Liberty (4 page)

The raccoon sat back on his haunches. His strong jaws cracked the acorn, and he crunched delicately on it. “Now there's something you don't hear often. Why would you want to go there?”

Santiago told their story of escape from the farm and of their adventures on the way. The raccoon was most interested in the story about scaring the snake away from the hummingbird nest.

“Why did you help her?”

Penelope said, “How you treat others is more important than having adventures.” She couldn't help looking over at the log where the porcupine was still scratching about and muttering to himself. Teasing the porcupine had been rude of the raccoon, but she was too polite to say that.

The raccoon asked lots of questions, but he didn't tell much about himself. “You don't sound like you're from here,” Penelope said.

“You're right. I've been to the wider world.”

Lightning cracked overhead.

“What's it like there?” Penelope asked eagerly.

Santiago pushed forward, “How do you get there?”

The raccoon tossed aside the acorn shell. “Rain's coming soon. You don't have much time. Listen. This stream runs into the Mississippi River in another mile. If you just try to swim across, you'll still be in this world.” He shook his head. “Some try that when they aren't allowed across.”

Penelope's heart felt tight. Some animals weren't allowed to cross. She didn't have time to ask “why not?” The raccoon was already turning away.

As he scampered away, the raccoon called back, “To cross, you must take the ferry. It's just south of here. To reach the wider world, you must cross on that ferry."

Then, before Penelope could say anything, the raccoon clambered up a cottonwood where the pigs glimpsed two other raccoons waiting for him.

“Come back!” Santiago cried.

The raccoon called, “Once you cross into the wider world, you can't come back. Think hard before you cross.” Then it disappeared into branches that were flapping about in the wind.

 Turning to Penelope, Santiago cried, “We're close!”

“Almost there.” Penelope's eyes tingled with tears. But the raccoon's words had scared her; some creatures weren't allowed to cross. What did that mean? How did they stop creatures from crossing? Who stopped them?

“Once we cross, we can't come back,” Santiago repeated.

Penelope realized the raccoon told them how to cross to the wider world, but he didn't tell them anything about the wider world itself. Hope had carried her for so long, but it was hope in a dream that was hard to touch. What was the wider world like? Did she and Santiago really want to go there? Would they be allowed to go? They could stay here and just live wild. It would be a good life, wouldn't it?

But Santiago had ambitions of getting ahead in the world. He often said, “It's not money or fame or power that I want. I want a challenge to conquer. I want to make a difference in the lives of a few creatures.”

For Penelope, it was simpler than that. She wanted to go to the wider world because the unknown called her. And in spite of her fears or her worries about the crossing, she had to answer that call, she had to know what lay beyond this river.  “Can't come back? Or won't want to?”

Santiago shrugged. “It amounts to the same thing.”

A
midst growing wind
, Penelope and Santiago trotted side by side until they came up a rise, and there, lying before them, was the Mississippi River. Flowing past was the largest stretch of water they'd ever seen. They stood quivering, trying to understand the swift brown water. Penelope edged down the bank until her hooves sank into soft mud. She bent and drank deeply. The thick water rolled around her mouth. The placid surface was a lie; she tasted hints of what must lie beneath the calm. Deep currents stirred and mingled the soil from thousands of farms and forests. She closed her eyes and swallowed the river water. She could almost understand the river's quiet murmurs. The moment passed, and she wished instead for a translator. The mighty river was hundreds of pig troughs across and cradled memories of too many lives for a simple pig to understand.

“If only we had a sail boat,” Penelope said.

Santiago shook his head. “I want to explore the seas, not a river.”

Strong winds left them no time to linger; they needed to ford before the rains hit. They trotted south and soon saw a wooden dock with a flat-bottomed ferry tied up. Excited, they clattered onto the dock. The wind whipped up waves that slapped against the ferry. The boat was old, its wood stained dark from water and wear. A tiny cabin at the center was lit by a lantern; the cabin was empty. There was room for them.

A red-haired ferryman sat near the tiller with his back toward them.

“I'll ask him about crossing,” Santiago whispered.

“He won't understand you.”

Santiago cleared his throat. “Sir.”

The ferryman didn't answer, but he did understand them. He pointed to a painted sign, which was nailed to a one of the dock posts, just above a lantern, so it was easily seen. It showed a skunk giving a coin to a red-haired man.

Penelope felt a jolt of surprise and excitement. If this man understood them, then the wider world was close, and it was going to be a strange world, indeed.  She gulped and spoke directly to the man. “We don't have any coins. We're just animals.”

