Today we are featuring Inklings Book Contest 2019 finalist, Lila Tierney! Lila finished 5th grade this past school year. The story she submitted is called “The Chestnut Tree”
A crisp November wind was blowing across the pastures and copses of Yorkshire. It threatened to sweep away the ribboned hat of a young woman, who was struggling against the gale. She wore a stylish tweed coat and carried an easel. Presently, she reached a small cottage with peeling blue paint. After fumbling with a key she slipped inside. Hanging up her coat, she brushed the red locks of hair away from her face and glanced around the cottage. Lucinda, seeking tranquility, had rented the cottage for a few months. She had worked hard to be accepted into art school, and now her position depended on her producing a painting. Every time she tried to paint, however, it wasn’t right. She heaved a sigh and started unpacking.
As it happened, another person was sighing at the same time – a very different person. Quilliam Hughes gazed out of the window of his old farmhouse. As usual, something was troubling him, perhaps because of his previous position. Quilliam had recently retired from the Detective Office of Suspicious Parcels and moved to the country. He had hoped to calm his mind and find a sense of security. There was a small cottage on the grounds left over from the sharecropper days. Now, he letted it out to traveling artists. There was one who moved in today. That didn’t trouble him though. What kept him pacing at the window was the old Sweet Chestnut tree.
Nico was the oldest chipmunk in the tree, and he was only nine. His brother, Desi, a bundle of energy, was six and very proud of it. As mice only live a couple of years, all of the mice were old. There were two hedgehogs, Ema and her younger brother, Oliver. Ema was remarkably bold, for a hedgehog. Oliver tried to keep up, but often fell short. He had recently broken his foot in an accident – well, not entirely accidental, thought Ema, being that the “accident” was skiing down the staircase on bark chips. He had mostly recovered, but his foot was still sore.
The Chestnut was a vertical town. It used to be surrounded by a small grove of trees, but over the years, the trees were cut down, and the former residents moved into the last tree standing. As such, there were many different species calling the tree home. One of the more notorious groups were the rats: Graeme, Nate, and Solly. They were followed everywhere by Humphrey, an earnest opossum. The four legged animals occupied the trunk, and the birds nested throughout the branches. Everyone contributed to the winter store of chestnuts, seeds, and berries.
Quilliam was very nervous that the Chestnut might fall on his house. After all, he thought, it’s very old, and old trees come down, one way or another. He considered hiring a logger… The buzz of the doorbell interrupted his thoughts, and he rose to answer it. Standing on his front stoop was a postman with several parcels.
“Mr. Hughes! Good afternoon!” The jaunty mailman was used to delivering to Quilliam the many things he ordered by telephone. “Heard there’s going to be a right big storm coming.” The postman was sometimes referred to as Lumpy, because he was a bit clumsy, but always good-natured, even if he tended to confuse Quilliam’s parcels. On one occasion, a bewildered Quilliam received a pair of lady’s pink wellies, and another time, a box of toddler-safe crayons.
“Do you have the herbicide and the mouse traps?” inquired Quilliam, feeling one of his packages.
“Yes,” replied the postman, “and the new cat harness and leash.” Quilliam began hefting the boxes inside. After a moment, he turned back and asked loudly to the postman, who was now down the lane, “Wh-when is that storm hitting?” trying to be nonchalant.
“In about two days’ time!” returned Lumpy, casually. Quilliam hurried back inside and feverishly made a note on his calendar.
The postman continued on his rounds cheerfully. He paused at the blue cottage and consulted his list. There was a parcel for a Lucinda Wintergreen. He extracted it with some difficulty from his bag, and strolled up the path, humming. After he rapped smartly on the front door, it was opened by a woman wearing a blue smock. She held a paintbrush, and there were two more twisted into a curly mop of red hair. “Yes?” she said, rather impatiently.
“Oh, there is a parcel for you… Ms. Wintergreen?”
“Yes. That would be the produce and canvases. You didn’t… drop them?” she asked, noticing some small dents.
