at the paper in the sun. Yes, there they were: five signatures, faint and wet, but still legible if you knew what to look for. She could see the long tail of Merry's “y” curving past a chewed part.

Prisoners … upstairs … at the Home for Troubled Girls. Five girls, smart and brave enough to send a message the only way they knew how. Hoping that whoever got it would figure out how to find them.

Emmy walked slowly back to the shade tree. She could report this to the police and ask them to
search again, but what good would that do? They'd just laugh, and tell her to stop playing.

The professor would believe her. He would know what to do next.

Emmy folded the paper carefully and put it in her pocket. Out on the field, someone blew a whistle. And at her feet, there was a tiny sneeze.

Emmy glanced down to see a rat's face poking from a hole in the ground, and flinched. Not Sissy, not now … She walked on, hoping Sissy would get the hint.

“Pssst! Emmy!” said Cecilia, trotting after.

Emmy turned, irate. Hadn't anyone at the Speedy Rodent Messenger Service told her to stay far from crowds? Hadn't anyone taught her the first rule of rodent safety?

“A message for Emmy Addison, from Raston Rat …” Sissy's nose was running again, but her words were clear.

Emmy squatted down and pretended to watch the game. Whoops—it was halftime already. All right, she would pretend to adjust her sandal strap. “Go away, Sissy,” she said, very low. “Go back down the tunnel. It's not safe here.”

“But Raston says Chippy's going to—”

“Shhh!” Emmy began to walk away. Surely even Sissy wouldn't dare to come any farther.

“Eeeeek!”
Sara stood up and pointed, hysterical. “Emmy, run! There's a
rat
!”

Screams came from the girls on the blanket, and Kate bent to scoop something from the ground. “Scram!” she cried, and threw a rock.

Emmy froze as the other girls snatched more rocks. Sissy was too far from the tunnel.

Turn around, go back, Emmy thought urgently. I can't save you, these girls think I'm weird enough as it is …

Stones rattled on either side of the rat. Sissy shot one terrified look up at Emmy, then whirled in desperation and ran the wrong way. Someone threw a rock that hit her hard, flipping her onto her side with a high-pitched squeal that pierced Emmy's heart.

“No!” Emmy cried, too late to do any good. She ran toward the girls with her hands outstretched. “It's okay, I'm okay, don't throw any more—look!” she said with false brightness. “It's halftime!”

Somehow she convinced them all that it was only
a ground squirrel, that it was no threat, that Joe had waved to one of them to come over—no, she didn't know which one—yes, he was the cutest boy in class, she thought so, too …

Emmy chattered on until their attention was solidly on something else, and then she sneaked a backward look. Sissy, trailing a thin line of blood, was dragging herself along the ground. As Emmy watched, the slender gray rat inched into a tunnel and slowly disappeared.