CHRISTMAS ON VALLEY VIEW FARM
by
Brian K. Nash
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 by Brian Nash
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Chapter 1
The wind moaned around the eaves as it blew large snowflakes against the windows of the old one–room schoolhouse. The building sat nestled in a grove of elm trees far out in the country. The door rattled slightly as the winter storm continued to pick up force. The oak logs in the cast–iron stove that sat near the coatroom door crackled as they burned, making the room cozy and warm. Children from the first through the fifth grade had studied their lessons for over one hundred years in this schoolhouse. It was so old that some of the nails were square instead of round, the kind used in construction during the 1800s.
Just a couple of months earlier, in the nearby town of Mitchell, the city council had approved plans for a new elementary school to be built right next to the junior high in the center of town. This made the students in the one–room schoolhouse sad, especially the older ones, who had been at the little country school since first grade. They knew this was the last year before they would have to go school somewhere else.
Ms. Jackson, a slender, dark–haired woman in her mid–forties, put down a book of short stories called The Night Before Christmas, which she had been reading to her students. With a worried expression, she looked out the window at the gray, fast darkening sky. I’ve got to gets these kids out of here and safely back to their homes, she thought as she closed the book and rose to her feet.
“Class, I’m going to dismiss school early so you can all get home before this storm gets really bad. You all have your homework assignments, and I want you to get your lessons done right away. That way, you’ll be able to enjoy your Christmas vacation without having to worry about school.”
The kids all cheered and clapped as they thought about the two wonderful, long weeks that stretched in front of them, two weeks filled with endless possibilities of having lots of fun. Some of them would sleep in after staying up late watching TV and listening to their radios. Others, especially the farm kids, would have to get up early and help with the milking and other chores around their farms. That didn’t bother them, though, because they were used to it; doing chores was a way of life for them. Later, they would have a great time sledding and ice–skating. And if there was enough snow, they could even build snowmen.
Some of them would help their parents make homemade ice cream, while others would play indoor games of hide–and–seek, snug and warm, safe from the cold winter weather just outside their doors. A few of the kids would go out of town with their families to visit relatives in other parts of the country.
“Daniel, would you be so kind as to play us one last Christmas carol before I call your parents to pick all of you up?” Ms. Jackson’s gray eyes sparkled with pleasure as she looked fondly at the little red–haired boy named Daniel Riggs sitting in the front row.
He certainly has changed, she thought as the boy walked confidently toward an old–fashioned upright piano in the middle of the room.
At one time, Daniel had been the school bully, but he definitely wasn’t anymore. The great change in him had occurred just a few months earlier, back in September, after he had nearly drowned in the Johnsons’ pond. Ms. Jackson had read somewhere that near–death experiences often change people for the better, and Daniel was living proof of that. He was now talkative and light–hearted. She often saw him helping the younger children with especially difficult math problems, and he was great about keeping the wood box full and opening the doors for girls without even having to be asked.
Once he had been the most disliked child in the school. Now he was one of the most popular kids, having apologized one afternoon to all five classes for his rude and thoughtless behavior in the past. Along with his new attitude of kindness toward both people and animals, he seemed to have gained a new appreciation and love of life.
Daniel was in his fourth year of piano lessons and was getting pretty good. He enjoyed playing for groups of people and especially liked it when they sang along. The music was great today. With the excitement and good cheer felt by all the students, one song turned into two. After they sang “Away in the Manger,” the teacher glanced at her watch. “That’s enough, now!” she said with a smile as she headed for the telephone to call their folks.
After putting on their hats and heavy coats, the boys and girls all rushed outside to play in the snow. Now it was three or four inches deep, and it continued to fall steadily. The playground gradually emptied as cars and farm trucks pulled up to collect the children and take them home for the holidays.
Daniel walked over to an idling car. His new friend Billy Smith was clambering into the back seat.
“Hey, Billy,” said Daniel. He smiled at the boy’s mother, who was adjusting the radio to a country music station. “If we don’t get too much snow, why don’t you come over tomorrow and we’ll go ice skating on the river. Oh, by the way, the Johnsons are having a party on Christmas Eve. If it’s okay with your folks, you’re welcome to come. When they invited me, they told me I could bring a friend.”
“Can I, Mom? Can I?” cried his friend excitedly.
“I don’t see why not, especially since your father and I are going to be there,” Mrs. Smith said, smiling at the boys.
Ms. Jackson locked the heavy front door of the school and headed for her car, now the only one left in the parking lot. Her feet crunched through four or five inches of powdery snow. Her mind was filled with happy thoughts of visiting her parents in sunny Arizona, where they had lived ever since her father had retired five years earlier.
Once her car was on the road, she was glad she didn’t live far from the school. The snow was pelting the windshield so hard she could barely see. If it kept up, they would soon be in the midst of the first blizzard of the season.
* * * * *
Chapter 2
Marshall Mims trudged through his front door, stomping on trash and kicking it out of his way as he entered his shabby, rundown house that sat far back off the road. He opened the door of his old wood stove and tossed in two or three skinny logs. He was in a bad mood because he hadn’t cut very much wood for the long winter ahead, and he hated the thought of all the hard work it would take to get more.
“Why can’t I just be rich and live in Hawaii or somewhere where I’d never have to worry about keeping warm?” he whined to himself as he scuffed his way across his dirty, sagging floor that had a couple of big holes in the center. He had to be careful not to fall through those holes when walking around at night.