“No, of course not!” replied Lumpy, somewhat miffed. As Lucinda went inside, the postman, being a little nosy for gossip’s sake, peeked in behind her. The room was filled with canvases, brushes, and paints. On an easel stood a painting with colors washed together and not depicting anything recognizable. Hmmmm, thought Lumpy, as he sauntered off.
Lucinda carefully arranged a bowl of fruit (two apples, ten blueberries, one pear) and sat down to paint. After about twenty minutes, she eyed her work. The colors were runny and resembled nothing like a bowl of fruit. Lucinda threw down the paintbrush. Her grandmother’s old adage came to mind. Don’t try to make a masterpiece in a bad mood. Make food, instead. Oddly enough, this always worked for Lucinda. She glanced out the window. It was getting close to suppertime anyway. She decided a baked apple would do the trick. Selecting the plumpest apple, Lucinda carefully cored it and filled the hole with heaps of butter, cinnamon and brown sugar. She gently placed her encouragement in the oven. When the timer buzzed, she pulled out the steaming treasure, set it on the cooling rack, and went up for a quick shower.
As soon as she left, a small striped head peeked over the sill of the open window. The little, bright eyed chipmunk surveyed the room before squeaking excitedly and toppling out of sight. “Hush, Desi,” whispered his brother. “We mustn’t get caught.”
“But Nico, I saw a baked apple just sitting there. That must have been what we smelled earlier! Come on!” He scampered back into the warm kitchen pulling Nico after him. A squabbling Ema and Oliver followed close behind with the rats in tow. Bringing up the rear was Humphrey, wearing a cat harness and hoping to be part of something. Nate, who was generally admired for his quick thinking and agility, scurried onto the cooling rack and tossed down Lucinda’s baked apple. The rest of them struggled to secure the apple to Humphrey’s harness. Throughout the process, there was of course, the destined drama of so-and-so stepping on Oliver’s bad foot, Ema insisting that Oliver complained only for attention, and Nate arguing passionately with Solly about whether the apple should face front or back, as though it mattered.
Suddenly, the water upstairs stopped, and there was the sound of the shower door opening. The quarrels abruptly ceased. Everyone piled out the window (Oliver moving remarkably quickly, given the laments about his foot) and made a bee-line to the tree, delighted with their buttery prisoner.
Lucinda, instead of wearing robes or pajamas, wore footies, a remnant of her childhood she just couldn’t forego. As she grew up, she purchased them in larger and larger sizes. The smell of cinnamon and butter filled the house, and she smiled, as she padded into the kitchen to devour her snack. Her smile quickly faded, however, when she saw the empty cooling rack. Lucinda checked everywhere, and at last came to the conclusion that it had to have been stolen, but by whom? Quilliam was the only person to behold in a ten mile radius. Would he? He did seem a little odd.
The next day, as the morning veggie delivery arrived, Lucinda absentmindedly muttered something to herself about Quilliam stealing her baked apple.
“Pardon?” said the postman.
“Oh, I just said I hope Mr. Hughes enjoyed my baked apple,” replied Lucinda bitterly. Upon seeing the Lumpy’s bemused look, she relayed the events of the previous night. The postman agreed it was rather strange, however, he noted that Quilliam did not much like sweets.
“But, he likes weed repellant,” said Lumpy, brightening. He scratched his head. “And ant repellant… and bug repellant… and mouse repellant… and…”
“Fascinating,” interrupted Lucinda dismissively, not looking for a litany of Quilliam’s weapons against the natural world. “He seems to be afraid of everything that doesn’t come in a bottle with a list of ingredients printed on the side!”
The postman, fearing he left Lucinda with an overly harsh opinion of Quilliam, leaped to his defense.
“Mr. Hughes isn’t against nature. He is very fond of his cat. He gets him all sorts of collars, treats, and medicaments. He got him a little harness.” Lucinda stared at him quizzically. “Well, good day,” he said quickly and set off down the lane, leaving Lucinda thoroughly perplexed.
