Any Which Wall (20 page)

Lily chuckled and stroked Bernice’s head, which
was in her lap. “I do love dogs, Emma, but I always
have
loved dogs, and you don’t see me with any other dogs, do you? Don’t you think if I wanted a dog, I’d have one already?”

“This is different!” said Emma. She cocked her head as she thought this over. “Bernice is special.”

“Dogs are a lot of work, and I’m gone all day. I travel a lot to library conferences and book fairs. It wouldn’t be fair to Bernice. Or to me.”

“To you?” asked Susan.

“Yes, dogs are hard work,” said Lily. “Why, just in the last twenty-four hours, she’s eaten a few house-plants and chewed up the legs of my favorite chair.”

“Oh!” said Emma, who felt responsible. “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be,” said Lily. “I agreed to watch her for a bit, and I’ve had a nice time walking her and cuddling, but now I’m done. So”—she held Bernice’s leash in the air—“what now?”

They hadn’t prepared for this at all. Henry, Roy, and Emma turned to Susan, who usually had an answer for everything but was now silent.

“Come on, guys,” said Lily, shaking the leash. “I’d love to keep her, but I just can’t. It isn’t practical for me just now. Maybe someday …”

Susan cleared her throat. “But, Lily,
you
aren’t
practical. I mean, you don’t have to take the dog, but this doesn’t sound like you. It sounds like something a real grown-up would say.”

“I
am
a real grown-up, Susan,” said Lily, setting down the leash. “I’m thirty-three years old. I have a PhD in library science and a good job. I own a house, a car—”

“A nice one!” said Henry appreciatively.

“Thank you,” said Lily, smiling at him.

Susan shook her head. “But you aren’t a regular grown-up. Your house is different. And your car is different. And your hair is different.”

Lily felt at her bun, which was, today, held together with two forks. They were jammed in so that the tines faced out.

Susan continued, “Real grown-ups don’t have prairies in their backyards or wear forks in their hair. That’s not practical either.”

Lily sighed. “You aren’t alone in thinking so, Susan. People have been saying things like this all my life, but they’re wrong, and so are you. How I wear my hair is not really an issue of practicality at all. What difference does it make?”

Susan looked at her feet.

“I make choices based on how I want to live, just
like you do,” said Lily. “I may eat soup for breakfast or wear slippers to the grocery store, but those choices are completely separate from my adult responsibilities.

“I may paint my house a funny color, but I keep it clean. I may turn my backyard into a prairie, but I mow the front yard because I don’t want neighborhood kids cutting through it and getting ticks. I can choose to sleep in the afternoon and dance all night, precisely because I
am
a grown-up, but I can’t choose to be able to take care of Bernice right now, because I don’t have the money or the time. And I can’t choose to have more time and money, though I wish I could. No—she’ll be better off at the pound where someone who does have enough time and money will come and adopt her.”

“NO!” shouted Emma, her eyes welling with tears.

Lily turned to Emma, reached out, put an arm gently around her, and said, “Emma, have you ever been to the pound? In some cities, it’s a brutal place, but here in Quiet Falls, it’s quite nice. I volunteer over there on weekends when I have time, in the Cat Room. You can come along sometime if you want, to visit Bernice.”

“The Cat Room?” Emma’s voice shook, but she couldn’t help being interested.

Lily gave her a squeeze. “It’s a wonderful place. There are anywhere from fifteen to twenty cats who
live there at a time, and they all play and cuddle together in one room. There are toys and towers and beds for them, and people like me go spend the day with them. Or you can take the dogs out to play in the yard—”

“I’d like that,” said Emma.

“Well, how about you and I take Bernice over there right now, and we’ll play with the cats. Then, maybe once a week, until Bernice finds a home, I’ll drive you over there to see her. How would that be?”

Emma nodded, but only a little. She still wasn’t quite sure.

Lily stood up, reached for a bright red umbrella, and held out her other hand. “Who wants to come for a ride?”

Roy and Henry jumped to their feet, but Susan raised a hand. “No thanks,” she said. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, and I’m sorry about what I said before, about your hair, and—stuff. But I have another idea.”

The others looked surprised but fell back to listen.

“You do?” asked Emma.

“Yes, I do,” said Susan.

“Susan, I really don’t mind helping,” said Lily.