He had inherited the old rundown farm three years earlier, after his father’s death. His father had been almost as lazy as his son. He left Marshall with a ramshackle house and lots of tall weeds and grass in the fields that came clear up to the back door, which had almost no paint left on it. After his father’s death, Marshall had moved to this house from a shack in Mitchell. He spent most of his time driving around in his old Ford pickup, collecting cans and any other kind of metal or iron he could get his hands on. Then he sold the metal at the junk yard.
He was a large, red–faced man with a huge stomach that stuck out at least two feet in front of him. His curly blond hair was dirty and uncombed. His scraggly, flowing beard was always stained dark brown, since he dearly loved to chew tobacco. His teeth – or what was left of them – hadn’t seen a toothbrush in years. They were a horrible yellow and stained with tobacco juice.
“Marshall Mims smells like something that crawled out of a swamp,” Daniel Riggs had once told his father. So behind his back, everyone called him by the nickname Daniel Riggs had given him, “the Marsh.” That was because of the terrible smell that was always around him, since he never bathed.
Marshall’s voice was loud and obnoxious, like a fog horn. He had the bad habit of interrupting conversations, and he never really listened to what other people had to say, being completely caught up in the importance of his own mindless chatter. Everyone avoided him unless they were unfortunate enough to have to do business with him. That was just fine with Marshall. He didn’t like other people, considering them stupid and not worthy of his attention – unless, of course, they could do something for him.
He flopped down in an old brown easy chair whose stuffing was coming out at the arms and started to think about a scheme he was hatching. If he could pull it off, it would make him wealthy beyond his wildest dreams!
His scheme involved Valley View Farm, not far from where he lived. It was one of the oldest and most prosperous dairy farms in the county. Joe and Lil Johnson were the owners. Because of their kindness to all their neighbors and all the animals in the area, the Johnsons were known to everyone as Momma and Poppa. They were the only people for miles around who showed any kindness or attempted to go out of their way to be nice to this lazy man who cared for nothing and no one but himself.
Feeling restless but also excited, and thanking his lucky stars that Christmas was so close, Marshall hauled himself to his feet. He halfheartedly splashed some water on his face and combed his wild, unruly hair with his fingers. Then he headed out the door toward a sagging, unpainted workshop. He wanted to put his plans to make himself a wealthy man into immediate action.
* * * * *
Chapter 3
“Joe, would you get the door?” called Momma from the kitchen. She was taking a hot loaf of pumpkin bread from the oven, wondering who would be coming calling so late in the evening. It was just after 8:00 o’clock. Poppa was sitting in the living room in his favorite easy chair, watching an old rerun of I Love Lucy on TV.
When he opened the door, the wind almost tore it from his hand. Standing on the doorstep was Marshall Mims. His coat was open and he wasn’t wearing gloves, but he didn’t seem cold at all. He had a big, greasy smile on his face and was cradling a large, poorly wrapped package against his giant stomach.
“Ho, ho, ho!” he bellowed. The stench of his breath and unwashed body threatened to knock poor Poppa flat.
Involuntarily, Poppa fell back a step. Then he recovered his good manners.
“Why, Marshall, whatever brings you out playing Santa in this terrible weather?” Before Marshall could answer, the old farmer continued. “Come inside where it’s warm. I’ve got the door.”
Poppa escorted his guest into the large, cozy living room and seated him in a comfortable recliner near the blazing fireplace. Poppa added another log to the fire before sitting down on the couch across from his guest. Just then, Momma walked in with a big plate of golden brown, buttered pumpkin bread, along with three steaming mugs of hot chocolate. She set everything on the walnut coffee table between them, then sat down beside her husband.
Spying the package, she said, “Isn’t it a little early for Santa to be out gallivanting around on such a nasty evening?” Momma had tried and tried to like Marshall and to be a good neighbor to him, but there was something about him that made her uneasy, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Earlier that year, she had loaned him a rake. When he brought it back a month later, the handle was broken. He hadn’t offered to buy her a new one. Not long after, he had borrowed a chainsaw from her husband. He brought that back with a broken blade.
“In the future, when he wants to borrow something, let’s just tell Marshall we don’t have whatever it is he needs!” Momma had said to her husband.
“No, honey that’s not the way to do it. I’ll have a talk with him and just explain that because of his carelessness, we aren’t going to loan him anything else.”
The following day, the man had pulled up in the farmyard and had given them a new rake and a new blade for the saw. But that hadn’t changed Momma’s mind. She still didn’t trust Marshall.
Her curly red hair shone in the soft firelight as her kind brown eyes looked at the muddy gray ones across from her, eyes which refused to meet her gaze. Once again, she told herself not to be judgmental, especially around Christmas.
Then she realized that they hadn’t gotten Marshall a present. She jumped up, making an excuse about more bread in the oven that needed to come out, and dashed off toward the kitchen. Earlier that week, she’d bought a new toaster, but she hadn’t yet taken it out of the box. She quietly took it into the utility room and wrapped it. Then she returned to the living room with the package in her arms.
“Who goes first?” she asked, trying to look happy.
Marshall laughed, his stomach jiggling like a giant pot of Jell–O. Without answering, he began to tear the paper from his gift, throwing it mindlessly on the floor. He held up the new toaster. “Oh, boy!” he said.
His delight was genuine. The man had been planning for a long time to get a toaster, but instead, he always spent his money on junk food, chewing tobacco, and several cases of pop every week.
Trying to sound convincing, but still not meeting Momma’s eyes, he said, “I’m planning to go out of town to visit some relatives down in Lincoln and won’t be here for the holidays. So I decided to drop your package by early.”
