Ruff vs. Fluff Read online

  Meanwhile I was still plunked solidly on my butt in the hall, showing this gunslinger what was what. He reached the end of the hall and started down the stairs, disappearing from sight. It began to dawn on me that we had a problem. How could I show him what was what if he wasn’t there to see it? I hurried down the stairs. By the way, you might hear—I’m not saying from whom—that old Arthur has a waddling sort of run. Don’t you believe it!

  ARTHUR CAME WADDLING DOWN THE stairs. He was in a hurry, and when Arthur’s in a hurry his waddling speeds up and gets wobbly, all parts of him going in different directions. Except for his stubby tail, which stands straight up. In short, not a thing of beauty. I watched this spectacle from my command post on top of the grandfather clock in the front hall. From there I have excellent sight lines to the front door, the front desk, the stairs, and the small parlor with its fireplace—unlit at the moment—and honor-system bar where guests like to grab drinks at the end of the day, and sometimes check the box beside their name on the list, and sometimes not. I keep track of things like that from my command post and have my ways of dealing with those not-so-good guests, which maybe we can get to later. As for guests, we seemed to have just the one, namely Mr. LeMaire, now sporting a heavy winter jacket and having some back-and-forth with Mom at the desk.

  “Oh, we have tons of wonderful hiking,” Mom said. She handed Mr. LeMaire a brochure. “What sort of hike were you looking for?”

  Mr. LeMaire went through the brochure. “I’m interested in the old Sokoki Trail. And I don’t see it.”

  Mom put on her glasses—she has the kind they call cat’s eye, just another reason why Mom is Mom—and checked another copy of the brochure. “You’re right,” she said. “Probably because the old Sokoki Trail is not so easy to find. This one here”—she pointed at something else—“the Primrose, has quite similar terrain and is a snap to—”

  “I am interested in the old Sokoki Trail,” said Mr. LeMaire, “and only the old Sokoki Trail.”

  Mom took off her glasses and straightened up. I heard her foot beginning to tap. “Then I’d recommend a guide,” she said.

  “Very well,” Mr. LeMaire said.

  “I could try Matty Comeau,” Mom said. “He’s a cousin of mine, but that’s not why I’m recommending him. Matty’s the best guide in the valley. He’s also an amateur archaeologist who probably knows more about—”

  Mr. LeMaire made a backhanded waving motion, like he was sweeping something aside. “Fine. Can you make the arrangements?”

  Mom got on the phone. I noticed that Arthur had positioned himself right behind Mr. LeMaire and seemed to be gazing at one of his ankles.

  Mom talked on the phone for a bit and looked up. “Matty can’t do today,” she said. “How’s tomorrow?”

  “Today,” said Mr. LeMaire. “Tell him I’ll double his fee.”

  Mom is a very nice-looking person. Yes, no-nonsense, and her eyes can have a steely glint, but she still looks nice. Except for now, when a frown crossed her face unlike any I’d ever seen on her before.

  “Matty?” she said, her voice level and kind of chilly. “The gentleman will double your fee.”

  Did I catch the sound of laughter on the other end of the phone? I thought so, but it was very faint.

  Mom put down the phone, all of a sudden looking more cheerful and back to her pretty self. Did it have something to do with laughter? Human laughter is puzzling, but I’m pretty sure it’s a good thing for them. “Today is out,” she said.

  “Out?” Mr. LeMaire’s voice rose. “Not possible. Isn’t there anyone else? It’s not rocket science.”

  Ah. Rocket science. That comes up from time to time with humans. Last Fourth of July one of the guests turned out to be an actual rocket scientist. He showed Harmony and Bro how to build one. And what a sight it was when they lit the fuse! Why Arthur did what he did at that moment is something I’ll never understand, but that’s Arthur: in the end, a mystery. But the point was that rocket science leads to disaster. I was starting to be wary of Mr. LeMaire.

  “Well,” Mom said, “rocket science or not, I’m afraid that on such sort notice—”

  “Mom?” said Bro. He was sitting in the chair beside the grandfather clock, meaning right below me—so I had a perfect view of his hair, with that strange stick-up thing at the back, like a clumpy feather—and was playing a game on his phone, a game where tiny humans were hacking at one another with swords.

