Shorn: Chapter 20

And thus there was a new member of the household. Rascal got over his fears almost immediately. By morning he’d climbed out of his little box. Melda found him exploring the kitchen when she emerged from her room early the next morning. He turned as she entered, his bright eyes fixing on her, his little whiskers twitching. With his black eye mask, he looked like a robber caught in the act.

“What are you getting into?” she yawned. “Trouble already?”

His answer was a soft trill that made Melda smile. “Are you a talker, Rascal? Do you have lots to say?” He trilled again. “Well, good luck getting a word in around this crowd. There’s hardly a gap.”

She added wood to the hearth and stirred the coals. She was hanging a kettle over it when Shorn came in carrying a pail of milk and several eggs.

Rascal froze when he saw Shorn, the fur on his back standing up, his little legs poised to flee. Shorn stopped, not wanting to frighten him.

Slowly, Rascal took a step closer, watching Shorn closely. Another step. Another. The tiny creature got close enough to sniff his boot with his pointy little nose. He walked all the way around Shorn, sniffing the whole way.

Melda set a grate over the fire. “He probably hasn’t encountered too many Themorians out in the wild. Or any.”

Finished with his sniffing, Rascal backed up to get a good look at Shorn. He trilled a question.

Shorn crouched and put out one hand. In his hand he had a fat blackberry. He set it on the floor. Rascal eased forward and sniffed it cautiously. He picked the blackberry up with his delicate fingers and had a nibble.

His head snapped up. His mouth worked. His eyes grew very wide.

He tore into the blackberry, growling as he devoured it. The berry was soon gone. Rascal looked up at Shorn again. But this time, his expression was completely different. His eyes were shining.

“I think you just made a new friend,” Melda said.

Rascal ran forward and jumped onto Shorn’s still outstretched hand. He nosed all over, pushing between Shorn’s fingers, looking for more. He even stuck his head into the sleeve of Shorn’s tunic.

“That didn’t take long,” Melda observed.

Lysa came out of her room, rubbing her eyes. Her eyes lit on Rascal, and her face lit up. “You’re alive!” She hurried over, slowing when Rascal pulled back. She put her hand out slowly. “Don’t you remember me?”

Rascal sniffed her hand and then held still as she gently stroked his head. He didn’t resist as she picked him up. When she held him to her, he began batting at her hair, making her laugh.

“I warmed some milk for him.” Melda set a bowl on the table. “Why don’t you feed him?”

Lysa took up a straw and held it out to Rascal. Rascal drank it greedily. When she went to refill the straw, he followed and discovered the bowl. He sniffed it, cast a look at Lysa to make sure, then shoved his snout in the milk and began drinking.

“A lot of times baby wild animals won’t eat.” Melda watched with her arms crossed. “I’m glad this isn’t one of those times.”

Rascal finished the milk and cried for more. Melda poured a little more in. “Leave some for us, okay?”

The boys got up. Rascal crouched as they crowded around him, his tiny eyes darting this way and that.

“Go slow,” Melda warned. “Give him some time. Put your hand out so he can sniff it.”

They did. Rascal sniffed them and then submitted to some petting. He quickly grew restless. He jumped onto the chair and then to the floor. He found the children’s shoes, piled up by the front door, and crawled into one of Pol’s boots that was lying on its side. From there he surveyed them thoughtfully.

“He’s so cute,” Lysa said. “I just want to hug him and squeeze him all the time.”

“Make sure you give him some space,” Melda said. “He’s still getting used to his new home. He will need some time. Come, sit down. Breakfast is almost ready.”

With many reluctant backward looks, the children took their places. Ren came out of the room she shared with Lysa holding her doll tight under one arm. Melda set her on her chair and put some oatmeal in front of her.

Eggs and fried slices of ham followed, along with bread and honey. The children tore into the food and Rascal was temporarily forgotten.

That is, until Lysa suddenly shrieked and almost fell off her chair. “What is it?” she yelled.

It was Rascal. He wanted to know what they were eating and had decided to climb up Lysa’s leg as his best path onto the table.

When Lysa hollered, Rascal got frightened and ran. Shorn’s cloak was hanging on a hook by the door, the garment so long that the lower section was lying on the floor. Rascal took refuge in there, only his pointed little nose and the gleams of his eyes visible.

“I’m so sorry, Rascal,” Lysa wailed. “I didn’t know.” She started to go to him, but Melda waved her back.

“Let him be for now. He’ll come out when he’s ready.”

Sure enough, Rascals natural curiosity—and his appetite—soon proved stronger than his fear. He emerged, blinking, and trundled back over to the table. He looked up at Lysa and patted her leg.

“I think he wants me to pick him up.” Gently, she picked him up and put him in her lap.

That wasn’t good enough for Rascal. When she started to eat again, he chirred at her and slapped her elbow with his tiny paw.

Lysa looked at her mother. “He wants on the table. Can I?”

Melda sighed. “Okay.” She looked at Shorn. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I? Nothing will be safe from this animal once he gets bigger.”