Momma unwrapped their package and took a hand–held mixer from the box. It didn’t look used, but it didn’t look entirely new, either. Marshall had gotten it when he had opened a checking account at a bank in Mitchell almost five years earlier.
“Why, Joe,” said Momma, “isn’t this wonderful? How did he know my old one was wearing out?”
They visited for a while, but it was hard to make conversation, since they had nothing in common. Of course Marshall had no trouble putting away three thick slices of Momma’s delicious pumpkin bread, as well as a second mug of hot chocolate. After what seemed like ages to the Johnsons, their greedy neighbor started to yawn.
Poppa rose to his feet. “Let me get your coat,” he said. “I’ll walk you to your truck.”
“Oh no, no, Poppa, that’s okay,” said the man, a little too quickly, trying to hide the expression of alarm he was sure was written all over his face. If the silly old farmer came outside, that would spoil everything. “I’ll just show myself out. Thanks for the toaster and the pumpkin bread, and Merry Christmas to you both!”
Poppa showed him to the door. After thanking Marshall for the mixer and wishing him Merry Christmas, he returned to his television show. Momma returned to the kitchen, where she filled the sink with hot water and prepared to wash up. She was a very energetic woman, and her kitchen never stayed untidy for long.
* * * * *
Chapter 4
Alone in the farmyard, with the blowing snow making his movements almost invisible, Marshall walked past the barn. He could hear the soft lowing of cattle and the brief whinny of a horse. He hurried past the chicken house and then stopped outside the feed room, its door shut tight against the weather. Putting his ear to the door, he listened as hard as he could. Nothing.
Great. But there’s going to be some excitement real quick! he said to himself. Those cats won’t be sleeping for long.
From a deep coat pocket, he took a box. He eased the feed room door open ever so quietly, took the lid off the box, and hurriedly set it inside. Then he closed the door.
That fall, Daniel Riggs, formerly nicknamed Razzie, had almost drowned after falling in the Johnsons’ pond while being chased by a bumblebee. One of their young cats, a jet–black one named Midnight, swam out to where the boy had gone under. There the amazing kitten dropped the end of the rope he was pulling. The boy tied it around his waist, and Poppa and his big workhorse named Robin pulled him to safety.
Momma and Poppa didn’t want all the publicity and fame that Midnight’s heroic act would surely bring, so they asked Daniel and his parents to keep the story quiet. But on the morning that Marshall came over to borrow a rake from the Johnsons, he heard Momma on the phone. Having the bad habit of eavesdropping on conversations, he sneaked close to the kitchen window and overheard the whole astonishing story as Momma talked with Daniel’s mother. Right then, he started to plan how to steal Midnight. The kitten could make him rich. There could be a movie, a book! Midnight and he could be on television! The list of possibilities was endless.
One day he got a call from Poppa, who wanted a pile of scrap metal from behind the machine shed hauled off. It was a stroke of good fortune for Marshall. He puttered around, dragging out the project, secretly studying Midnight’s behavior. He noticed that the little cat got really tired in the evenings from playing so hard, then slept very soundly unless disturbed.
Earlier that day, Marshall had driven to a pet store in Mitchell to buy a dozen white mice.
Tabby and all four of her kittens were sleeping soundly – that is, until she felt a draft from the opening of the door and then heard the pitter–patter of little running feet.
“Wake up, kids,” she hissed. “Someone’s in here!” Three of her kittens, Boomer, Cally, and Scooter, jumped to their feet. Soon their sharp eyes picked out the scurrying forms of the mice as they fled into the granary at the far end of the feed room. With yowls of rage, the cats gave chase, their mother in the lead.
Midnight slept on, heedless of the excitement, which was exactly what Marshall was counting on. “Wonderful!” he whispered as he turned on a tiny penlight and peeked through the door. In the limited light, he could barely make out the shadowy form that would be his ticket to fame and fortune. Midnight was sleeping on a big pile of old sacks in the corner.
Marshall tiptoed over to him. Midnight awoke with a mew of surprise to see the man with the great belly looming over him, stretching his pants to their breaking point as he bent down to stroke the cat’s soft fur. Midnight curled into a tight ball, shrinking away. He didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt very afraid.
Marshall opened the box, from which he hurriedly took the toaster. Before Midnight was fully awake and aware of what was happening, Marshall popped him inside and closed the lid. Midnight was now a prisoner! He clawed and scratched, trying with all his might to get out. The thief hurriedly stuffed the toaster deep under another pile of old sacks. Then, grabbing his prize, he left the shed before the other cats returned.
He rushed to his truck and drove away, congratulating himself on the clever way he had pulled off the kidnapping. He giggled, thinking about that word. I guess it’s not really a kidnapping. It’s more like a catnapping! He laughed and laughed as poor Midnight huddled at the bottom of his cardboard prison, feeling terror he had never known before.
* * * * *
“Honey,” called Momma from the kitchen, “did Marshall leave? I thought I saw a light on in the feed room!” Her husband slowly got up and walked to the kitchen.
He parted the curtains of the window over the sink and looked out into the cold, starless night. “I don’t see anything. It must have been your imagination. Let’s go to bed. We’re both getting tired. It’s been a long day.”
Tabby and her kittens returned to the feed room twenty minutes later. They were exhausted and out of breath as they flopped down on the feed sacks. The mice had scampered all over the granary, finally taking refuge in the loose grain when the cats got too close.
Noticing her brother’s absence, Cally asked, “Where’s Midnight, Mommy?”