  Mom turned to him. He was looking at her even though his thumbs kept moving real fast and the tiny humans went on doing what they were doing. “Yes?” she said.

  “I can do it,” he said.

  “Do what?”

  “Take this, um, customer to the trailhead. For, like, double the usual fee.”

  “Well,” Mom said, “I really don’t think—”

  “Hey, kid,” said Mr. LeMaire, raising his voice over Mom’s. “You know the way?”

  Bro nodded. “Matty showed me. He’s my cousin, and also the best hockey player who ever came out of this town, played for Dartmouth, and if he hadn’t had all those concussions could have—”

  “Skip the details. You get me there, I’ll pay the fee.”

  “Uh, how much is it, Mom?” All this time, Bro’s thumbs never stopped. That was kind of amazing! Did Bro have trouble in school? Was it possible he was a grade behind Harmony? I wasn’t sure, might have slept through a conversation or two. But if running a whole battle of tiny humans without even looking had anything to do with school, then Bro should already have been in college.

  “I believe Matty charges sixty-five dollars for a half day,” Mom said.

  “So double would be …” Bro’s thumbs went still. “Like, um …”

  “One hundred and thirty big ones,” said Harmony, coming into the hall. “Count me in.”

  All eyes went to Harmony. Always a pleasure to see her. Harmony: the way she stood so straight; her glowing skin; and those big brown eyes, full of golden glints and every bit as sharp as Mom’s. Yes, a thing of beauty. Although not quite in my class. I thought I’d point that out, just so you wouldn’t get confused.

  Mom nodded. “Good idea, Harmony.”

  “Whoa!” said Bro. “That means I have to split the fee?”

  “Fifty-fifty,” Harmony said.

  “You two work it out,” Mom said. “And why not take Arthur along? He could use the exercise.”

  “What’s half of one thirty?” said Bro. Or something of that nature. My mind was on this latest development. Arthur was included in this shindig? And not me? Where was the justice in that? Look at him, still lurking behind Mr. LeMaire, his ugly snout down at ankle level, his head completely empty. In no time at all a certain someone could launch herself off the top of the grandfather clock and shake up that roly-poly world of his so it stayed shook up. But the better angels of my nature prevailed. There’s a quiet dignity about me that I’m sure goes unnoticed by nobody. I glided down from my command post and made my silent way into the kitchen.

  “Hi there, angel,” Bertha said. How nice of her, but to the point, since I’d just been considering my angelic side. “You’re late today. What kept you?”

  Nothing important. Just the usual routine annoyance. Meanwhile Bertha poured fresh thick cream into a saucer and laid it at my feet. Bertha is a big fan. I’m her very favorite, as she’s said so many times. But it never gets old. What a lovely woman! Everyone here at Blackberry Hill Inn was lovely, more or less, with one exception. Perhaps he’d get lost on this little hike, or whatever it was, never to return.

  I licked up some cream in my delicate way. My manners are off the charts, unlike those of a certain piggish someone, and I’m not talking about the actual pig in our barn, who you may meet later. Or not. Meanwhile this cream, so fresh and sweet, was also off the charts. Didn’t I deserve it? I’d had a pretty hard day so far, and it was still morning.

  “That was quick,” Bertha said. “Care for more?”

  YOU’RE TWINS?” MR. LEMAIRE
SAID.

  “Not the identical kind,” said Bro.

  Mr. LeMaire gave Bro a quick, eyebrows-raised sort of glance. Bro gets glances like that from time to time, I think when people realize he’s got a lot going on upstairs. Are we alike in the upstairs department, me and Bro? I couldn’t see why not. Out on our little hike with Mr. LeMaire, I tried to think of other strengths I had. When that didn’t work, I tried not thinking about my other strengths, hoping that would work better. Another puzzle I had to deal with was that last remark of Mom’s: He could use the exercise. What could she have meant by that?

  Meanwhile we were on the main Mount Misty trail that starts in the woods behind Willard’s General Store. It got colder right away, the kind of thing that often happens on Mount Misty. Cold doesn’t bother me, not with my coat. I don’t even feel it, except on my nose, which at that moment was picking up the gun oil scent coming from Mr. LeMaire’s small backpack.

