Puddlejumpers (5 page)

The moment finally came on the day of the autumn harvest.

CHAPTER SIX

Kidnapped

R
USS AND
S
HAWN
were up before daybreak. Russ made a big breakfast of scrambled eggs with garden vegetables, strong black coffee, and toast slathered in Betty Woodruff's homemade rhubarb jam. For Shawn, he made pureed vegetables to eat with applesauce and milk.

Shawn was turning six months old that day and Russ was already in a celebratory mood. For him, the day of the autumn harvest was the most important day of the year, and surely the happiest. It was the day when his hard work came to fruition. He kissed his son on the crown of his head and said, “Time to get to work, little man.”

In the first light, Russ ran across the yard holding Shawn above his head, pretending he was an airplane. Making a loud sputtering sound, he spun him around and headed toward the barn. “This crazy pilot is flying backward!” he shouted playfully. Shawn, who was facing the house, squealed when he saw Root and Runnel bounding out the dog door. For them, today was a special day, too. It was the day they would harvest their Rainmaker.

In the barn, Russ nestled Shawn in the hay, covered him with his red quilt, then focused on his old John Deere tractor, its green paint chipped and faded. It was on its last legs, and he hoped it would get him through another season. He fetched his toolbox and prepared to battle the quarrelsome engine one more time. He tweaked the timing with a screwdriver, then fiddled with the carburetor, adjusting the flow of gas. When he looked up from his work, Shawn had kicked off the quilt.

Afraid his son might get a chill, Russ set his tools aside and went over to cover him, but when he got there, the quilt had been neatly retucked right to Shawn's chin. Mystified, he was staring at his giggling son when he heard what sounded like a tiny sneeze. Unnerved, he saw two pair of turquoise eyes looking up at him from inside the hay. There was a possum family living in the barn, but possums didn't have eyes like that. He grabbed a pitchfork to shoo away whatever it was, when, behind him, the tractor sputtered to life. Russ rarely cursed, but this time he did. “Godzilla!”

Spooked, Russ went over and turned off the engine, but when he returned to the hay, the eyes had disappeared. He gathered up Shawn and buckled him into his special homemade seat atop the tractor, which adjoined his, but faced backward. He climbed aboard, not noticing that Root and Runnel, with hay still stuck in their hair, were now concealed under the fender. Shifting into gear, he steered the noisy tractor out of the barn and headed for the north slope. He looked back at his son with a resigned smile. “They don't call 'em Johnny Putt-Putts for nothing.”

In the empty barn, the toolbox creaked open and a nine-inch, grease-stained Puddlejumper emerged. Chop wasn't going to miss the big day, no matter what he'd been told. He convinced himself it was a good thing he'd come. After all, he'd just saved the day by starting the tractor. To reward himself, he feasted on milk from the big black-and-white cows.

Once Russ lowered the cutter and began to harvest, he felt again the simple pleasure of knowing he'd found his place in life. He admired the trees along the boundary fence, especially the oaks and maples dressed in their fall colors. He took a deep breath. There was a sweet crispness in the air that promised winter but remembered summer.

The hours passed quickly as the tractor made its way back and forth across the field. Russ sang and told Shawn stories, his own versions of Jack and the Beanstalk and Pinocchio. At the top of the knoll, he pointed to the woods beyond the boundary fence. “Paul Bunyan himself asked me about cutting down that timber. He was riding Babe, his big blue ox,” said Russ. “But I told him, ‘Not on your life, Mr. Bunyan, I'm saving those woods for Shawn.' When you get a little older, we'll go up there and I'll show you all my favorite spots.”

Shawn giggled and Russ laughed. He was sure his son was responding to what he'd said, but Shawn wasn't even listening. He was watching a tiny Puddlejumper skittering across the field, staying close. Russ turned to check on his baby just as Chop vanished under the mown wheat. The only thing he saw was how much Shawn seemed to be enjoying the harvest.

In near darkness, a score of Puddlejumpers watched from their roost along the rafters of the barn as an exhausted Russ, with Shawn in his backpack, fed and watered his cows, pigs, and horses.

When he was finished, Russ closed the barn door and started across the yard. A brisk wind stung his cheek and rain began to patter the ground. “Looks like we might see some big rain tonight,” he said, hustling toward the house as dark clouds gathered in the twilight.

Russ prepared a bottle, then, humming a lullaby, laid Shawn in his crib. He flicked on the Snow White lamp, illuminating the elfin mobile dangling just above the baby's head. He washed his son with a warm moist cloth, then blew his lips in a noisy sputter against the baby's belly, which made Shawn giggle.

Outside, a steady rain was falling.

“If this rain ever quits, we'll get the rest of our wheat in—what do you say?” asked Russ, knowing that the long-grain wheat in the field south of the barn still needed another week in the ground. He shook a few drops of milk from the baby bottle onto his wrist to make sure it was the right temperature. Shawn babbled as if trying to talk with his dad.

“No, you cannot run the tractor,” Russ teased. “Maybe next year if you walk the straight and narrow.” He kissed his baby, then gave him the bottle. “Okay, my little farmer, go for it.”

A sharp knocking rattled the kitchen door.

“Coming,” he called, then snugged the quilt around his baby boy. A persistent
RAT-A-TAT-TAT
echoed from the kitchen. Russ tapped the mobile, which sent the carved figures dancing chaotically around the Crystal Acorn. Shawn pumped his legs and squealed with delight. “You sure like those little guys, don't you?”

