CHAPTER
40
Just a few months ago, if Mum had attempted to board a steaming locomotive with Fred, three fox kits, and a one-eyed kitten, Clara Marie Stanton would’ve had a proper conniption. Today, when Mum and her menagerie boarded the train with Mr. Kingsley and chugged out of sight, Clara had a good laugh with Grand in between bites of apple strudel.
Well, half an apple strudel. Donatello the turtle, who’d finally emerged from his shell, had proven to be quite a voracious eater.
Having bid their farewells at the station and fortified their bodies with a breakfast of strudel and tea, Clara and Grand set out to reunite with the great owl machine. Together, they headed for the countryside, trekking over the Swiss Plateau’s rolling hills and dales. Grand, carrying his knapsack and her carpetbag. She, holding the wicker basket wherein Donny was tucked snuggly in the purple shell sweater Mum had knit for him during their stay in Old City.
When a farmer returning from market offered them a lift in his horse-drawn cart, they gladly accepted and purchased from his unsold wares the largest wheel of cheese they could carry. Dotted with marble-size holes distinctive to the region, the pale-yellow cheese was tangy, nutty, and, in Clara’s mind, better than gold!
Upon reaching their destination, which seemed the very definition of the middle of nowhere, the farmer eyed them quizzically. “Certain this is where you wish to part,mein freund? There’s nothing here but the ruins of the old Spyri farm.”
Grand nodded, setting his kaleidoscope of butterflies to dancing. “Precisely, precisely. This is the place. Always stop to explore the ruins, I say. You never know what astonishing wonders might be hiding amid the dusty memories of yesterday.”
The farmer guffawed dubiously. “Only thing you’ll find hiding in there is a barn owl.”
Clara snorted and arched a brow at Grand in question.Should we tell him?
A twinkle in Grand’s eyes offered a silent reply.And spoil the surprise? Never.
With a word of thanks, she and Grand climbed down from the cart. The farmer tipped his hat and continued his journey along the winding road.
A companionable silence enveloped her and Grand as they faced the land that once upon a time had been Granny’s childhood home.
Lush grass no longer kept short by grazing cows swayed in the breeze around an abandoned farmhouse and a huge barn. Like an elderly couple relaxing on their front porch in a pair of rocking chairs, the gray-haired buildings reminisced about the good old days when a little girl named Norma had milked the cows with her father, churned butter with hermother, and frolicked through meadows of daffodils with a nanny goat.
Clara indulged in a wistful sigh. She could understand why Granny had missed this place so dearly. How heartbroken little Norma must’ve been when they’d been forced to immigrate to England. She shook her head in reproach. “It looks so forlorn. Whoever bought the land off Great-grandfather Spyri certainly hasn’t done much with the place.”
“That they haven’t, but who knows, Little Stargazer? Their lack of appreciation for the land might compel them to sell and thus restore it to Spyri descendants.” Grand nudged her with an elbow. “An alpine farmhouse would make a lovely summer home for a pair of turtle doves looking to start a family.”
Clara blushed to her ears. The idea certainly had its merits, but she didn’t exactly wish to discuss them with her grandfather. “You’re as incorrigible as Mum.”
“I should hope so, seeing as I taught the girl everything she knows. But I won’t press the matter just now.” He whispered confidentially, “I’ll wait till we’re up in the clouds and you’ve no place to hide.” With a mischievous grin, Grand led her toward the barn.
Though long-neglected and forgotten, the old gray barn had aged well. The roof had lost a few shingles but hadn’t gone completely bald. That it remained structurally sound was a testament to Great-grandfather Spyri’s workmanship. Clara ran a glove over the barn door, wiping away years of dust that had settled into a carving above the latch: a stylized interlockingSandP—no doubt the family farm’s brand. A mark of ownership and legacy. She smiled. Skilled craftsmanship ran on both sides of Mum’s family, it seemed.
Together, she and Grand opened the barn’s double doors, their hinges creaking with age and dereliction. Afternoon sun flooded the barn, and a refreshing breeze encourageddormant specks of dust and hay to take to the air in a lively folk dance. Clara wandered into the expansive space, peering into the numerous stalls that, according to Granny’s stories, had once housed a herd of prized dairy cows, beloved pet goats, and a draught horse. Now, according to Grand, it housed but one whimsical inhabitant.
One that, oddly enough, she couldn’t find. The barn appeared as empty as the neighboring farmers believed it to be.
“Grand, where is the machine?”
“Look up, Little Stargazer. Up!”
Far above her head, Grand stood in a massive loft, the carpetbag and knapsack at his feet and a mound of hay at his back. “How did you get way up there?”
“The mechanical butterflies hoisted me by my whiskers.”
Placing a hand to her chest, Clara assumed an expression of mock alarm. “My stars, what a terribly painful means of travel! I’m surprised you’ve any whiskers left.”
“As am I, as am I,” assented Grand in the gravest of tones, gingerly floofing his injured mustache. “It would’ve been so much easier to use that handy ladder there.” As he gestured to his left, a smile ended their absurd pretense, and he tossed her a wink. “Come on up, then. Quick as you like.”
He didn’t have to ask her twice. Holding Donatello’s basket firmly against her bodice, she ascended the ladder and joined Grand in the loft. A gleam of brass, not visible from the ground level, peeked over the haystack.
“How did you manage this by yourself?”
Grand placed her basket by their luggage. “Oh, ’twas nothing. The owl’s talons did the heavy lifting. Once I’d flown the lot up here, all I had to do was arrange the stack with one of these.” He retrieved a pair of pitchforks, passed one to her, and began tossing musty hay over the edge of the loft. “Give us a hand, then.”
