No Place Like Oz (6 page)

Uncle Henry whistled. “I've heard about the Corn Palace in South Dakota, but I don't think it's anything compared to
that
.”

We followed the road down the hill, into the valley. The evening was cool and the breeze felt good against my skin and everything was so pleasant that our frightful experience in the woods was almost forgotten. Almost.

What
had
I done back there?
I wondered. Had the trees' bark simply been worse than their bite? Or had my shoes had something to do with it?

I was still considering the question when a certain feeling of
familiarness
came over me, and then I saw it: at the edge of the field, a wooden post was sticking up out of the ground at a lopsided angle.

Something about seeing it there, like nothing had changed, made me almost want to cry. I knew that post. It was where I had first found the Scarecrow. Without him, I would never have made it to the Emerald City, would never have been able to defeat the Wicked Witch of the West. I would never have learned how brave I could really be.

Seeing it there, for the first time I knew that I was back. I was really, really back. He had been my friend, and I had missed him so much. Now I was going to see him again.

“What is it, Dorothy?” Aunt Em asked, seeing a small smile on my face.

“Nothing,” I said. “I'm just happy.”

Nine

Uncle Henry and Aunt Em were still huffing and puffing from the climb up the hill when we finally approached the entrance to the corncob mansion. It was even bigger up close than it had looked from far away, and I felt almost nervous as I reached for the corncob knocker on the door.

What if he was different? What if he didn't remember me? What if he was old and gray? (Could Scarecrows
get
old? There was still so much about Oz that I didn't know.)

There wasn't much time to wonder anything. The door opened before I could knock, and there he was, right before my eyes, just exactly the very same as I'd left him; just the same as I'd remembered him every day since Glinda had sent me home.

“Dorothy!” the Scarecrow exclaimed. I threw myself into his straw arms and he swept me up and spun me around, whooping with elation. “The Munchkins sent a bluebird to tell me you were on your way, but I was afraid to believe it!”

“You know I'd never leave you for good,” I said, laughing.

I was still grinning from ear to ear when he set me back down again, but the Scarecrow's face looked more serious. “We missed you, Dorothy,” he said, and his kind, smiling, drawn-on eyes—the ones I'd never forgotten—began to fill with tears. “Oz hasn't been the same without you. I didn't think you were ever coming back.”

“I didn't either,” I said, reaching out to touch his arm. “But I'm back because of Glinda. I know she's in trouble, and I have to rescue her. Do you know where she is?”

The Scarecrow cocked his stuffed head to the side.

“Glinda?” he asked. “What have you heard about her?”

“I saw her,” I said. He looked even more surprised at that. “She was at my old house by the Munchkin village. Well—it wasn't her exactly. It was more like some kind of
vision
. Like she was trying to send me a message. She told me she needed my help.”

The Scarecrow looked concerned. He was stroking his chin in thought. I knew that if anyone would know what to do, it was him—he was the wisest creature in all of Oz, and probably anywhere else, too.

“We have much to talk about,” he said after a spell. “But first, introduce me to your friends.”

I laughed. I'd been so excited to see him that I'd forgotten all about my aunt and uncle. They were still standing in the doorway looking like they had absolutely no idea what they'd gotten themselves into.

“They're not my
friends
, silly. They're my
family
—my aunt Em and uncle Henry.” As I said their names, Uncle Henry gave a funny little half wave and Aunt Em bowed awkwardly.

The Scarecrow lit up—it's amazing how expressive a painted-on face can be. He clapped his gloved hands together and he bounded for them, practically tackling them as he wrapped his flimsy arms around their waists. “Of course! I've heard so much about both of you! How have your travels in Oz been so far?”

Aunt Em, Uncle Henry, and I all exchanged a glance.

“Oh, it was all just grand until we came to the screaming monster trees that tried to murder us,” Uncle Henry said.

“Oh dear,” the Scarecrow said. “The Forest of Fear? Don't tell me the Munchkins didn't warn you.”

“How could we
not
pass through the forest?” I asked. “There's no way around it, at least as far as I could tell.”

“Of course you have to pass through it but—the Munchkins really didn't tell you to stuff your ears with Pixie thread?”

I shook my head. “I don't even know what a Pixie thread is.”

“It keeps you from hearing that infernal racket the trees love to make. If you can't
hear
them, you won't be afraid. And if you're not afraid, they won't even know you're there. Won't bother you a bit. They'll just look like exceedingly ugly trees. Which, in the end, is really all they are.”