“No,” said Susan. “Thank you, but I think that this is my responsibility. I was supposed to be in charge, and so it was my decision to bring Bernice home with us.
I thought you would step in and handle it, but really, it’s my job. Now I think I may have a solution.”

She arched her eyebrows meaningfully at the others.

“But it’s raining,” said Henry. “And Bernice is still limping pretty bad, and Lily’s car—”

“Suit yourself,” said Susan. “You can go in the car, but I’ve got something else to do.”

Henry grumbled. Roy looked as though he wanted to grumble. Emma waited for someone to tell her what to do.

When it became clear that nobody was going to join her, Lily said goodbye chirkily and left with no hard feelings, because although she was indeed a real grown-up and had to wonder about their secret, she was also a kindred spirit and a friend.

After she was gone, Susan picked up Bernice’s leash and grabbed her own yellow raincoat off the coat tree by the door. “Who wants to come to the wall?” she asked.

Rain or no rain, everyone did.

Walking in the rain was no fun.

They couldn’t ride their bikes because they had to pull Bernice in the wagon, since it was too far for her to walk on her hurt leg. As a result, the hour-long hike
out to the field took even longer than usual. The wet pavement under their feet made for slippery footing, and each time a car went past, they all had to jump off the road into a streaming culvert, so they got drenched. Raincoats made almost no difference, and although it was summer, the water was cold enough to make their teeth chatter. As they marched through the field, their knees bumped the cornstalks, which made things even worse. For the first time, the magic seemed like a chore.

Silently they moved toward the wall. Silently they placed cold hands on the chilled stones. Emma wheeled Bernice over to the wall too, and when she held the dog’s tail out to the wall, she could feel Bernice shivering beneath her heavy, wet fur. Henry and Roy were whispering about something as Henry fitted the key into the wall and turned it. This made Susan nervous.

“Don’t you go making any wishes!” she cautioned.

“Wait a second,” said Henry, who had not been thinking about wishes but didn’t like to be told what to do. “How come you get a wish today? You had a wish yesterday, and you wasted it on boring old New York.” (This was unfair of him, since he’d had a great time in New York, but when you’re in a grumpy mood and have been forced to march in the rain, it’s easy to be unfair.)

With a wave of her hand, Susan dismissed him. She turned to the wall and said, “Wall, we’d like to go back to Camelot, to see Merlin again, please?”

Then the rain was gone and they were all back in Camelot, in the pig yard just beyond the door to the lean-to. Only now it was a sunny day in Merry Olde England. There were birds tra-la-la-ing, darting around, and picking berries from a hedge along the courtyard wall. The queen was singing as she caught butterflies with a net, and though Emma hated to think of what the butterflies were for, Guinevere made a lovely picture dancing across the lawn. The packed dirt beneath their feet was full of soft shoots of new grass. Off in the distance, they could hear the clatter and crash of two knights practicing the art of friendly swordplay, and from each tower in the castle, colorful flags rippled in the breeze.

Henry pushed back the hood of his jacket and squinted up at the sun. “Okay, okay. Maybe this was a decent idea after all.”

Roy took off his coat, ran a hand through his wet hair, and pointed to an animal eating from a trough. “Hey, is that a unicorn?”

The animal started, as though it recognized the word. It raised its head and turned to look over
at them. Everyone gasped. It was, indeed, a unicorn.

Sort of.

It didn’t look iridescent and magical, the way unicorns usually do in pictures, all glowy and white. Its mane was not silver. It did not have big blue eyes fringed with thick lashes.

Really, the unicorn looked most of all like a wild pony. It was a soft brown color, tightly muscled, and dark-eyed. It looked like an animal that might grace the cover of a horse book, except that from the center of its forehead rose a long tusk of sorts, a yellowish piece of bone that ended in a very sharp point. The horn (if you could call it that) looked like a weapon, and the beast looked like a gentle and loving creature, so the overall effect was odd. Imagine a deer with antlers made of razor wire and you’ll have some idea of the effect. His eyes made the kids want to pet him, but his horn was a warning.

Susan stared and held her breath, and Emma clapped her hands with delight. They were all so awestruck as to be oblivious to everything else, until Bernice gave a big shake and sent a torrent of wet dog water over each of them. The unicorn made a snorting noise, shook droplets of water from his head, and resumed eating.

