The
Reluctant Spy
by Lois June Wickstrom
Chapter One – A Rat in the Bedroom
Scritch-scritch. Skitter. Scrunch. There it was again.
Something was digging under his bed. Timmy grabbed the cool metal
flashlight from under his pillow, leaned over the edge of his bed and
clicked the switch with his thumb.
Something
moved against the wall. An indignant squeak. Timmy did his best to hold
the flashlight still. Two small beady black eyes shone back at him. A
hairless tail twitched. And little pink paws pulled back against a furry
white chest.
It was a rat. A seven-inch long rat, with a dark brown
head and neck. It looked like a hooded little bandit.
Timmy played his flashlight beam over it. The rat sat,
unmoving, unafraid in front of a freshly chewed hole in his pale green
wall. Now he knew what caused the scritching sound – and he didn’t
like it..
The rat’s eyes sparkled. The indignant expression on
its face seemed to say, "What are you doing under my
bed?" The flashlight beam revealed translucent pink ears and long
white whiskers. He could see now that the rat’s dark hood was its own
natural fur.
Grandma would be horrified if she knew a rat had
invaded her meticulously clean house. There must be a trap in the
garage. Timmy sat up and started to burrow his feet into his slippers.
He thought with satisfaction: if he
caught the
rat, he could put its dead body in the outside trash can before Grandma
ever saw it.
His flashlight illuminated the poster on the back of
his door: There was his hero: Michael Johnson, world famous sprinter,
breaking through the victory ribbon. Seeing that picture reminded him
– he still hadn’t decided if he wanted to try out for the track team
tomorrow!
Timmy was a thin boy with wiry muscles, olive skin,
and jet black hair. Coach Sweet said he had the perfect build for a
sprinter, just like Michael Johnson.
Footsteps came padding down the hallway. Timmy felt
his toes curl up as he listened. They always curled up when he was
nervous or worried. This habit tended to wear holes in to tops of his
shoes – even his slippers.
The door to his room creaked open. Michael Johnson’s
picture swung away. He aimed his flashlight at the intruder. There stood
Grandma wearing her orange and pink peony-print nightdress.
The rat squeaked, again. There was no hiding it from
her now. Grandma stared at Timmy and spoke gruffly. "You must be
the fastest flashlight in the East. Please lower your beam."
Timmy pointed his flashlight down at Grandma’s furry
pink slippers. They sparkled against his red linoleum floor.
"Sorry, Grandma. I wasn’t expecting you."
"You’ve got good reflexes!" Grandma
praised him. "Startle the invader, I always say. How did you
get your flashlight on so fast? I didn’t even hear it click"
"I heard a noise under my bed." Timmy
paused. "Grandma, we’ve got a rat." He braced himself for
what she might say.
Grandma smiled. "You found Hildegarde! I’m so
relieved! I just bought her last week and I was worried that she had
escaped!"
"You bought a rat?" Timmy couldn’t believe
it. "Then it’s a good thing I didn’t set a trap."
"Yes, indeed it is," said Grandma. "I
think it’s time I formally introduced the two of you." Grandma
paused. "Please give me the light." She held her hand out for
his flashlight.
"You’re standing beside the wall switch."
Timmy kept his flashlight beam aimed at his grandmother’s feet..
"Timmy," said Grandma in her I’m-trying-to-be-patient
voice, "Hildegarde is late for her training. She trains in the
dark. I don’t want her to get used to full room light, until I’m
sure of her skills in the dark. Now, please give me the
flashlight."
Up close, Timmy could smell that Grandma had taken a
lavender bubble bath. He handed her the flashlight. "Why are you
training a rat?"
The flashlight bobbed as Grandma chuckled. "There’s
been the smell of mystery in the air. I want Hildegarde to
investigate."
"What does a mystery smell like?" asked
Timmy.
"You’ll learn." Grandma aimed the
flashlight under the bed. "I’m going to introduce you to
Hildegarde. Now sit down on the floor, facing the bed."
Timmy followed his grandmother’s instructions. There
was no point arguing, or even asking questions when Grandma was intent
on a project..
Grandma shined the beam on his face. He squinted,
involuntarily. Timmy recalled that Grandma hadn’t squinted when he’d
shined the light in her eyes. Maybe his cousin Axel was right. Maybe she
was a spy.
"Hildegarde, this is my grandson, Timmy."
Hildegarde twitched her whiskers.
Timmy laughed. He’d been thinking about protecting
Grandma from finding out she had a rat in her house, and now they were
being introduced, like people who are expected to become friends.
His cousins Axel and Joey had warned him that Grandma
was odd, but he’d thought they were just trying to freak him out.
Before his parents disappeared last month, he only knew Grandma from his
once-a-year visits to Pillow, Pennsylvania.
Now she was his family until his parents returned from
their mysterious mission – if they ever returned. Grandma said the
government used to think children needed their parents. They only sent
childless people on dangerous missions. But now, the government thinks its
projects are more important than children or anything else. She
often called the government a big baby.