They sensed fear. Was
that
how I had managed to get rid of them? Just by showing them that I wasn't scared?

No. Aunt Em and Uncle Henry and Toto had all been frightened. Somehow, I had made the trees afraid of
me
.

The problem was that it wasn't just the trees who had been scared of me. I'd scared myself, too.

“I don't think we'll be traveling back that way anytime soon if we can avoid it,” I said. “With or without Pixie thread.”

The Scarecrow sighed. “A reasonable response. Those trees are such a nuisance. Bad for tourism, especially when the Munchkins can be so forgetful about reminding passers-through to protect themselves. I keep telling the princess that she should just set a match to the whole forest, but she won't hear of it. She says they're part of Oz—that destroying them would upset the whole magical balance.”

“If that's balance,” Aunt Em said, shuddering at the memory of the afternoon, “I'd hate to think what it looks like when the scales start to tilt.”

The Scarecrow tipped his hat to her. “A very good question, Mrs. Gale,” he said. “Let's hope you never find out the answer. Now, come, let's eat. You must be starving after what you've been through.”

He turned to a doorway that led deeper into the castle and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Munchkins, prepare a feast for our special guests!”

As we entered a great dining room two Munchkins dressed in yellow and green—with tiny, pointy hats perched atop their bald heads—appeared out of nowhere.

We took our seats at the banquet table—even Toto had been given a place next to me—and before we knew it, our table settings flew in front of us only to land gently at our places: the napkins perfectly folded, the forks on the left, none of it even a smidgen askew.

Within seconds, our glasses were filled to the top with a delicious-looking beverage I didn't recognize, and it was only five minutes before tray after heaping tray of piping hot food appeared on the table.

“I took the liberty of having food prepared that I thought you'd be familiar with, rather than some of Oz's more . . .
exotic
native dishes,” the Scarecrow said, much to the relief of my aunt and uncle, who, despite their experience with the self-buttering corn, still seemed apprehensive at the idea of eating magical food.

“And very kind it was of you! There's enough grub here to feed my old army platoon,” Uncle Henry said. He picked up a serving spoon and helped himself to a generous portion of mashed potatoes.

“It sure does look good. I think,” Aunt Em said, eyeing a heaping bowl of caviar, which, even though it wasn't the least bit magical, was probably just as exotic as anything else Oz had to offer as far as she was concerned. At least Uncle Henry had gotten the chance to see a few scattered corners of the world, back in his army days. This was the first time Aunt Em had ever set foot outside of Kansas.

She was taking her maiden voyage in remarkable stride.

I'd never eaten so much in my life and I'm pretty sure Uncle Henry and Aunt Em hadn't either. Yet somehow we managed to finish each course just as another even larger one came. I guess a day of traveling will make a girl hungry.

“Aren't you going to have any food, Mr. Scarecrow?” Aunt Em asked around the time that they brought out the stuffed goose.

“Oh,” the Scarecrow said, waving her question aside. “I don't eat. The Wizard may have given me an exceptional set of brains but I'm still shy a working stomach. Now, Dorothy, tell me what brought you here. I've been dying to know!”

I wasn't sure how much to tell him just yet. I'm not sure why, but I didn't want Em and Henry knowing about the shoes, though they
had
to have an inkling.

“Well,” I said, smiling brightly. “I made a wish, and before you know it, we were all here!”

“Is that so,” the Scarecrow said thoughtfully. I could tell he wasn't buying it.

“We landed right in the same spot as last time—my old house was still there, if you can even imagine.”

“Of course it is,” he replied with a smile. “That little house is considered one of Oz's most important landmarks.”

Uncle Henry looked up from his Waldorf salad. “Mr. Scarecrow,” he said. “Dorothy tells us you're the smartest character in all the land.”

The Scarecrow nodded modestly, and Uncle Henry continued. “My wife, Emily, and I, we were hoping you'd have some idea of how the three of us might be able to get back—”

“Oh, drop it already!” I snapped. Aunt Em gasped, and I instantly clapped my hand to my mouth. I have to say that I was shocked at myself. Never in my life had I spoken so disrespectfully to my uncle. Or to anyone, really.

But it had been
such
a long day, and my aunt and uncle were being
so
troublesome. Here they were, eating the greatest meal they'd ever dared to dream of, and all they could think of was how to go back to our sad little farmhouse and our dusty pigpens.