Lysa set him on the table. Right away, Kit offered him some bread with honey on it. Rascal took it cautiously, turning it around in his nimble little hands while he sniffed it. He took a tentative lick of the honey and then froze.

“What’s wrong?” Lysa asked.

Rascal didn’t stay frozen long. He shoved the rest of the bread in his mouth and began chewing vigorously.

“He likes it!” Kit said.

Then all the children were offering food to Rascal. Melda had to jump in when Kit offered Rascal the small pot of honey.

“Hold on, there. That’s not for him.”

Rascal gave her a reproachful look when she snatched the honey away. Squatting on his rear haunches, he reached for it, trilling sadly.

“He’s so sad,” Lysa said. “Can’t he have just a little more?”

“No. This stuff is dear. Let him go find his own if he wants honey.” She put the lid on the small crock and set it up on a shelf. Rascal watched her closely as she did this. It looked like he was thinking. He trilled again.

“No,” Melda said. “Look as cute and as sad as you want. You’re still not getting anymore.”

Rascal didn’t pout long. He had more exploring, and more eating, to do. The children offered him everything. He didn’t care for the ham and only took a nibble of oatmeal. But he dove into Pol’s eggs, climbing halfway onto his plate to get at them.

“All right. That’s enough.” Melda picked him up and set him on the floor. “I don’t think you belong on the table.”

Rascal sat back on his haunches, held up his paws and made a little mewling sound.

“No.”

Rascal dropped to all fours, chirred sadly and went back to Shorn’s cloak, hiding within its folds.

“You made him sad, Mama,” Lysa said.

“He’ll get over it. He has to learn some rules if he’s going to live in this house. There are enough animals living here as it is.”

“You mean us, don’t you?” Kit asked.

“I do.”

“We’re animals!” Kit joyfully launched into a variety of animal sounds.

“Just finish your breakfast. We have to harvest the squash today.”

A chorus of groans met her words. “I want to go swimming again,” Kit announced.

“You will. When the work is done.”

More complaints. Melda looked at Shorn. “Help me out here?”

“Tomorrow the squash will need to be taken to town to the market.”

It took a few moments for that information to sink in.

“I’ll get to see Emma again!” Lysa cried. “She’ll be so happy to meet Rascal.” Pol chimed in with how excited he was to see his new friends again too. Kit wanted to know if they could get some more candy. Ren settled for banging on the table with her spoon.

“But first the squash must be harvested,” Shorn said.

The kids went back to eating, still chattering excitedly. When they were done, Lysa asked, “What are we going to do with Rascal while we harvest?”

“We should shut him up in the house so he doesn’t get lost,” Kit said.

“That’s probably a good idea.” Melda was eyeing her kitchen, figuring out what Rascal could get into and what was safe from him.

Breakfast finished, they all trooped outside. Rascal tried to follow. Lysa patted him on the head and pushed him back inside, closing the door on him.

Immediately, Rascal began scratching frantically on the door. When that didn’t work, he started screeching. It was an awful sound of sadness and loss.

Lysa threw the door open and swept him into her arms. He clung to her neck and buried his face in her hair, making sad sounds. He was shaking.

“I can’t leave him, Mama.” Lysa had tears in her eyes. “He just lost his mommy. He can’t lose us too.”

“Apparently not. Okay, Rascal. Time to learn how to harvest.”

Each person took a burlap sack and began walking down the rows, picking the squash that was big enough. Rascal trundled along behind Lysa. When she bent to pick a squash, he hurried over, putting his paws on her hand to stop her while he investigated everything. The squash proved to be uninteresting. He pushed his snout deeper into the plant, sniffing.

A grasshopper jumped up right in his face, startling him so that he shrilled and fell over backward. He ran to the safety of Lysa and hid behind her legs. He looked up at her and trilled a question.

“It’s just a grasshopper, silly. They can’t hurt you.”

Rascal stayed very close to her for a time, eyeing the squash plants suspiciously, wondering what other surprises were hidden in there. But his natural curiosity was stronger than his fear and soon he was exploring again.

He flushed another grasshopper, grabbed at it and missed. But his keen eyes tracked its movement, and when it landed, he pounced. He had a tentative taste and instantly jumped back, making little hacking noises.

“I guess he doesn’t like grasshoppers,” Kit remarked. His sack was almost empty. He’d been watching Rascal the whole time.

“Come on, Kit,” his mother said gently. “We need your help. You can play with Rascal when we’re done.”

By midday, Rascal was roaming the squash field like he owned it. He loved chasing grasshoppers, pouncing, leaping into the air, trying to knock them down. After the first time, he didn’t try eating them. They were merely entertainment.

He discovered a gopher hole at the end of one row and stuck his nose in it, sniffing deeply. Then, he started digging, throwing little puffs of dirt behind him.

Suddenly, without warning, he fell backwards and scrambled away. A gopher popped out of the hole and chattered at him angrily. Done with its diatribe, the gopher disappeared again.

“I don’t think he wants to share his hole with you,” Lysa said.