Quilliam had decided to take his cat for a walk in the pasture that morning. Envisioning the two of them strolling along, just a fellow and his trusty companion, Quilliam went to find Sarek. As he passed the pantry, where his repellants were kept, he realized there could be yellow jackets in the fields. He hated them. If they were around, he was almost guaranteed to be stung. He grabbed some repellant and walked into the kitchen. After some thought, he turned back and got a second one. Soon thereafter, Quilliam was suited up in his “safari outfit,” which was not well suited for safaris, as it covered him from neck to ankle and included a special belt for holding repellants. He put on a large hat, coated himself and a protesting Sarek with bug spray, and proceeded to the door.
At the door, he realized that Sarek was no longer with him. Muttering, he extracted the cat from under the couch, carefully squeezed him into his new harness, and attached the leash. Sarek took two tentative steps and melted, as if he were a mollusk, his legs rendered useless, allowing himself to be dragged across the floor, like a silky black mop, to the door. Quilliam paused, and dabbed his brow with his handkerchief. He cast a disappointed look upon Sarek, who remained flaccid and unphased. With a sigh of defeat, Quilliam gave up on The Outing. Instead, he changed into a comfortable brown suit, and sat down to sip coffee and read the paper, the aroma of bug spray still lingering in the room.
The Chipmunks woke first. Nico nudged his brother, and Desi “nudged” everyone else by banging on The Pot. (The Pot had quite some background, having been lost from a doll house and then triumphantly discovered by Uncle Blue Jay.) Ema looked at Desi with daggers in her eyes, grumbling sleepily, as she waddled toward the kitchen along with the rest of the youngsters. The mood turned somber quickly, however, when they saw the looks on the elders’ faces, who were gathered around the partially eaten baked apple. No one spoke, until Grandma Mouse turned to face them, all hovering on the stairs, and demanded, “What is the meaning of this!?” Ema (now fully awake) hesitantly explained that they thought the elders would be pleased. They ate a little bit, but the bulk of the apple was a contribution to the winter store.
Grandpa Mouse took a stern tone. “The winter store is supposed to be chestnuts, seeds, and berries. These things keep well throughout the harsh season. Baked apples do not.”
Auntie Robin joined in the scolding. “We don’t steal!” That seemed to make Uncle Blue Jay a little nervous.
“Well,” said Uncle Blue Jay, “we don’t steal big things, like someone’s dinner!” Most of the youngsters were remorseful. Nate, however, was secretly pleased with their escapade, but kept his eyes fixed to the ground.
There was a noticeable change in the seasons as the winds grew even colder and leaves were blown about. Soon the first frosts came. Lucinda continued fruitlessly to construct her masterpiece. Her parcels arrived bent and occasionally soggy, as a red nosed Lumpy “carefully” stuffed them under his coat to protect them from the bleak weather. Quilliam and Sarek stayed indoors under a plaid blanket near the fire. Life in the tree began to quiet down, as there were fewer comings and goings, and much more sleep.
“Hello, Clark’s Logging. May I help you?”
“Hello, sir. This is Mr. Hughes. I have a tree… A Sweet Chestnut, I believe… yes… I’d like to have it felled. No… it doesn’t seem to be sick or damaged… But, I just… Trees can fall, you know!” Annoyed at receiving the interrogation, Quilliam asserted himself. “I’m the property owner, and I want it down. If you don’t want the contract, I’ll phone someone else…. Yes. Wednesday. 9362 Windsor Drive.” Quilliam hung up and absentmindedly stroked a purring Sarek, who was wearing a green cat sweater.
Wednesday was bitter cold and came with a dusting of snow. Lucinda saw from her window several heavy trucks lumbering past the cottage up to Quilliam’s house. What kind of large project could Quilliam be doing in December? thought Lucinda, as Sarek ran quickly in the opposite direction of the trucks, in a striped sweater. When the loud noises began, Lucinda decided to head into town for the day to escape the din.