Tabby looked around in surprise, not having been aware that her adventuresome little son was gone. “I have no idea,” she said sleepily, licking grain dust from between her toes. “He’s probably out in the barn visiting with the horses. You know how much he likes to talk. When that brother of yours gets back, I’m going to give him a good scolding for not getting permission to leave. So let that be a lesson to you three!” However, all the cats were so worn out after chasing the mice that they curled up on the sacks and soon fell fast asleep as snow continued to blanket the countryside.
* * * * *
Chapter 5
Daniel Riggs awakened gradually. He heard the crowing of a rooster in the farmyard, and the delicious aroma of frying ham was drifting up the stairs. He jumped out of bed. “I must have overslept,” he mumbled to himself. “I’m late for school!” A big grin split his face from ear to ear when he remembered. “Oh, wow, Christmas vacation! No school today!”
After quickly showering and dressing, he went downstairs and ran over to where his mother was frosting a pan of cinnamon rolls on the counter near the kitchen table. The boy’s father, Dave Riggs, sat drinking coffee as he looked through the morning paper.
“Gee whiz, Daniel, you came down here like you were shot out of a cannon,” his mother kidded the boy, her blue eyes shining with pride as she looked at her son, who was fast growing into a handsome young man. He had shot up several inches over the last year, and he was putting on lots of muscle from helping his parents and Momma and Poppa over at Valley View.
“So, what do you have planned for your first day of freedom in a while?” asked his father, with a grin in his son’s direction. The boy did a little dance of joy when his mom let him sample some of the frosting she was putting on the rolls. He loved sweets, and would eat them all day if his parents would let him.
“Well, I’m not really sure. There’re so many things to do that I don’t know where to begin! First I’ll drop by Valley View and help Momma decorate the house and outbuildings. I want them to look way cool for that big party they’re having on Christmas Eve.”
Just then the phone rang.
“It’s for you, Daniel.” His mother handed the receiver to her son.
“Hello. Is that you, Billy?”
“No, honey, it’s Linda Miller,” said his friend, imitating the high voice of a girl.
“Ah, come on, Billy,” mumbled Daniel, blushing furiously. He didn’t know that his feelings for the pretty blonde girl who sat in front of him at school were so obvious.
“Hey, Billy,” he said, “why don’t you come over later and help me decorate Valley View for the party? Then we’ll go ice skating.”
“That sounds super! See you in a couple of hours.”
Daniel’s mother winked at her husband. They could tell from their son’s blushes and his tone of voice that Billy had been teasing him about Linda. They both remembered the feelings of joy and shyness they had felt, at the age of ten, when they had first met each other at the little red schoolhouse their son now attended.
* * * * *
Chapter 6
Clad in heavy wool overcoats and knee–high, fur–lined boots, the boys walked contentedly alongside one another through snow that was over a foot deep. From the big front porch, Daniel’s dog Hop–Along barked farewell as they disappeared from view around a bend in the road.
Hop–Along was an old three–legged German Shepherd who had lost one of his front legs to a coon trap when he was a pup, over eleven years in the past. It was too hard for him to get around in the deep snow, so he contented himself by chewing on the bone from a ham steak that his young master had given him after breakfast.
Although it was still quite cold, the sun shone down from a clear blue sky. Billy ran over to a wooden fence at the side of the road and broke off a foot–long icicle that was hanging from the top board. Then he sneaked up behind Daniel with it.
“Daniel, you dropped one of your gloves.”
Daniel had been daydreaming about the eagle he was going to draw for Linda, knowing it was her favorite bird and hoping she would like the drawing. As he was bending down to look for his glove, something ice cold was stuffed down his shirt. He let out a scream and jumped high into the air. Billy was holding his sides with mirth, laughing so hard that he could hardly catch his breath. After Daniel got the icicle out of his shirt, the snowball fight was on, with Daniel leading the attack.
Rumpled and panting, the boys turned down the lane of Valley View Farm a little while later. Billy stared in amazement at an icicle that must have been at least five feet long. It was hanging nearly seventy feet off the ground from the underside of Poppa’s silo.
“Don’t even think about it,” said his friend, noticing Billy’s upward gaze. “The ladder to get up there will be slipperier than blue blazes.”
“What are blue blazes?”
“I don’t know,” said Daniel. “It’s just an expression my dad uses sometimes. I think it’s a way of cussing without getting into trouble.”
“Hi, boys!” yelled Poppa as he saw the kids running down the long, snow–covered lane toward the farmyard, where the farmer was trying to hook a snowblade to his old John Deere tractor. “Come over here and give me a hand getting this blade on the front of this thing.”
After the job was finished, the old farmer said, “Thanks a million, guys! I don’t know what I would have done without all that muscle power. Do you fellas want to go for a ride?”
“Can I drive, Poppa?” pleaded Daniel. “Please?”
“No, son, not this time. This old tractor gets kind of squirrely with the plow pushing all the snow. Later, when I unhook it, I’ll let you two each take me for a spin around the farmyard.”
The driveway was almost half a mile long. Over an hour later, the boys and Poppa kicked off their shoes in the back room of the farmhouse. They walked in stocking feet into the sunny kitchen, where Momma was just pulling a pan of chocolate chip cookies from the oven.
“Well, look who’s here!” she said, feigning surprise, having seen them earlier through the kitchen window.
Daniel unslung his backpack and set it on the table near one end.
“The two of us are going to draw you two a whole bunch of Christmas pictures!” he announced.
“Well, have some cookies first,” said Momma. “You’ll need some energy for all that art work.” Then they all sat at the table and ate cookies and drank hot chocolate, which warmed them from the inside out.
A worried expression crossed Poppa’s face. “I haven’t seen Midnight this morning.”