Rascal sniffed some more but stayed away from the hole. A fat bumblebee buzzed by, and he set off after it. It landed on a flower. Rascal approached cautiously. The bumblebee shivered and buzzed. Rascal jumped back.

Soon, he was creeping forward again. He was very close to the insect when it took off with a loud buzz. Rascal fell over backwards trying to get away, making Lysa laugh.

They stopped for lunch. Melda put her foot down. “No raccoons on the table.”

Rascal was left to waddle around among their feet, stopping now and then to put his paw on a child’s leg and cry piteously. The children begged their mother to change her mind, but she was unmoved.

Rascal was given a bowl of milk and a plate with peas and potatoes. He ate it all, stopping now and then to complain that he wasn’t allowed on the table. The food finished, he discovered he was tired. He waddled over and hid in Shorn’s cloak again. Soon, tiny snoring sounds were coming from within its folds.

They were all out in the field harvesting when Rascal emerged. They’d left the front door ajar for him. He was making his way toward them when a shadow passed over him. Rascal froze, then ran for the house. From its safety, he peered out to see what it was.

Kit, who had witnessed the whole thing while he was getting some water, laughed. “Don’t worry, Rascal. It’s only Old Croaky. He won’t hurt you.”

Old Croaky was a crow that lived in the oak tree behind the farmhouse. They weren’t sure if he was actually old, but the moniker fit so it stuck. Occasionally, the children fed Old Croaky berries or chunks of bread, which he flew away with and ate in the comfort of his tree.

What Old Croaky really liked though was shiny things. Once, he stole Melda’s favorite hair pin when she set it down outside to brush her hair. Pol climbed up the tree to retrieve it, Old Croaky squawking angrily at him the whole time.

Old Croaky sat in his tree, watching the young raccoon as Rascal hesitantly re-emerged from the house. Once he was fully outside, Old Croaky dropped from his branch and flew at him, cawing.

Rascal charged back inside. Old Croaky flew up and landed on the roof of the house. The bird looked very pleased with himself, preening and strutting back and forth.

Twice more, Rascal ventured forth, and twice Old Croaky swooped down and chased him back inside. Kit yelled at the bird and threw a rock at him, but it didn’t get close to the smart old bird, who cawed derisively at his attempt.

Finally, Lysa went into the house and picked up Rascal. Cradling him against her chest, she went out and shouted at Old Croaky until the bird gave up and flew away. Rascal patted her hair in gratitude.

Near the end of the day, they finished harvesting the squash. It was all loaded in the wagon and covered with a tarp that was tied down securely to keep pests from it.

There was a minor uproar when Lysa couldn’t find Rascal. They all started searching. The kids ran up and down the crop rows calling his name. Melda checked Shorn’s cloak. Shorn checked the barn.

Pol found Rascal sleeping at the end of one of the rows, tucked under the squash leaves for shade. He cradled the sleepy raccoon—Rascal didn’t even open his eyes—and carried him back to the house.

Lysa wanted to hold him. Pol refused. Melda had to step in.

“Let Pol hold him for a while. You’ll get your turn.”

“But he’s my pet!”

Melda crouched down and took Lysa’s chin in her hands. “You need to remember something. Rascal is a wild animal. He’s not a pet. When he grows up, he has to return to the wild.”

Tears started in Lysa’s eyes. “No. Why?”

“It’s what wild animals do.”

“I don’t want him to go.”

Melda stroked her hair. “I know. But what are you going to do when he’s ready to leave, when he wants to go back to the forest and start his own family? Are you going to put him in a cage?”

Lysa looked horrified at the thought. “I’d never put him in a cage. That would be so mean.”

“There you have it. Don’t cry. It’s all months away. You still have lots of time with him.”

Lysa nodded, swallowing her tears. In a small voice, she said, “I want what’s best for Rascal.”

Melda gave her a hug. “That’s what I like to hear. You’re growing up. You’re learning that sometimes it’s not about what’s best for you, it’s about what’s best for those you love.”

“I don’t think I want to grow up.”

“And yet it will happen anyway.”

“He’s waking up,” Pol said.

Rascal stretched all four, furry legs and yawned. He trilled at Pol.

“I think he’s hungry.”

Melda chuckled. “I think he’s eaten his body weight already today. If we’re not careful, he’ll eat everything and leave nothing for us.”

Rascal struggled to be let down. Pol set him on the floor by Ren. Ren toddled over to him and started petting him. “Soft.” She looked at her mother. “Kitty?”

“No. Rascal is a raccoon.”

Ren frowned. “Ca—coon?”

“Raccoon,” Melda said.

“Ca…cacoon.”

“That’s close enough. I don’t think Rascal minds.”

“Can Rascal come to town with us tomorrow?” Lysa asked.

Melda looked at Shorn, who shrugged. “Well, we already know he hates being left alone, so I guess we’ll have to bring him.”

“I can’t wait to show him to Emma!”

(If you're interested in reading more of Shorn's story from the time before this current one, go check out Wreckers Gate. It's book one of Immortality and Chaos, the series where we first meet Shorn. I will warn you that he doesn't appear until book 2, though!)

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