Grandma Mouse arrived at the cottage breathless and truly shocked. She stared back at the massive Chestnut tragically lying on the ground like a fallen heroine. Her family had lived in the tree for generations… so much life… so much was lost. She waved a paw to beckon Humphrey to the crack in the exterior siding. He was loping along slower than usual, because he had six terrified chipmunks clinging to his back. Desi was crying. One by one, the animals found their way, and the spaces in the walls filled up quickly. Grandpa Mouse led them to the attic, and they stood, staring at each other, speechless. The loss of the tree was overwhelming. The loss of the winter store was dire. There was nothing to eat, and it had just begun to snow.
The next morning, Lucinda awoke to the sound of scratching near the head of her bed. She jumped up and realized that the sound was coming from inside the wall. “Hmm,” mused Lucinda. After a moment of puzzlement she put on her footies and went downstairs to stir up some oatmeal. Her outing the day before had been lovely, and as she looked out the window, the first snow of the season had turned the landscape into a magical fairyland.
“Wha…?!” she gasped. “The tree!!” That tree was over a hundred years old… thought Lucinda. What does that man have against nature?! She felt so angry and sad at the same time. Why couldn’t Quilliam just let the tree be an old tree? Disgusted, she abandoned her breakfast and went to paint. Sometimes painting made things clearer.
When everyone awoke from an awkward haphazard sleep, Grandma Mouse and Auntie Robin gathered the animals to make a plan.
“The birds can continue to look for food from far away, but with the snow, there won’t be much to find,” offered Auntie Robin.
Grandma Mouse then announced, “We have to face it. This winter will be a hungry one, but we can do it. We have each other, and though I don’t relish the thought, we will have to steal some food from the human to survive.” Uncle Blue Jay delighted in the idea that he might finally be appreciated.
Ema and Oliver had been tasked with stealing two blueberries. Seeing Lucinda absorbed in her watercolors, they carefully crept from behind the breadbox and crossed a wooden spoon to the table. There sat the fruit bowl, so beautifully arranged, it could have been a painting. Ema darted out and grabbed a blueberry. Then it was Oliver’s turn. Not as agile, he slipped on the edge of the bowl and tumbled in. Ema gasped. Oliver emerged however, his prize in hand. Just then, Lucinda peeked around the edge of her canvas to more closely examine how the light reflected on the berry she was painting. Instead, her eyes landed on a stunned hedgehog sitting in her fruit bowl, staring back at her, holding a blueberry with both paws. Trying not to laugh, she picked up a carrot she had been snacking on and set it right next to a petrified Oliver. After a moment Oliver sprang into action, sticking the blueberry to one of his quills, grabbing the carrot, and waddling like lightning across the spoon and out of sight. Lucinda had never seen anything so cute in her life.
“Ms. Wintergreen? Parcel.” Lumpy arrived with a package of organic carrots, turnips, apples, more paint and canvases, and a pair of red footies. “Are you expecting guests? I couldn’t help notice your vegetable order has gotten a lot heavier,” remarked Lumpy.
“I eat more in winter.” Lucinda tried to brush him off, as she quickly placed her foot in the door to block Sarek entering. He had been lurking around a lot lately, no doubt because of her new housemates. Foiled again, Sarek trotted home through the snow, his new red sweater snug around him.
“Mr. Hughes? Parcel.” Lumpy arrived at Quilliam’s with a package of rat traps, rat pesticides, more Harold’s Household Pest sprays, and a Christmas elf hat made for cats.
“Thank you!” said Quilliam with a sigh of relief. Ever since the tree came down, he’d had a rat problem.
“We won’t get caught,” wheedled Solly.
“I’m not worried about the human. It’s the cat. He’s really clever… and sneaky… and he wears the most ridiculous clothes,” snickered Graeme. They all cracked up at the thought of Sarek slinking around in his sweater and matching booties.
“He may be fast in summer, but he has no traction in those cat slippers,” cracked Nate to a renewed cacophony of laughter.