“Oh, no. Not again!” said everyone in unison. Several months earlier, the kitten had gotten himself trapped under a board while hunting mice in the old tool shed. That time, Henrietta the hen had rescued him by pushing the board up with her strong back.
“Midnight’s hard to keep track of with all these buildings we have,” said his wife, trying to keep her husband from worrying. “I’m sure he’ll be back for supper.”
From his backpack, Daniel took drawing paper and an assortment of markers and drawing pencils. He handed his friend some of the supplies and they went to work. The first picture Daniel made was of Santa Claus wearing a heavy red suit and an even brighter red hat with long earmuffs hanging off the sides. Billy drew a good likeness of a sleigh with eight brown reindeer pulling it. He next drew a picture of Daniel kissing a little blonde girl on the cheek. When his friend saw that picture, he tore it to pieces. Soon the downstairs of the farmhouse was like a scene out of a Christmas play as the boys drew picture after picture, then taped them to the walls and alongside the windows.
Momma turned on some holiday music and popped corn, which they strung above the doorway of every room on brightly colored string. Then Momma tossed a loaf of bread and a bunch of Christmas cookie cutters on the table and said, “I’ll show you some of the decorations we used to make when I was a little girl!” The three of them cut figures from each slice of bread and then put them in the oven on a cookie sheet and toasted them. Then they covered the bread figurines with glitter, put hooks through their edges, and allowed them to dry and harden.
Over the next hour, they focused their energy on the tall pine tree in the living room, the one that Poppa had chopped down the week before. First, they strung colored lights throughout the branches, along with red, green, and gold frosted balls. Next, they wrapped it from top to bottom with brightly colored tinsel. Then they carefully hung the bread figurines wherever there was room.
Atop the tree Poppa carefully placed a magnificent, hand–carved wooden angel that his father had whittled from a chunk of wood. The wood was from a huge, hard maple tree that had once grown down by the river. The angel’s wings stretched far to the sides, and it was so life–like that it gave the impression that it might take off in flight at any second.
“This is the finest tree I’ve seen in a long time,” murmured Poppa with a far–off expression on his face, remembering his boyhood.
For lunch they ate thick smoked turkey sandwiches along with lots of side dishes that Momma mysteriously seemed to always have available.
“Do you boys want to go ice skating?” asked Momma. “Poppa went down to the river and tested the ice. We’ve had below freezing weather for over a week, so you don’t have to worry about falling in – that is, unless you get as fat as the Marsh by eating too many of my chocolate chip cookies!”
Billy dropped half a cookie as though it were a hot potato, looking self–consciously at Momma. She winked at him before she dashed off, returning with a big box of ice skates. She had bought them over the years at garage sales for the neighbor kids to use whenever they came visiting during cold weather. While the boys were rummaging through the box to find skates in their shoe sizes, she put a neat layer of plastic wrap around a half–empty pack of hot dogs. She handed the package to Daniel, saying, “If you get too cold, down on the far side of the river near the south pasture, there’s a brush pile you can burn. You two enjoy yourselves and be careful!”
* * * * *
Running through Valley View Farm was a stretch of river that was wonderful for ice skating. It was free from the logs and underbrush that stuck out of the water in many other parts of the river, making it an ideal skating rink when the weather allowed. Years earlier, the town of Mitchell had tried to form a hockey team, and the players had used that very stretch of river to practice on. The team failed only because most of the farm kids had so many chores after school that they didn’t have time to devote to skating except on weekends.
The blades of their skates made a swishing noise as Billy and Daniel glided along, showing off for one another, spinning on one foot, leaping as high as they could, or making figure eights. When he tried jumping over a tree root that was sticking up a couple of feet from beneath the ice near the bank, Billy fell with a crash. Daniel checked to make sure his buddy was okay, then had a good laugh at his friend’s expense. After that, they played tag and raced one another.
When they finally grew tired, they stopped in a little inlet near the far bank, where there was a lot of brush and driftwood. Daniel, eager to show off his Boy Scout skills, set the wood on fire, and they warmed themselves around the crackling blaze. Not to be outdone, Billy disappeared into the nearby woods and returned with two slender sticks from which he had peeled the bark. Then he whittled the sticks to fine points with his jackknife.
After roasting the hot dogs, the boys ate and talked until the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun became a silent reminder of the evening that was fast approaching. After thoroughly dousing the fire with snow, the boys headed for Valley View Farm to help Poppa with the chores.
* * * * *
Chapter 7
“Where’s that ornery little cat of mine?” wondered the old farmer out loud. With the boys close behind him, he walked with heavy buckets of grain from the feed room toward the dairy barn. With their burden, the kids were having a hard time getting through the deep snow. Puffing and panting, they couldn’t answer right away. But Daniel wondered the very same thing. He thought again of how Midnight had saved him from drowning a few months before. Since then, a very special friendship had developed between the two of them.
As they walked through the big doors of the barn, they breathed deep of the sweet scent of hay, grain, silage, and the cows that the farmer had already put into their stanchions. The cows were patiently waiting to be milked. Poppa sent the boys around with buckets of water to wash each cow’s udder. They were all very gentle. A big red and white Holstein licked Daniel’s neck until he began to giggle as he was bending down to clean her before milking.
Next, they attached the suction cups to the udders and went to get more feed while the machines did their jobs. The milk ran through copper tubing that wound its way throughout the barn, finally running into a huge stainless steel refrigerated tank in the milk room.
