Spring came early to the forest that year. By
mid-March, the trees had shaken off their snowy coats and new green leaves had begun
to sprout everywhere. Yellow daffodils turned their faces toward the fresh
spring sun as they peeked out from the corners of the empty Council Chamber,
and even the briar patch had dressed itself in delicate pink flowers to
celebrate the end of winter.
The Rookery had sprouted too. Buds of all shapes
and sizes had emerged from the woven branches, both inside and out, and the
Rookery had begun to look like a garden. The damaged roof had been left
unrepaired as a monument to the Second Great Battle, as it was now called, and
tiny blue flowers were blooming in the rubble.
The
greatest change to the Rookery, however, was inside its branchy walls. The
events of the winter had left their mark on the rooks. No more did they
squabble and bicker and complain. No more were they simply a collection of
individual rooks sharing a roof. The rooks had become a flock in purpose, in
thought, and in brotherhood, and Titus had undergone the greatest change of
all. The night of the Second Great Battle had stirred in him the courage and
compassion that he had always possessed, but had never allowed to develop. That
night, he reclaimed his position as the leader of the rooks, inaugurating the
Rookery’s second Golden Age, and the flock had fallen easily and confidently
under his wise and protective wing.
It was early morning when Arthur and Edward the
fox set out for the village. A few rooks were stirring in their roosts, and
Arthur paused to take a last, satisfied look at the Rookery. Edward stood in
the shadows behind him, a piano-shaped parcel held gently between his teeth,
and waited patiently for Arthur to whisper his goodbyes. Most of the forest
creatures had left the Rookery weeks before—preferring their old dens and
burrows now that the danger had passed—but here and there turtles and field
mice, a weasel and a beaver or two were nestled cozily in the warm hay on the
Rookery floor. Arthur turned to go, but before he had taken a step, a gentle
flapping told him that Titus had landed sleepily behind him.
“Are you off, old friend?” he yawned, stretching
his wings.
“I’m off,” Arthur smiled, patting Titus gently
on the shoulder. “Gone but not forgotten, I hope.”
“Gone, but coming back soon is more like it, I
trust,” Titus said as he cocked his head to the right.
“Yes, yes, we shall see,” Arthur laughed
quietly. “I am certain I will see you again. And if not here, you know where to
find me, I suspect.”
“Give my love to Sibyl,” Titus replied with a
wink.
Arthur bowed low to his friend, and his whiskers
twitched in turn. And without another word, he turned and walked through the
carved passageway, over the stone bridge, and away from the Rookery.
Lily was standing atop the village boundary wall
when Arthur and Edward came into view, gray and red against the new greenness
of the moor. They ran at full speed simply for the joy of running and in no
time Edward had leapt and Arthur had scampered to the top of the wall. Edward
dropped the parcel carefully on the wall, and then bounded away for the safety
of the garden, but Arthur remained.
“May I ask you to sit for a moment, my dear? I
have something to give you,” Arthur said rather formally.
Lily sat without speaking, but her eyes never
left Arthur’s. He perched himself on her knee, with his back to the moor. “It’s
my piano,” he said.
“I know,” Lily returned, a quiver in her voice.
“Dear one,” Arthur said, “this is no time for
sorrow. Be glad! Our story is not yet done! Think of the adventures that await
us!”
“Yes,” Lily said. “It’s just that I shall miss
you. And Father. September is such a long way away.”
“I know it seems that way, but there is much to
be done, and you will be bound for India before you know it,” he said with a
twitch of his whiskers.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. But isn’t a girl
allowed to miss her best friend when he goes so far away?”
“She is allowed,” he said, climbing up her arm
to her shoulder, and turning to face the forest. “Isn’t the forest lovely in
spring?”
They both sighed, for a moment enjoying the
silence.
“Lily!” her mother called from the front
doorway, waddling through the garden like pregnant women do. “Come say
goodbye!”
“Coming, Mother!” she shouted, and with Arthur
still on her shoulder and the piano in her left hand Lily climbed down from the
wall and walked toward home.
“Oh, hello, Arthur!” called Lily’s mother as
Lily closed the kissing gate behind her.
“Hello, Mrs. Watson,” Arthur replied with a bow.
“Are we all ready?” Lily’s father asked,
scanning the crowd of people that had gathered in the garden to see the
travelers off.
Tom and Newton were there, both of them at least
a foot taller and more manly than they had been when Father came home in the
autumn. Nan stood in the doorway comforting the housekeeper, who was blubbering
into her apron. Strathclyde was busy loading the last of the trunks onto the
carriage that would take Arthur and Captain Watson to the port, and Mrs. Watson
stood dutifully beside the kissing gate, with her handkerchief in one hand, and
Lily’s hand in the other.
The Captain passed from one well wisher to the
next with the efficiency of a seasoned soldier, shaking hands, clapping backs,
and promising to come home soon. He finally came to the kissing gate, where he
grasped his wife passionately and whispered gently into her ear. She stared at
him one last time, and with a gentle squeeze of Lily’s hand, retired into the
house for a moment of solitude. Lily stood alone now with Arthur and her
father, the village lane stretching southward before them.
“Be good for your mother, my love,” her father
said as he wrapped her in an embrace. “And no going into the forest alone.”
“Yes, Father. I am trying to be wiser now. I
will make sure Edward is with me. I think we will be good friends after all,”
she said bravely, missing Arthur already.
“And as for you, sir,” the Captain addressed Arthur,
“it is time we were going. Your ship to Paris won’t wait for you, I’m afraid.”
“Quite right,” Arthur said, and he nuzzled
Lily’s cheek for just a moment before he scurried from her shoulder to her
father’s. “Look after Titus for me, Lily.”
“I will,” she replied, trying very hard not to
cry. “I hope you find your family.”
“I hope so too,” he replied with a smile.
Lily’s father hugged her one last time, and both
man and mouse climbed into the carriage and rattled away. Lily ran into the
lane and watched as the carriage became smaller and smaller in the distance.
Her heart was sad, but hopeful, for, like Arthur had said, this was not the
end.
“September,” she said quietly.
“September,” she heard from somewhere near her
knee. Edward sat beside her in the lane, his crooked tail curled around her
leg, and Lily knew that her adventures had only just begun.