“Alright, but be quick. Get the cheese and get out,” relented Graeme. They slunk through a gap in the baseboard and emerged into the kitchen, just as Quilliam entered. He glanced down, saw the four rats, and let out a strangled yell. “WHAAAGHHH!” With surprising agility he leapt onto a chair, and brandished a can of Rat-B-Gone. Avoiding the spray, the rats scurried into the parlor and under the sofa. Silently, they darted one by one out, around the carefully laid rat trap, and into the wall; all except Graeme, whose tail was being held by one well insulated cat bootie.
Lucinda regularly left food for her “guests,” and the hedgehogs had become quite friendly with her. She knew she probably shouldn’t be feeding them, but where else could they go? It serves Quilliam right – chopping down their home in the middle of winter, thought Lucinda. In fact tonight she had a plan to try to lure them out – baked apples. When the aroma of apples, cinnamon, and butter filled the kitchen, Lucinda put the concoction on the floor and waited. Unable to resist, Desi and then Nico emerged and took a bite. No longer fearful and enticed by the smells, one by one, the entire attic emptied into the cozy kitchen.
As Lucinda watched them feasting, she had an idea. Quietly, she started painting. The warm, brilliant colors splashed across and over, from the apple depicted in browns and reds to the little animals with their big eyes and soft fur. At last Lucinda wrote on the back of the canvas, Warmth.
Without thinking Quilliam scooped Graeme away from Sarek. Quilliam could not believe he had just saved a rat! But as he looked at the little creature, barely breathing, he couldn’t kill it. He put it into a cage with a cat blanket, and poked in a microwaveable hotdog.
The next morning, Quilliam looked up from reading the paper to find the rat standing on its back legs staring at him. Quilliam moved over to the pantry, and the rat moved too, continuing to stare. Donning some goggles, Quilliam moved very closely to the cage and examined his prisoner. It had a cute pink nose that wiggled, twitchy whiskers, and soft looking fur. Quilliam couldn’t help himself. He stuck his finger into the cage… and Graeme licked it. Tickled, Quilliam jumped and let out a giggle.
Much to his displeasure, Sarek found himself plopped in the pantry and the louvered door shut tight. He observed Quilliam, who was laying a complex trail of maraschino cherries throughout the parlor which led to a prized hotdog under a box. Then, Quilliam released the rat. Graeme, who had never tasted anything so good as a maraschino cherry, devoured his way through the trail, lifted the box, and rescued the hotdog. Delighted with the responsive nature of his new pet, Quilliam pronounced, “I shall name you Bart!”
Graeme winced.
“Psssssst,” hissed Nate from the crack in the wall. In a flash, Graeme disappeared and rejoined his friends. Deflated, Quilliam wiped up the cherry juice and allowed an indignant Sarek out of the pantry. Why would Bart leave me? thought the wounded Quilliam. As he pondered longer though, he thought, Why should Bart like me? Quilliam could no longer deny that the rat problem had to be connected to the tree, and he felt remorseful for felling it. I destroyed Bart’s nest.
The next morning Quilliam sat reading the paper. With a strange feeling, he peeked around his paper to find Bart, sitting on his hind legs staring at him. Quilliam’s eyes grew wide, and he was filled with the kind of joy one feels when reuniting with a long lost friend. He leapt up from the table, tossed Sarek into the pantry, and laid a trail of cherries for Bart.
“Parcel, Mr. Hughes!”
Quilliam practically danced to the door. “These are some interesting items, Mr. Hughes; none of the usuals: hamster trapeze, apples, maraschino cherries, and a tiny studded collar.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Quilliam, as he nudged the nosy postman’s toe out of the door. “That’ll be all.”
~~~ Epilogue ~~~
Daffodils and the warm sunshine announced springtime. Robins hopped around in the green grass, and Lumpy struggled up the path carrying a bag of fertilizer and a large shovel. Quilliam thanked him, and asked him to carry the items to the back and set them next to the 7 foot tall Sweet Chestnut sapling that was leaning against the window.
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