  We rounded a bend and started up the first little rise, Bro in the lead, then Harmony and Mr. LeMaire side by side, and me last. Normally I go first, but how could I do that and keep an eye on Mr. LeMaire at the same time?

  Harmony said, “Bro’s actually older by four minutes.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Mr. LeMaire.

  “But guess what.”

  “I don’t play guessing games.”

  Harmony’s face clouded over just a bit. She dropped back a step or two. We kept walking till we came to the big rock at the first trail split, one of those rocks with lots of little sparkles in it. To one side, the trail stayed wide and easy; on the other side, it got narrow and much steeper. That was the side we took, the tall trees closing in around us and darkening the day. Mr. LeMaire began to huff and puff a bit. But not us. We were experienced hikers, me, Harmony, and Bro. And if I myself occasionally huffed or puffed, it was hardly ever and way beyond the reach of any human ears, which are mostly for decoration. Even if they’re not all that great-looking. No offense, but human ears are so small! Check mine out sometime. Once a whole family of moths was living in one of them! Even though they weren’t bothering me, the vet got rid of them.

  Meanwhile Mr. LeMaire had stubbed his toe on a tree root and was saying some bad words.

  “How about a little break?” Harmony said.

  Mr. LeMaire turned to her. “I don’t need a break,” he said. But he leaned against a tree like someone who did need a break after all. Up ahead, Bro came to a stop, slowly leaning forward at the same time, like only his feet had stopped and the rest of him was still going. Bro often did funny things like that but no one seemed to notice. But hey! I did. Wow! Did I have it going on upstairs today or not? I even noticed that Bro’s shoelaces were untied. And it didn’t bother him at all, meaning he was a great hiker. He’s a good hockey player, too, and so is Harmony. They’re actually on the same team this year, the U-12 all-stars, but there have been problems, which maybe we’ll get to later. And what was the other thing I was trying to remember? Uh-oh. Maybe it’s easier to just let the past disappear. How can you beat the here and now?

  “But,” Mr. LeMaire was saying, “since maybe you need a break, I’ll take advantage of the opportunity to play your little guessing game after all. Here’s my guess—you and this twin brother of yours weren’t even born on the same day.”

  Bro turned quickly. “Hey! You know about us?”

  “Why would I know about you?” Mr. LeMaire said. “I simply used logic. Your sister here implied there was something unusual about your twinship and I went with the most obvious choice, one of you born close to midnight and the other just after.” He shrugged.

  “Wow!” said Bro. “You must be pretty smart, huh?”

  “My IQ happens to be four standard deviations on the plus side,” Mr. LeMaire said.

  “What does that even mean?” said Bro.

  “It means, Bro,” said Harmony, “that he has a real high IQ.”

  “Wow!” Bro said again. “Um, Harm? What’s ours?”

  “Our what?” said Harmony.

  “IQ.”

  “Why would we have the same IQ? How many times do we have to go over this?”

  Bro kicked at a small stone. “Just one more.”

  Sometimes when Harmony and Bro aren’t getting along, he says something that makes her laugh, just a short, sharp laugh, kind of like a … bark. Did that mean Harmony and I had something in common? Hey! Was it possible we had the same IQ, whatever IQ happened to be?

  But I was losing my grip on what was going on. Harmony laughed that short, sharp laugh and said, “We’re like any other brother and sister, Bro, except we were born together.”

  “Okay,” Bro said. “Got it this time, for sure.”

  “What I don’t get,” Mr. LeMaire said, “is why everyone calls you Bro. It can’t be your real name.”

  Harmony and Bro exchanged a look. They have certain looks they share that are like a kind of talk. This was one of them.

  “I started it,” Harmony said. “And it caught on.”

  “I like it,” Bro said. “And it’s a lot better than …”

  “Than what?” said Mr. LeMaire.

  Bro looked down at the ground. “Ringo.”

  “Your real name is Ringo?” Mr. LeMaire said. He laughed, one of those mean laughs I don’t like to hear. I sidled over toward Mr. LeMaire, closing in on his ankles. “Your parents named you Harmony and Ringo?”

