More adventures of geral.., p.1
More Adventures of Geraldine Woolkins, page 1
MORE ADVENTURES OF GERALDINE WOOLKINS
KARIN KAUFMAN
Copyright 2019 by Karin Kaufman
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons or mice, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Cover and interior illustrations by Adrian Cerchez.
Contents
Map
Are You Ready?
MARSHMALLOW DAYS
THE BIRD THAT WAS NOT A RAVEN
THE ROBINS AND THE LADYBUG
FEBRUARY IN THE OAK FOREST
THE WOLF WHO LAUGHED
THE TIME OF TREE SAP
THE NOT-GOOD ADVENTURE
WHISPERS OF SPRING
THE PURPLE CROCUS
GERALDINE'S PRAYER
A Note from the Author
The Geraldine Woolkins Series
Thank You!
Are You Ready?
Are you in bed, all snug and comfy under your blankets? Or are you on a couch or chair? Maybe you’re on a train or sitting in your back yard. You might be in school—or you might be waiting for a bus to take you there. It doesn’t matter where you are as long as you’re ready to read or listen to someone read to you, because books are an adventure like no other. Are you ready? Then you may begin.
MARSHMALLOW DAYS
Geraldine Woolkins shivered and pulled her quilted blanket to her chin. The Hollow had never felt so cold. She was late getting up—and late doing her chores—but she was sure she would freeze like an icicle on a branch above No Wolves Creek if she moved an inch from her toasty bed.
It was January, and as far as the eye could see, snow covered the earth. It covered the Oak Forest, where the Woolkins family made their home in the hollow of a tree, and it covered the Maple Forest. It stretched east to Acorn Hill and north to Where the Blueberries Fall, and it lay like thick white feathers across No Wolves Valley.
“Geraldine, rise and shine!”
Mama sounded agitated. But try as she might, Geraldine couldn’t bring herself to throw off her warm blanket and touch her mouse feet to the cold floor. January. She didn’t like the sound of that word anymore. Papa had told her January was the beginning of a new year, but right now she wanted the old year back.
“Geraldine!”
And she was tired of sledding. Flying over the snow while sitting atop of piece of tree bark had lost its appeal. Not for her brother, Button, but then Button could be a silly mouse.
Just as Geraldine pulled her blanket tighter to her chin, her bedroom door flew open. There stood Mama, her hands on her hips, her whiskers stiff as twigs. “Geraldine, tend to your chores this instant.”
“But Mama, it’s so cold. I can’t move.”
“It’s cold because there’s no fire in the fireplace. And why would that be?”
“Can’t Papa do it? He lights the fire, so why doesn’t he get the acorn shells?”
“Geraldine Woolkins!”
Mama was using her full name now, and that never bode well.
“What, Mama?”
“You know very well what. Your papa has enough to do this morning. You have only two small chores. Collect acorn shells from the pantry and then put them in the fireplace and the cookstove.”
“Can I eat breakfast first?”
“I can’t very well make breakfast if I can’t heat the stove. Now up! Do your chores, and before you know it, you’ll be eating walnut pancakes in a warm kitchen.”
Mama took off, showing her displeasure by stomping loudly down the hall.
“Pancakes and syrup,” Geraldine whispered. She sprang from her bed, dressed, and darted for the family’s underground pantry, where all their winter provisions were stored. Geraldine herself, and Button, had helped Papa harvest those provisions. There were dried chives and blueberries, acorns and acorn shells, sunflower and pumpkin seeds, and so much more. Even peppermint candy.
One day last autumn, Papa, who loved to scour the forest floor for unusual treats, had found two large pieces of peppermint, brought them home, and put them aside in the pantry. At Christmas, Geraldine and Button had found small pieces of the candy in their stockings. But now it was January, and the Woolkins children were forbidden to touch the peppermint again until Papa and Mama decided it was time for a special treat. Still, whenever Geraldine ventured into the pantry—as she was doing on this cold morning—she drew close the peppermint, sniffed its fresh winter scent, and imagined the deliciousness of it on her tongue.
“Don’t dawdle, Geraldine!” her mama called out. “And leave that peppermint alone!”
How did Mama know she was sniffing the forbidden candy?
Geraldine scooped acorn shells into a basket her mama had woven from pine needles and hurried to the kitchen without spilling a single one. She placed a third of the shells in the cookstove’s firebox and then took the remaining shells to the living room.
Her papa, who was in his armchair by the fireplace with a feather blanket on his lap, smiled at her. “There you are, Geraldine. I thought my whiskers would freeze.”
“Sorry, Papa. My legs wouldn’t move when I told them to.”
“It’s the fault of your legs, is it? Perhaps you need replacements.” He winked at her.
“But it’s so cold in here. I’ve never, ever been so cold.”
“That’s because you’re a new mouse and this is your first January.”
Geraldine emptied the acorns into the fireplace and closed the grate. “I’m tired of being a new mouse. I’ve been a new mouse since I was born. I want to be a middle mouse.”