As soon as his father left the room, Shawn dropped his bottle and reached for the dancing elves.

Annoyed by the persistent knocking, Russ hollered, “All right, already,” as he hurried through the kitchen. When he opened the door, no one was there, but his cows and pigs were wandering around the rain-swept yard. Pitch snapped at their heels, trying to herd them back into the barn. One of his horses was trotting up the muddy drive toward the highway.

“God-zilla!” cursed Russ as he dashed out into the storm.

In the nursery, Shawn giggled as Root and Runnel pattered along the railing. Runnel jumped into the crib and stuffed a teething ring into the baby's mouth to keep him quiet. Root drew a sharpened stone from his belt and slashed the Crystal Acorn from the mobile, then held it up to signal the others.

Pandemonium ensued as Buck and Cully pried open the window and led a gaggle of Puddlejumpers into the room. Dashing every which way, they stuffed a burlap sack with toys, teething rings, bottles, clothes, and the Snow White lamp, setting the loot aglow.

At the window, Chop pulled his chin up to the sill and peeked inside, his eyes wide with excitement. Convinced he could help, he vaulted into the room and joined the fray, but he was one too many Jumpers thrashing through the bureau. It tilted off its axis, wobbling dangerously back and forth.

Outside, Russ was returning his horse to the barn when a crashing sound from the house snapped him to attention. Abandoning the animal, he sprinted for the porch and hurdled the steps in a single leap. He raced through the kitchen, down the hall, and banged open the door. His baby's room was in complete disarray—the bureau toppled and clothes strewn across the floor. The window was open and the curtains, wet with rain, billowed inward. What he saw next was more terrible than any nightmare.

The crib was empty.

“Oh God, please no!” he prayed. The Crystal Acorn was gone, too. Only the dancing elves remained.

Backing away from the crib, Russ stepped on something under the rug. It was Chop, the only Jumper who hadn't made it out. His shrill cry sent Russ' heart to his throat and he stumbled into the wall, barely glimpsing a shadow leaping out the window. He rushed to the sill and peered into the dark. Just beneath him, Chop pressed against the house, shivering in fear. Thunder boomed and lightning streaked the sky. Russ saw a glowing bundle disappear into the wheat and heard a chorus of high-pitched hooting.
“Hooty-hoo! Hooty-hoo! Hooty-hoo!”
It sounded like a cross between an owl's eerie call and a loon's mournful cry. It was a sound he'd never heard before.

Russ leapt out the window and bolted across the yard. “No!” he screamed. “Shawn!”

But the Puddlejumpers had no intention of getting caught as they careened through the wheat aboard the wagons drawn by their raccoons. Squinting into the hard rain, Buck commanded the first wagon with a skittle of Puddlejumpers crammed in the back. They hung on tightly as their wagon bounced over the muddy furrows and up the slope. Root steered the second one, Runnel riding behind with the baby. She did her utmost to keep Shawn comfortable, but he kicked and screamed, testing her already frayed nerves. Cully piloted the third wagon, hauling the sack of glowing loot.

At the top of the ridge, where Russ' farm ended and the woods began, Buck shouted a warning and the Jumpers ducked as their wagon shot under the split-rail fence. Root reached back to make sure that Runnel stayed low. Cully ducked, too, but his wagon slammed to a halt. He somersaulted over his coons and landed hard on his back. The overstuffed sack had wedged against the lower rail.

Buck and Root dashed back to help Cully to his feet. He stumbled groggily, but Russ' shouts and Pitch's barks from the other side of the rise quickly revived him. The Jumpers pulled and pushed and squeezed the sack in a frantic effort to get it under the rail. Finally Root yanked out the quilt and the wagon barely cleared the fence. Unwilling to leave anything behind, he dragged it back to his wagon and they were off, the quilt flapping like a flag in a tempestuous wind.

The Puddlejumpers raced desperately through the trees, searching for the hatchway. Glancing behind, Buck saw the dog bounding over the fence and charging after them. Pitch was closing in fast when Buck finally spotted the puddle beneath a giant oak. He smacked into the water like a falling star, straight and true. Root ramped off one of the tree's exposed roots, tipping so steeply that he lost hold of the quilt before he could recover his wagon and make the passage. Cully's wagon jumped right behind, disappearing down the puddle's black hole into the earth.

Just as fast as it opened, the hatchway closed. Raindrops pattered the puddle's surface as if nothing had happened.

Russ jumped the fence and entered the woods at a full run. Under the dark forest canopy, he stumbled and fell, scraping his chin.
How can this be happening? Who would do it?
He picked himself up and continued on.
Why would they do it? Why?!

Up ahead, Pitch was circling a puddle beneath one of the big oak trees. When Russ caught up, he saw that she had something between her teeth.
Shawn's quilt.
He stifled a sob, his body shivering in the rain. “Drop it,” he said quietly. She obediently let Russ take it. “Good dog.” Breathing hard, he crouched to scratch her behind the ears. She whined and prodded him with her nose. “What is it, girl?” He scanned the woods, hoping to glimpse the light flitting through the trees. He put the quilt to his dog's nose. “Okay, let's go—you find him, you find our boy.” He started off, but the dog didn't budge, barking and pawing the water. “Pitch, come!” Russ commanded.