  The kids didn’t reply.

  “I get it,” Mr. LeMaire went on. “Your mother named one of you and your father the other, or some similarly stupid negotiation. Am I right?”

  “I don’t know about the stupid part,” Harmony said. “But something like that. What’s your first name?”

  Mr. LeMaire looked down that big blade of a nose. “Mister, to you.” He straightened up. “Lead on, Bro.”

  We climbed through the Mount Misty woods, higher and higher, our breath now showing in the air. Sometimes those breaths of ours rose up and joined together above us. There are interesting sights in life, but don’t ask me if they mean anything. The trail, real narrow and rocky, slanted off to one side, then switched back. Water ran nearby—I could smell and hear it. I could also smell squirrel, fox, and bear, the bear smell not recent. That was a bonus: I’d had a few experiences with bears, none good. Also, I could smell … peanut butter? Yes, peanut butter for sure. I followed the smell, which took me off the trail and into a small clearing with some blackened stones in the middle. There’d been a campfire here, maybe earlier today. I sniffed around it and under a charred stick found the remains of a sandwich, PB&J. How nice of whoever it was! I rejoined our little expedition.

  “Arthur!” Harmony said. “What’s in your mouth?”

  Me? My mouth? Why, nothing. Or at least not much. And now—chomp chomp—nothing at all, for absolute sure.

  She gave me a close look. “You be good.”

  I trotted beside her, good as good could be, like an obedience-school star. I’d been to obedience school—more than once—and really stood out from the crowd, as the teacher had told Mom when she came to collect me that last time. Would I be going back soon? I hoped so, although I kind of recalled Mom’s surprise at that bill, too. And money was a bit of a problem these days. Poor Mom. I thought to myself, snow! snow! snow! And wouldn’t you know it? Wafting down through bare branches above came a big fat flake, and then another! I was stunned. This was maybe the most important moment of my whole life. To make sure of my new powers, I changed my thinking slightly to, sausages! sausages! sausages! But no sausages wafted down from the sky, at least not right away.

  “Why are you whining like that?” Harmony said.

  Whining? That was me? Shameful, even if I wanted sausages so bad. I got a grip.

  Harmony, Mr. LeMaire, and I stepped over a narrow stream that crossed the path—me actually stepping right through—and found Bro waiting up ahead. He was gazing at a huge tree stump that stood beside the trail, big puffball mushrooms growing on its flat top.

 
“I think this is the tricky part,” he said.

  Mr. LeMaire was huffing and puffing now, no doubt about it, his face all sweaty despite the cold. He’d opened his jacket and one side drooped a little: the gun side.

  “What are you talking about?” he said, taking out his map, that old one where he’d marked a red circle.

  “Where we leave the main trail,” said Bro.

  “That’s not what it shows here,” Mr. LeMaire said.

  The kids went to look at Mr. LeMaire’s map. Did he make a move to start folding it back up? I thought so, but they got there before he could.

  “Cool map,” Harmony said.

  “What’s cool about it?” said Bro.

  “Well, it’s hand drawn, for one thing. And so old and faded. Where did you get it, Mr. LeMaire?”

  “That’s not important.” Mr. LeMaire jabbed at the map. “What’s important is that it shows the Sokoki Trail running directly off the main trail after three series of three switchbacks about halfway up. We’re halfway up, but the last three series were of two each. Meaning this is not the place.”

  “Don’t know about that.” Bro turned away from the map. “But this feels right.”

  “Based on what?”

  “Huh?”

  Mr. LeMaire’s voice rose. “You can’t just have an opinion. It has to be based on something.”

  Bro crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Matty told me.”

  “Some cousin of yours?”

  “The best guide in the Green Mountains,” Harmony said.

  “He said stump with puffballs, hang a right,” Bro said. “Stump with poison ivy, keep straight.” He jerked his thumb down the trail. “We passed the poison ivy one a while back, so …”

  “I didn’t see any stump with poison ivy,” Mr. LeMaire said. Bro tilted up his chin in this stubborn way he has and didn’t say a word. “So now we’re supposed to bushwhack?”

  “Not for long.”