I
must
try to control my temper,
I chided myself. If I wanted my aunt and uncle to see things my way, it wouldn't do to make them angry.

The Scarecrow shot me a curious sidelong glance but otherwise ignored my outburst. “It's true that I've been blessed with an excess of the finest brains known to man or beast, Munchkin, witch, or wizard,” he said, tapping his head with a stuffed glove. “But I'm sad to say that traveling between Oz and the outside world is no simple feat.”

“I see,” Henry said.

“Dorothy thinks a lady by the name of Glinda might be able to help,” Aunt Em said. “Do you have any idea of where we might find her?”

Again, the Scarecrow gave me a meaningful look that said,
We'll discuss this later.
“I do not,” he said. “Glinda's whereabouts have been unknown for quite some time now.”

“For how long?” I asked, putting my fork down, suddenly interested again in the conversation.

“Oh, it's hard to say,” the Scarecrow replied. He fiddled with a piece of straw that was poking out of his head. “You know we're not much for time here in Oz. No one gets older here, and we celebrate the holidays whenever we're of a mood for it. But it was some time after Ozma took the crown. Glinda let it be known that she had important magical business beyond the Deadly Desert, and that we shouldn't worry about her—that she would return when the time was right. That must have been, oh, at least ten years ago, if I venture a guess.”

“Ten years!” I exclaimed. “But, how long have I been gone?”

The Scarecrow turned in his seat and fixed his eyes on me seriously. “I don't know, but I daresay there are many people here in Oz who won't remember you at all. I, myself, had almost forgotten what you looked like.”

My last adventure here had lasted for what felt like almost a month, but when I'd returned home, only a few days had passed. Still, the idea that I had been gone so long that I'd been forgotten was unimaginable. All of my memories were still so fresh in my head.

I had so much to ask the Scarecrow. Why wasn't he king anymore? Who
was
this Ozma person? Did he have any suspicions about where Glinda had
really
gone? But I had the impression that he didn't want to talk about any of it in front of my aunt and uncle, and so I finished my meal in silence.

But there was so much on my mind that I hardly touched my food. Uncle Henry was a different story. I hadn't even made a dent in my Waldorf salad, and he had already scarfed down a goblet full of maraschino cherries, a small mincemeat pie, several hunks of lamb slathered with green mint jelly, and—despite the fact that I was unsure where exactly shellfish came from in Oz, where there were no oceans that I knew of—a giant portion of shrimp cocktail served in a crystal goblet brimming with crushed ice.

And then they brought out the ice cream.

“Oh dear,” Aunt Em said when she saw it. “I'm afraid I can't possibly eat any more. The meal was just perfect, Mr. Scarecrow, but I'm afraid it's been
quite
a day. Would it be terribly rude of me to excuse myself?”

“Of course not,” the Scarecrow said. He clapped his hands and another Munchkin, this one dressed all in yellow, appeared. “This is BonBon. He'll show you to your rooms.”

“Thank you, sir,” Uncle Henry said, standing along with Em. “Dorothy, don't you stay up too late. Tomorrow we'll need to be up at the crack of dawn to find Miss Glinda so that we can head on home.”

BonBon bowed and led them away.

As soon as they were gone, I pulled Toto into my lap and turned my chair to face the Scarecrow.

“Now tell me what is going on here,” I said. “I know there must be more to the story than you were telling me.”

He sighed. “You first,” he said. “I don't for a moment believe that you wished your way here. It doesn't work that way.”

So I told him the story: of my terrible birthday party, of the shoes, and the note that had come with them.

“They
must
have come from Glinda,” I finished. “Who else could have sent them?”

“It certainly sounds like her doing,” the Scarecrow mused. “But until now, I believed that Glinda was dead—or gone for good.”

“No,” I said, so emphatically that it came out as something approaching a shout. “No. Someone's done something to her. She's still in Oz, and she's in trouble. That's why she brought me here. To save her.”

“You may be right,” he said. “We'll go to see Ozma tomorrow. She needs to be apprised of the situation.”

Every time anyone said the name
Ozma
, a terrible feeling came over me. I'd never met her and I barely knew who she was, but I didn't like the sound of her. “Who
is
this Ozma?” I finally was able to ask. “And why aren't you the king anymore?”

A look of something like regret passed across the Scarecrow's face. He glanced down at his plate.