“Lil wants some cream to make butter, so run some milk through the separator,” Poppa said to Daniel. The boys assembled all the stainless steel pieces for the separator. After switching it on, they poured the milk into a big bowl at the top. Soon a stream of skim milk poured into a gleaming, stainless steel bucket on one side of the machine, while on the other side, a stream of pure cream jetted into another bucket. The stainless steel was easy to keep clean. Poppa had often stressed to the boys how important sanitation is in the dairy business, just as it is in the preparation of all foods and beverages.
Daniel handed the bucket of cream to Poppa, who walked up to the house and gave it to his wife. She put it in a big churn and began to crank it. The wooden paddles inside churned the cream into a froth. After several minutes of steady churning, the cream began to thicken. When it reached the right consistency, Momma poured it through a strainer into a metal bowl, saving the buttermilk in another jar for baking. She added some salt to the butter and sent it through the strainer again. Then she covered the bowl with plastic wrap and set it in the refrigerator to chill. The job was done.
“Hurry!” said Daniel after Poppa left with the cream. “Let’s go up to the loft and swing on that old rope!”
The boys scampered up a long wooden ladder that was bolted to the wall near the milk room door. There were hundreds of bales of hay in a huge room with a ceiling twenty feet above them, from which came the soft cooing of pigeons that lived high in the rafters. Daniel grabbed one end of a heavy rope that hung from the roof and climbed ten or fifteen feet up onto a stack of hay bales. With a Tarzan–like yell, he swung far out into the loft, dropping at the last moment into a deep pile of loose hay.
“Boy, is that ever a blast!” cried Billy, after quickly taking his own turn on the rope. Daniel was all set to have another swing when they heard the barn door bang. They hurried back down the ladder, knowing that Poppa was afraid the old rope might break and that they would get hurt.
Then the not very fun part of milking began when the farmer said, “Okay, boys, let’s get her cleaned up.” He turned on a big machine that pushed all the cow manure that had accumulated in the gutter down to one end of the barn. With a pitchfork, Billy scooped it through a door onto a huge manure pile right outside. Then they disassembled and washed and disinfected all the machinery, and cleaned hay and other food particles out of the little metal drinking fountains beside the cow’s stanchions. The whole process took over two hours.
After thanking Momma and Poppa for everything, the boys left to help Daniel’s father with the chores. Luckily, the Riggs family didn’t have any livestock except for a couple of beef cattle. Those could quickly be cared for once they were at the house.
“That sure is a job over at Valley View,” mumbled Billy, who lived in the town of Mitchell.
“I’m glad we don’t have all those cattle,” said Daniel. “We’d have to hire you full time, and I’m afraid you’d eat us out of house and home. Don’t you have a bellyache? I counted fifteen cookies that went down your hatch!”
“It wasn’t that many!” laughed Billy as he tried to tackle Daniel, who dodged him and ran to the house, his friend on his heels. On the porch, old Hop–Along got up to greet them, whining in excitement and wagging his tail as Daniel scratched him behind the ears.
Billy’s mom picked him up around eight that evening. Later, Daniel sat in his room going over the drawing he was making for Linda. He was very tired. When he finally crawled into bed, he said a little prayer for Midnight, promising himself he’d look high and low for his friend if he hadn’t shown up by the next morning.
* * * * *
Chapter 8
Tabby was frantic. She’d been looking all day for her son. The other kittens ran all over, telling the animals about Midnight being missing. However, most of the farm animals, the chickens and the horses and the cows, weren’t able to help her hunt for him. The severe winter weather was keeping them in the chicken coop and in their stalls.
Poppa had gotten a new dog recently. In late October, Bluebell had died peacefully in her sleep at the age of fifteen. Shadow was also an Australian Shepherd, but was only two years old. Poppa had rescued him from the dog pound in Mitchell. The dog had soon become a favorite because of his outgoing nature, which he showed to both people and other animals. The fine young dog had an extremely keen nose, and after searching the farm for several hours, he dropped by the feed room and tapped politely on the door with the edge of his metal collar.
“Come in,” meowed Tabby. She was lying down, exhausted after the hours of fruitless hunting.
“No luck at all,” grumbled Shadow as he flopped down beside her on the soft sacks. Scooter climbed onto the dog’s back and curled up. He always felt so safe when his big furry friend was around. Boomer and Cally were sleeping, also completely worn out after looking in every nook and cranny for their brother.
“But there’s something that puzzles me,” said Shadow, “and I think you should know about it. Just outside your door, I found a lot of that terrible brown stuff we used to find all over the ground whenever that smelly man with the belly that looks like a giant pumpkin would come visit, or when he was hauling away those old metal things. That stuff stinks so bad it makes feel sick if I even get a whiff of it.” Just thinking about the hideous smell made Shadow sneeze, and Scooter fell off his back with a yowl of surprise.
“I can’t stand that man!” Tabby hissed angrily. “What do you think he was doing outside our door? Wait a minute! I just remembered something. Late last night the strangest thing happened. We were sleeping, but I woke up, ’cause I heard something running around in here. And do you know what it was?” She hurried on, not really needing an answer. “Mice. A whole bunch of them came charging in here at once and ran into the granary. If we had caught them, there would have been a banquet!”
“Wait a minute,” said the puzzled dog. “I’m confused. Are you saying you think that smelly man let the mice in here?” Shadow scratched his ear with his hind foot.
“Well,” meowed Tabby, “now that you mention it…I think so!”
“But why would he do a stupid thing like that? It seems crazy.”
They both thought very hard. It was so quiet they could hear the milk cooler cycle on way over in the barn.