For an answer, the ferryman turned away and flipped his collar up against the rain that started to patter down. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a floppy hat and covered his head.

“Will you take us across?” Penelope asked.

Without looking around, the ferryman shook his head.

Penelope was crushed. What she did not want was slop thrown into a trough. What she did not want was a pigsty so tiny she could cross it in five steps. What she did not want were children throwing pinecones at her. What she did not want was a wasted life. They had traveled a lifetime to get here. And now—they weren't going to be allowed to board the ferry? All because they didn't have a coin.

Farmer MacDonald had coins, and once he accidentally dropped a shiny silver coin into the sty. The piglets had stomped it into the mud before Penelope could grab it. She needed that coin now!

Santiago was practical. “We'll find shelter from the rain and figure this out later. We aren't beaten, yet.” He nudged Penelope toward the beach.

But Penelope glared at the ferryman. “Uncivilized. Unjust. Unfair.”

But the rain washed down her face, and the ferryman said nothing.

Penelope stepped forward and puffed out her chest. “We've as much right to go to the wider world as the next creature. What's to stop us from boarding your ferry anyway?”

The ferryman shrugged. “Go ahead. But you won't get to the wider world unless I steer the boat. That's how it works.”

No amount of bravado could solve this problem. Frustrated, the pigs trotted down the echoing boardwalk to the shore. Penelope stopped short. Before them stood a small brown bear and a possum.

“Wouldn't let you on the ferry?” The bear shook her head sadly. She looked past her prime, with white hairs sprinkled on her neck and her muzzle.

Santiago stood between Penelope and the other animals. “No,” he said shortly. “We have no coins.”

The possum lashed his tail about like an angry whip. “We've been here for a month, trying to figure out how to cross to the wider world.”

A month! Penelope swallowed hard. They were so close; they couldn't fail now. “Has anyone crossed this month?”

“No one,” growled the bear.

Despair swept through Penelope. Sweet anticipation had marked the early days of their travel. Would it all end here, with disappointment?

She cocked her ears: over the wind's moaning she heard something.

“Dogs,” the bear said. “They patrol this part of the river.” The bear turned and started to trot away.

The possum said, “They're probably after those raccoons again. The dogs are fast. You better get out of here.”

The possum joined the bear, and they disappeared along the banks, in the direction of the watering hole.

Penelope and Santiago hesitated, uncertain of where they could find shelter. Within the few seconds they hesitated, the barking grew louder. It sounded like a wild hunting pack was coming straight for them.

“Let's go.” Santiago turned to follow the possum, and Penelope followed Santiago.

Suddenly, out of the shrubs, spurted three raccoons. At their tails, a tall shepherd dog leapt and caught the slowest. Two more shepherds rushed from the shrubs to join him.

It was too late to escape to safety. Penelope whirled to face the dogs.

Penelope recognized the largest raccoon as the one from the watering hole. The others looked like his mate and an older offspring, perhaps a year-old son or daughter. This smallest one turned and scratched the shepherd's nose, escaping momentarily.

The raccoons leaped toward the river, putting the pigs between them and the dogs. Quietly, the large raccoon asked, “Will you help us?”

Strange, but Penelope thought it sounded almost like a challenge. She didn't look at the raccoons, though. Her gaze was fixed on the dogs just feet away from her. They were so close that she could almost smell their breath.

Dogs. Penelope couldn't let the shepherd kill the raccoons. When the fox kits were killed, she had been locked away in her sty; she had been just a piglet.

“Penelope,” Santiago said, “Let's get out of here.”

But Penelope shook her head. This time, she could do something.

Choose to be brave, Penelope told herself. But still, she trembled at the barks. And trembling, she charged. She butted the smallest dog, knocking it away from a raccoon. The dog snarled, whirled to meet her, and then backed away with another deep-throated growl.

“Come on!” she yelled to Santiago.

Following her lead, he charged into the fray, trampling on the dogs' soft paws with his hooves. When the dogs dodged aside, Penelope butted their soft stomachs.

Their sudden attack brought the three dogs up short.

Penelope's eyes were wide.  She searched the darkness for other dogs while still tracking the three in front of her. It seemed they were alone. The odds weren't too bad, then: five against three.

Taking advantage of the confusion, though, the raccoons had scampered up a tree.

Two against three, Penelope corrected herself. She wondered if she and Santiago could make it back to the watering hole where there would be other animals to help. No, their retreat in that direction was cut off by the dogs.