“You’ll become a middle mouse on your very first birthday, which if I’m not mistaken is coming up on the third of April, only two and a half months away. But daughter, January doesn’t get any warmer when you’re a middle mouse. It’s the same cold for everyone. You must learn to enjoy every month and every season.”
Her papa rose, lit the fire, and poked the acorn shells with a stick until every last one burst into flame.
“I don’t enjoy January,” Geraldine said. “I don’t, and I never will.”
Geraldine knew her mama and papa didn’t like grumbling, but she couldn’t help herself. Just like she couldn’t make her legs get out of her warm bed, she couldn’t stop grumbling about January. The month deserved grumbling. Why was December so delightful and January so terrible?
Papa folded his blanket, laid it atop his chair, and dropped to his seat with a happy sigh. “I smell pancakes.”
Geraldine grinned, turned her nose toward the kitchen, and raised her nose in the air.
“Your mama doesn’t make pancakes in June, July, and August. Do you know why?”
“No, Papa.”
“Because in those months, it’s too hot to cook on the stove. So you see, walnut pancakes with syrup is a treat for cold weather. For January. It’s something to be thankful for.”
Geraldine stared down at her feet. Papa was always telling her to be thankful. Thankful for acorn soup and rain, for singing birds and the cool shade of oak trees in the summer. Most puzzling of all, he often told her to be thankful for wolves and ravens. But Geraldine wasn’t in the mood to be thankful. She was still in the mood to grumble.
“Nigel!” her mama called out. “Geraldine! Breakfast!”
Not wanting to be rude on top of her grumbling, Geraldine waited until her papa rose and made his way to the kitchen before scampering after him and joining him at the table.
“Where’s Button?” Papa asked, latching on to a half walnut shell filled with syrup and dragging it his way.
“Sledding,” Mama replied. “He wanted to sled before breakfast.”
Geraldine rolled her eyes. What a silly mouse her brother was.
“There are more pancakes on the stove, Geraldine, but leave two for your brother,” Mama said. Then she placed before Geraldine and her papa plates of steaming hot walnut pancakes, their nutty, sugary scent now filling the warm kitchen. Maybe January wasn’t too awful.
Papa drizzled syrup over his pancakes, passed the walnut shell to Geraldine, and then dug in with his fork, smacking his lips as he ate and declaring his pancakes the finest Mama had ever made.
“Nigel, manners,” Mama said.
“Close your mouth when you eat, Papa,” Geraldine said with a laugh.
“Quite right,” he said. He speared more pancakes—pieces so large he could barely fit them inside his mouth—and then, when he had chewed and swallowed it all, he announced, “Geraldine and I are going out after breakfast.”
“We are?” Geraldine laid down her fork. “It’s cold.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Mama said.
“But my reading and writing lesson, Mama.”
“It can wait.”
Papa winked at Mama and returned to his pancakes. They were conspiring. That’s what they were doing. Geraldine had learned that word only a week ago. Conspiring happened when mice joined forces to accomplish a task. Sometimes consp
Geraldine ate her pancakes as slowly as she could, trying to stall the inevitable, but even so, she soon finished her plate.
“Fetch your coat and scarf,” Papa instructed, “and meet me outside on the double.”
There was no use grumbling, Geraldine thought. Papa wasn’t listening. She got into her coat and wrapped her bright red scarf about her neck, certain she could already feel the bitter winter wind on her face.
Outside the door to the Hollow, Papa was looking to the east, toward Acorn Hill, and to Geraldine’s dismay, he was holding two bark sleds, one in each hand.
The world outside the Hollow looked like a thousand white marshmallows stuck together, all of them softening the sharpness of branches and tree trunks and shrubs. Papa had brought home a marshmallow once, after scouring the forest floor for treats, and Geraldine had never forgotten how fluffy and sweet it was.
“But marshmallows aren’t cold,” she said out loud.
“Savor these days, Geraldine. Follow me.”
Still holding the sleds, her papa trudged off for Acorn Hill, and Geraldine followed him, both of them walking with ease on the snow’s crusty surface. Papa was always telling her and Button to savor. After many months of being a new mouse, she had at last learned that to savor meant to pause and enjoy—and appreciate. “Savor” was Papa’s second favorite word after “thankful.”
When they reached the top of Acorn Hill and a gust of cold wind whistled around her scarf and nearly turned her ears to ice, Geraldine decided she didn’t like the word “savor” any more than the word “conspiring.”
“Papa, it’s freezing.” She stuck her hands in her coat. “It’s yuck up here.”
“There’s your brother,” he said, pointing halfway down the hill. “He’s making his way back up the hill. Excellent.”
“He’s so slow.” Now she had to contend with her silly brother as well as the month of January. “I don’t like this at all. I want more pancakes.”
Her Papa spun back to her, his whiskers shaking. “I don’t want to hear another word of complaint from you.”
Again she stared down at her feet. Somehow it seemed the only place to look. “Yes, Papa.”
When Button finally clambered to the summit of Acorn Hill, he was overjoyed to see his papa and sister. “Now we can sled together!” he said. “All three of us!”
Geraldine wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn’t dare set Papa’s whiskers shaking again.
Button did an about-face and sat on his sled, ready to fly down the hill. “What’s that?” he asked.