“We’ll have to see if King Daniel can figure it out,” whined the dog. “But I’ve got this feeling that the Marsh has something to do with Midnight being gone.”
Tabby was silent for a long time. “But what in the world would he want with Midnight? I have no idea why, but he always seemed to be really interested in all of us cats. He would stop by and look in here with those beady little eyes of his. It made me nervous. The way he stared at my son made me want to bite him, and you know what the rules are about that.”
“Well, it’s all too much for me,” said the young dog. “I’m going to bed. Surely we’ll find him tomorrow. I just can’t imagine what that guy would want with your boy.”
* * * * *
Chapter 9
In the morning, Daniel got up early even though he was on vacation. His mom and dad were sleeping in, so he fixed himself a bowl of cereal and quietly let himself out the back door.
Where is Midnight? That was the nagging question in his mind as he hurried toward Valley View, taking the short cut through the pasture and climbing the fence between the farms.
Poppa was finishing the morning milking and Momma was feeding the cats. “Is Midnight back?” asked Daniel as he joined Momma in the feed room.
“No, we haven’t seen him, and Poppa’s been poking around in that old tool shed where Midnight got trapped before.”
“He’s a real smart cat,” said Daniel. “I don’t think he’d make the same mistake twice. I’ll go look in the hayloft. Maybe he’s up there.”
In the loft, he stood quietly thinking. The soft cooing of the pigeons was a comfort as his mind reached out to connect with the animals.
The fact is, Daniel had kept a secret ever since he had almost drowned.
He was now psychic, at least with the animals. They could communicate with each other using just their thoughts. He first discovered that he had this amazing ability when he was here at Valley View, not long after his accident. Midnight walked up to him and asked, just as casually as if it happened every day, “So, how’s Tippie doing?” Tippie was his family’s only cat.
Daniel was so shocked that he almost fainted. It wasn’t a spoken voice; Midnight’s question had formed itself in his mind. That was the beginning. After that, he would sit for hours with the animals and talk with them. Sometimes he got images or pictures of what they were trying to tell him if they didn’t know the right words to make him understand. It was fascinating, and Daniel considered this magical power a great and cherished gift, one sent straight down from heaven.
He’d always like to read and do research. If he wanted to know more about tractors, for example, or anything else that was holding his interest at the time, he’d go to the library and study until his curiosity was satisfied. For the first week or so after Daniel discovered this new and exciting form of communication, he spent a lot of time at the library studying animal psychics. It reassured him when he found, after lots of research, that a few other people in the world had this amazing gift. He planned to study to become a veterinarian when he was old enough, and spent hours daydreaming how he could use this new and thrilling form of communication to better the lives of animals all over the world.
The continuous cooing of the pigeons reminded him where he was. He reached out with his mind, listening intently for any word or thought from Midnight. Nothing. He began to feel confused impressions from the pigeons, who weren’t very smart. They were jabbering about the sweetness of the hay Poppa had put in the barn late that summer. The boy knew that trying to get any real information from them would be impossible, so he walked around, the hay rustling softly beneath his feet, as he called out for his little kitty friend.
No answer.
He went down the ladder quickly and responded with a nod as the cows greeted him.
“Hey,” said Bossy, who was the lead cow. “Where have you been? Playing hooky, I’ll bet.”
Daniel grinned. The dry humor of the cattle never ceased to amaze him. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he said, standing up straight. (The boy got a kick out of addressing the cattle very formally, as though they were politicians – or perhaps royalty, of whom he was king.) “There’s no time for fooling around this morning. We can’t find Midnight. He’s been missing since yesterday.”
Robin, one of the immense black work horses, made a low moan of sorrow deep in her chest. Daniel suddenly felt as though he might cry. He walked over and petted her, talking softly. “We don’t know anything, Robin, and worse still, we’ve all been inside a lot and so don’t have a very good idea of what’s been happening around here.”
“Go ask Tabby and see if she saw anything strange going round here,” said Robin.
“You mean ‘going on around here,’” Daniel said quietly. Ever since he had first started talking with all of them, he had been helping the animals with their English. The animals were wonderfully honest and simple, which Daniel found refreshing after dealing with the complicated world in which there were decisions and choices to be made every day. He sometimes suspected that some people treated him one way, yet thought about him differently. There was none of this two–faced behavior in the world of his four–legged and winged friends. Daniel thought he might write a book someday, one that would be written from the point of view of the animal kingdom. He wanted to show the people of the world how to lead a more rewarding and less complicated life.
He left the barn. As he passed the machine shed, he noticed a big brown stain on the top log of the wood pile. The cats all milled around his legs inside the feed room, anxious and worried.
“Have you found any sign of him?” mewed Tabby.
“No, but I just noticed something funny. I don’t mean to be gross, but there’s something that looks like thin poop all over the top of the wood pile. Where could that have come from?”
Then Tabby told him the story of the mice magically appearing out of nowhere, and how Shadow had smelled that disgusting brown stuff around the door of the feed room.
“That explains it!” said Daniel excitedly after she had finished. “The Marsh must have your son! He was here, and that must be his tobacco juice on the wood pile. I’ve got no clue as to why he’d want to steal Midnight, but now I’m sure he did.”
He picked Tabby up and held her gently to his chest as he petted her. “I’m going to go home now,” the boy said. “I have to help Dad bring in some more hay for the cattle. But I’ll be back later, after supper. All of you spread the word and get a good nap, ’cause I might have to sneak out real late. My folks don’t like me running around outside late at night, especially in the winter.”