From the lean-to came Merlin’s voice. “I’m up! I’m
up, I tell you! I’ve been awake for an hour, Jeffrey. No need to snort. I’ve got an apple for you right here, if you’ll only wait a second!”

The wizard stepped through the door, wiping his face with a rag, and took note of the four of them and the great wet dog too. He said, “Oh, hello, children! I’ve been sleeping, as you well know. Good morning! Good morning!”

When he lifted away the rag, they all gasped. His beard was gone!

“But—but—you can’t shave your beard!” said Emma. “You’re Merlin.”

“So what?” asked Merlin. “You don’t have a beard. Why do I have to have one all the time? Hot and itchy it is, and whenever I eat jam, it gets simply full of bees. It’s spring, and if the sheep can be shorn, why not old Merlin?”

“Because you have to have a beard,” explained Henry. “Nobody ever thinks of Merlin without a beard.”

“Except everyone who ever knew me as a boy,” said Merlin. “You think I was born with a face like a stickle-bush?”

This was too much for Emma to consider, the idea of Merlin as a boy. She changed the subject. “Is that a real unicorn?” she asked.

“He’s not pretend, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Merlin. “And he’s not a real lion or a real hoot owl, in which case, he must be a real unicorn. Right, Jeffrey?”

Jeffrey the unicorn nodded a ponyish version of yes and went back to his lunch.

“And what about her?” asked Roy, gesturing at the queen, who was laughing as she chased down a particularly large purple and gold specimen. “Last time, she was a lot less friendly.”

“Ah, sorry about that. I was asleep and didn’t know what was happening. I heard about it when she woke me up. A misunderstanding. Yes, she can be rather—ah—difficult. She gets lonely, and that lends itself to insecurity and meanness. When she isn’t feeling her nerves, she’s—” He looked over.

“Yes?” asked Emma.

“Not that bad,” said Merlin.

Susan shifted from foot to foot, waiting for the pleasantries to be over. Finally she got impatient. “Merlin,” she said, “we came because I have a question. Can I ask you my question?”

“You just did,” said Merlin.

“Uh, no. I mean another one,” said Susan. “About the magic.” She continued quickly so that the wizard
wouldn’t have a chance to say no. “I was just wondering why things aren’t wrapping up for us.”

“Wrapping up?” asked Merlin.

“Yes. In books, the magic wraps itself up, fixes things, especially for kids.”

“Ah, I see what you’re driving at.” The wizard smiled.

Susan went on. “That hasn’t happened for us. We used the magic, and found this dog.” Susan pointed to Bernice, still sitting, soggy, in the wagon. “But now we have nowhere to put her. We can’t keep her, and the grown-up who was watching her gave her back to us, so what I want to know is why we still have this problem. Why isn’t the magic taking care of her, wrapping up the loose ends for us?”

“Ah,” said Merlin, crouching down to help Bernice from the wagon. He patted her head and said, “This is a very good question. I have two answers for you.”

“Two?” asked Susan.

“The first is that the magic doesn’t do anything for you. Fate can only take you so far; the rest is up to you.”

“What do you mean?” asked Henry.

“I mean that in life, magic or not, there are a certain number of things you’re sure to encounter,” explained the wizard.

“Like the visions we saw?” asked Roy.

“Precisely like that,” said Merlin. “But as I explained before, what you do with them and where they’ll take you is not predetermined. You must think of life as a hallway filled with different doors. You are sure to see all the doors, but what happens to you at each turn depends on which door you open. Each door you open leads to a new hallway, and in each hallway, you’ll find more doors. Again and again … to infinity. Infinite doors and infinite futures. Magic can transport you to a door, and a vision can give you a taste of what you’ll find behind it, but you still have to make choices. Nothing is ever completely fixed.”

“But what does all that have to do with Bernice?” asked Emma, her arm around the dog’s neck.

“Well, you opened a door and found Bernice, right? You had a choice, and you chose to bring her home with you.” He looked at Roy. “You accepted that responsibility when you rescued her, didn’t you? You could have just as easily left her behind—”

“Hey! How do you know that?” asked Roy.

“I know most things,” said Merlin.

“So what now?” asked Henry.

“Now you have to open another door. You have to seek the correct solution. Ask for help.”