“What’s what?” Geraldine groused.
“Hold up,” Papa said, grabbing the back of Button’s sled. He hauled the sled backward, keeping it from sliding on the icy snow, and told Button to get out.
“I think it’s Quinton,” Geraldine said. “He has the same red face and gray ears.”
Quinton was her papa’s good friend, a gentle red fox who never hunted for mice in the Oak Forest.
“It’s a fox,” Papa said. “That’s for certain.”
As they watched, the fox leapt straight into the air, and when he came down, he landed head first in the snow.
Button giggled. “Look, he’s playing.”
“He’s not playing,” Papa said.
Something in her papa’s voice sent a tiny chill down Geraldine’s back. “Then what’s he doing?” she asked.
“Stand very still, children,” Papa answered quietly. “Foxes can smell, but their eyesight isn’t very good.”
“But I want to play with Quinton,” Geraldine said. What was her papa thinking? Finally there was something fun to do. Something besides sledding.
“That’s not Quinton, daughter.”
Another gust of bitter wind blew. It swirled about the summit of Acorn Hill, swept over the snow, and flowed downward toward No Wolves Creek. The fox froze. He snorted at the air as though he were smelling a yummy bowl of pumpkin soup, and then his large red face turned toward Acorn Hill.
“This is not good,” Papa said.
Button let out a squeak.
The fox took several large steps forward.
“Listen to me, children. When I say so, I want you to run, as swiftly as you can, back to the Hollow. Lock yourselves inside and don’t come out for any reason. Tell your mama to do the same.”
“But Papa!” Geraldine wailed.
“Do as you’re told. When you run, don’t stop for anything and don’t turn around. I’ll be right behind you. Do you understand me?”
Geraldine grabbed her tail and held it to her chest. “I don’t like this adventure.”
“Do you understand me?” Papa asked again.
Though they were very frightened, Geraldine and Button nodded and told their papa they understood.
“That’s not Quinton,” Geraldine said in her quietest voice.
The fox took two more steps forward. Then he grinned—a terrible fox grin full of pulled-back lips and sharp fangs.
“Run, children! Now!”
Geraldine and Button wheeled around and raced for their tree, their tiny feet digging into the icy snow, slipping, digging in again, slipping again. The fox’s large feet thundered behind them, pounding on the snow, drawing closer and closer. “Papa!” Geraldine screamed. At any second she would feel the creature’s hot breath on her neck. “Help us, Very Very Big Hands!”
Halfway to the Hollow, Button fell and tumbled, sliding like a dead leaf over the ice, skidding farther and farther from the safety of their home. “Help me!” he cried. “I can’t stop! Geraldine!”
With every ounce of strength she could muster, Geraldine dug her tiny claws into the ice and ran for her brother. She dove for him, trying to seize his coat or scarf. “Button, dig in with your feet!”
“Geraldine, help!”
“Dig in!” She dove again, and this time she snagged the corner of his coat. “I’ve got you!”
Button stuck his nails into the ice. Two seconds later, with Geraldine still gripping his coat, he stopped sliding.
“Up now!” Geraldine ordered. “Run and don’t fall!”
At that moment, as her brother once more raced for home, she disobeyed her papa and looked back to Acorn Hill.
But where was Papa? Where was the fox?
Hunting. The fox was hunting Papa, and he was all alone, sliding helplessly over the icy snow.
She heard Button at the Hollow door, shouting for Mama, and remembering her promise to Papa, she ran toward home.
The Hollow door was open, but instead of going inside, she again disobeyed, stopping just outside the door to search the Oak Forest for Papa and his gray coat. “Papa, please,” she murmured.
There! Papa and his gray coat were flying over the snow! He was running, the fox in pursuit. He darted this way and that, first for the tree and then away from it, the fox closing in with every passing second, its terrible mouth open wide, like a cave from which no ground thing could escape.
Mama yanked Geraldine inside the Hollow and shut the door.
“Mama! Mama, no!”
“Your papa knows what he’s doing,” Mama said.
“No!” Geraldine dashed to her bedroom, hopped to her bed, and peered out her window, hoping to catch a glimpse of her papa. If he was still running, he was still safe. “Please, God. Can you hear me? Please, Very Very Big Hands. Don’t let the fox mouth get Papa. The fox is so big, and my papa is so small.” Trying not to cry, she took hold of her blanket and pressed it to her lips.
“Listen very hard, children.”
Geraldine looked back at her bedroom door. Mama and Button were there, and Mama was pointing at the ceiling. A moment later, Geraldine thought she heard a soft patter overhead, like a mouse scampering over twigs and branches.
“Your papa is in our tree,” Mama said.
Button cheered.
Geraldine did not cheer. For just as her mama spoke, the fox marched by her bedroom window and began to circle their tree, stalking his prey. “Do foxes climb trees?” she asked.
“They do not,” Mama replied.
“Will the fox go away?”
“I don’t know, Geraldine.”
And then Mama did something very strange. She grabbed her tail, held it close to her body, and twisted it the way she twisted wet burlap towels over the kitchen sink. “Nigel,” she whispered.