“Be careful,” Tabby purred as he set her down. “I’ve heard lots of coyotes howling the last several nights. I think they’re really hungry. Since the snow is so deep, they’ve probably been having a hard time catching rabbits.”
* * * * *
Chapter 10
“I’ve just about had it with you, you stubborn cat!” yelled Marshall. He was running out of patience with Midnight. The cat wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t drink. All he would do was lie in the cage that Marshall had transferred him to, and his yowling was about to drive the thief over the edge. The man hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before with all the noise, plus worrying about where to hide out with the cat and trying to figure out how he was going to make money from him.
The first item on the agenda was to get out of there, and fast. Someone would surely drop by the house within the next day or so, hunting for Midnight. With all the noise the cat was making, he would surely give Marshall away. After racking his brains, the thief finally decided to take him to Mitchell and stay in a motel until he could decide what to do next.
Angry and confused, Marshall stomped around his house, throwing things into a battered brown suitcase that had seen better days. After several minutes of fruitless searching, he slammed his dresser drawer shut, not finding the heavy wool socks and long underwear he was looking for.
“Oh, well,” he muttered to himself. “In just a few days, I’ll be able to buy anything I want!”
He began to worry about the cat again. For several frustrating minutes, he sat next to the cage with a sardine between his fingers, trying to coax the little idiot to eat. Midnight glared reproachfully at him, ignoring this feeble attempt at friendship. All he wanted was to go home. He had never been away for so long, and he was getting really homesick.
Soon Marshall had his rusty old truck loaded and standing in the driveway. With the cage tucked under his arm, he took one last look at the house, wondering if he was forgetting anything. He had given Midnight a rubber toy mouse to occupy him, but the cat was ignoring it, just as he had ignored everything else.
Taking advantage of the man’s preoccupied state of mind, Midnight suddenly had a brilliant idea. He quickly chewed one of the legs off the toy mouse and dropped it through the bars of the cage. He watched it land and roll under a rain barrel with just the rubber toes sticking out. Great! he thought. Maybe Daniel will see it!
“Time to go! We’re off to make our fame and fortune!” cried Marshall as he backed the pickup out of the driveway with the wheels spinning and fishtailing around in the snow. Midnight shivered in the cage in the bed of the truck. The wind was freezing. At least he wasn’t being watched anymore. And he might be able to leave more clues for his friend. He was certain Daniel would come looking for him.
* * * * *
Chapter 11
Daniel held his breath and listened with every fiber of his being. He stood in the upper hall of his home at 11:00 o’clock that night, dressed warmly for the journey over to Valley View – that is, if he could get out of the house without being caught by his parents, who were snoring just down the hall.
He crept cautiously down the stairs, taking care to avoid the creaky boards near the bottom. He gave a sigh of relief as he eased the back door open ever so softly. Then he stepped out into the bitterly cold night. The bright moon made the shadows of everything around him seem huge and foreboding.
Hop–Along, who was sleeping by the couch in the front room, hadn’t even heard Daniel leave. He must be going deaf, thought the boy. He could remember when his faithful friend had been able to hear the family car coming from over a mile away, and he had always come running to meet them when they got home. I’m glad he didn’t come, thought Daniel. He’d fight to the death to protect me from anything out here, and with him being so old and slow, now, I don’t want him in any danger.
The swinging stride that the boy could keep up for miles took him past the outbuildings and down the long lane to the road, where he turned toward Valley View Farm. He wasn’t taking the shortcut through the woods tonight; they were too dangerous. His mind turned to the problem of how to get Midnight back from Marshall. He couldn’t tell the grownups about his suspicion, because everyone would think he was crazy, and they might find out about his special power.
Daniel didn’t want anyone to find out about that. He knew he could become famous with his unusual ability, but surprisingly, he didn’t want fame – at least not right now. He wanted to play with his friends and all the animals with whom he had grown up. He didn’t want to spend his time traveling around, telling the world about his amazing ability, because somehow that would take away from its magic.
All he wanted was to be normal – and of course to find his little friend, who was possibly in deep trouble. For a minute, Daniel got so mad wondering if Midnight was okay that if the Marsh had been there right then, he would have gotten punched out!
The boy switched on a flashlight when the moon disappeared behind the clouds. He hoped they wouldn’t get more snow.
He was about halfway to Valley View when his keen ears picked up the faint, high yip yip of coyotes. It sounded like a big pack. Soon the yipping turned into long, baying cries, which meant they were on the hunt. As the sound of the hunt got closer, Daniel realized with dread that they were approaching very fast.
He stopped by the side of the road, and in the wink of an eye, a lock–blade buck knife with a four–inch blade appeared in his hand. Daniel had heard stories of how, in the dead of winter, coyotes desperate with hunger had pulled down deer and sometimes even cattle and horses when they couldn’t find smaller game like rabbits or moles or mice. His blood turned to ice, and he wished that Shadow from Valley View Farm were there beside him.
Just then the moon reappeared. He could see the gray, rangy forms of five or six racing coyotes pursuing a big, terrified rabbit across the snow. They were heading for the road on which he stood. He switched off the flashlight and stood very still as the rabbit crossed the road only twenty feet in front of him. Soon they were swallowed up by the night. When the howls of the hunting coyotes faded, Daniel continued on toward Valley View, breaking into a ground–covering trot.
* * * * *
Chapter 12
When he slid open the big door of the barn, he was greeted joyfully by lots of animals. The only ones not present and accounted for were the chickens. They had been locked in the chicken house after Momma had gathered the eggs and had no way to get out. The mockingbird named Morning Song told Daniel that she would fill the chickens in on what was talked about at the meeting.