The raccoons scrambled out on a branch that hung over the ferry; they dropped to the ferry's deck. A moment later, they were clearly silhouetted in the cabin's lantern light. The ferryman cast off, and with soft grunts, started poling across the river.

“Hey! You have to pay to ride that ferry,” Santiago yelled.

Outrage filled Penelope. Why did the raccoons get a free ride, and they didn't?

By then the dogs had regrouped and were advancing with low growls, pulling her attention back to them. The three dogs darted forward and back, neatly cutting the pigs apart, separating them and making them fight their own battles. Two took on Santiago while one stood before Penelope.

Penelope wished she were like Santiago. He charged the shepherds while she analyzed the differences in these and the other dogs they'd met. The shepherds fought silently. Penelope almost wished for the baying of hounds, so she could pinpoint her enemy easier.  Meanwhile, Santiago was slowly pushing back his two dogs, away from the river.

I can do the same,
she encouraged herself. Imitating Santiago, she dashed forward, slashing with hooves while twisting frantically to avoid the dog's long, yellow teeth.

The dog whirled and nipped at her heels, but Penelope lashed out a kick with her hind leg. The dog yelped in surprise and backed away growling. Penelope squealed loudly in answer and charged again, forcing the dog to retreat toward the bushes. Santiago was also backing his dogs into the bushes.

Panting, the pigs stopped and stared at the dogs.

“The raccoons are gone,” Santiago yelled. “Leave us alone!”

It was a standoff, and the lead dog was smart enough to realize this. Besides, his quarry, the raccoons, were long gone. With a last aggravated yelp, the lead dog slunk back into the shrubs. The others followed, whimpering.

Breathing hard, Penelope stood her ground. Would they return? Rain soaked her back and collected in droplets on her lashes. She shuddered, but in spite of her fear, a sense of pride filled her. Dogs would always scare her, but at least this once, she had faced them and won. If she could help it, dogs would never be cruel again. She shrugged up her shoulders trying to release tension, and then stiffly turned.

The ferry was already halfway across the great river, halfway to the wider world. They'd have to wait until tomorrow to try again. The raccoons were hanging over the back of the ferry, watching the shore. Their eyes gleamed red. One turned and held out a paw to the ferryman, who stepped forward and took something from the raccoon.

The ferry stopped midstream; the ferryman moved to the opposite side of the boat to turn it toward the pigs.

Why was he coming back?

When the boat bumped the dock, the ferryman yelled, “Hurry, then. Storm's building.”

Santiago stepped aboard the heaving deck, and then turned back, ready to steady Penelope.

Penelope hesitated. If she stepped on board that ferry, her life would change forever. She looked at Santiago. “Are you sure?”

The ferryman called again, “The raccoons have paid your coins. Hurry!”

Santiago's eyes glowed in the lantern light. “Yes, Penelope. I'm sure.”

She stepped onto the ferry, closed her eyes, and lifted her head, trying to feel if that one step had made her any different. No, she was still Penelope.

She opened her eyes and followed Santiago toward the cabin.

Santiago stopped to speak to the ferryman. “Thank you for coming back for us.”

The ferryman shrugged, “It's my job.” With that, he concentrated on his work.

When Penelope and Santiago were settled in the cabin, the raccoons approached.

The biggest one asked, “Why did you help us?”

In her mind's ear, Penelope heard old Mrs. MacDonald reciting Shakespeare: “He that is thy friend indeed, He will help thee in thy need.” She called it out clear and loud, and then bowed over one rear leg.

“We thank you, lady and sir,” the raccoon said. “Your hearts are gentle. Your kindness in helping us paid your way to the wider world. You're the first animals in a long time who faced the dogs and tried to help us.”

The rain started pouring then, just in time to hide Penelope's blush. She understood that the raccoons had used the dogs as a sort of test, to help them decide who could board the ferry.

“You did it,” Santiago whispered, “By myself, I wouldn't have done it.”

“We did it,” Penelope said. “You gave me courage, and you helped.

Santiago said, “That line of poetry is one for us to live by.”

Penelope agreed. Their travels had been fast and hard, but in the midst, she felt they were growing and changing. Deciding to help others felt like a good decision, a wise decision. Victoria Marie would approve. Penelope echoed Santiago's words, “We will help all those in need we come across.”

The ferry moved silently across the dark waters carrying them across the Mississippi River in the company of new friends. Penelope wanted to study the shore they had left behind, but she didn't allow herself to look back. Her heart thumped, while the raccoon's words repeated as a litany in her mind: If you cross, you can never return.

For better or worse, she and Santiago were going to the wider world. They could never return. Never return. Never.