Timmy was afraid to talk about his parents and their
mission – for fear he might jeopardize their project, and he might
never see them again..
Chapter Two – She Lives Here Now
Grandma shined the light beam under the bed.
"Timmy, this is Hildegarde. She’s learning to be a spy."
"How can a rat be a spy?" he asked.
"And how did you hide her in the house for a whole week without my
seeing her?
Grandma smiled and clicked off the flashlight.
Hildegarde squeaked again.
Grandma bragged, "She’s been all over –
exploring our house – it’s her territory now." Grandma
kneeled down on the floor and peered under the bed. "Hildy’s very
quiet, except when she’s hiding things."
"Is she hiding something in my room?" Timmy
didn’t like the idea of a rat using his bedroom as a storage bin.
"If you heard her, you can be sure she was
gnawing a hole in your wall to hide something.
Grandma’s house was Spanish-style adobe with an open
floor plan. The living room, dining room and kitchen were one large open
space divided by kitchen cabinets and several strategically placed
tables. The only walls in the house created the two bathrooms and three
bedrooms.
Each bedroom had a laundry chute to the large open
basement. Timmy and Grandma sometimes slid down the chutes for the fun
of it. Grandma called it a drill, in case they needed to hide.
"Hildy has hiding places in every room of this
house – including the garage." Timmy could tell Grandma was proud
of that sneaky rat.
"What does she hide?" Timmy asked, uneasily.
He pictured the rat hiding dead bugs and other disgusting things under
his bed.
"The same things as you – carob, crackers –
and some nutritious foods, too.
Timmy did not like being told that this rat was just
like him. He was better than a rat! "Doesn’t she shed hair and
track mud in the house?"
"She’s so little and sweet – I don’t mind
cleaning up a few hairs and tiny footprints."
Grandma sat on the floor and patted the linoleum
beside her. "Come here, Hildy. Time for a snuggle." Hildegarde
poked her nose out from under the bed. Grandma patted the linoleum
again.
"You’ve seen dogs sniffing luggage at the
airport. They could replace all those big ugly dogs with sweet little
rats like Hildy. She can sniff out anything better than a dog. Rats can
pick up smells much better than you or I."
Grandma was comparing him to a rat again. And he was
coming up second best. Timmy didn’t like that at all.
"You can help me train her," said Grandma.
"It can be our special project."
Timmy didn’t want a special project. He still hadn’t
decided if he was going to try out for the track team. But he didn’t
want to disappoint his grandmother, either.
"Maybe this weekend. I’m awfully busy with
school." Timmy paused. He didn’t really want to train a rat. The
cold of the floor had seeped through his thin cotton pajamas. He stood
up, sat on the edge of his bed, and gave a fake yawn.
"I’m going to train her right now."
Grandma put her hands beside the bed. Hildy climbed into her cupped
palms. Then Grandma lifted Hildy up to her face and kissed her on the
forehead.
"Yuck," said Timmy. He lay down on his bed
and pulled the warm covers up over his shoulders.
"It’s time for her nightly lesson. I’m
training her to push buttons and toggle switches." Grandma sounded
like she expected him to be interested. Like she was giving him a treat.
"Come on! I know a fake yawn when I see one. It’ll be fun!"
Timmy grimaced. "Where’s her cage? I’ll go
get her cage!"
"Hildy doesn’t have a cage. Cages are for pet
rats, or maybe lab rats." said Grandma. "Hildy is going to be
my assistant. She’ll need to know every nook and cranny of this house
better than we do."
"Why do you need help pushing buttons and
toggling switches?" Timmy asked.
"When they are in places I can’t reach."
Grandma had the ability to say the most unreasonable things in a calm
voice.
"Get a ladder. I’m going to sleep." Timmy
pulled the blanket over his head.
"A ladder won’t help when the switches are in
other people’s houses." Grandma put Hildegarde on the bed beside
Timmy. She snuggled her warm body up against him, and tickled him with
her whiskers. He tensed.
"Grandma, why do you want to press buttons and
toggle switches in other peoples’ houses?" Timmy stretched the
way he’d seen sleepy people do in movies.
"You never know." Grandma put her hand on
his shoulder. "You can pet her. She’s soft and warm. She won’t
bite you."
"I don’t want to touch a rat!" Timmy
pulled the soft warm covers firmly over his head.
"She lives here now. She’s family."
Hildegarde snuggled her head up against his chest. Timmy tensed some
more.
"If she’s family, is she going to go off on a
secret mission and disappear?" Timmy almost said "like my
parents."
"She’s family, so you can love her."
Grandma stroked Timmy’s hair.
"I’m really sleepy." Timmy turned his face
to the wall. Hildegarde snuggled her warm little body up against his
back.
"Okay," said Grandma. "Good night. I’m
taking Hildy for her lesson now." She leaned over and kissed him on
the forehead, through the blanket and picked up Hildegarde.
As Grandma turned to leave his room, the drinking
glass on his bedside table clinked and jiggled a little dance.
Chapter Three – The Earthquake
Was Grandma doing something to make him change his
mind? Timmy poked his head out from under the covers. Street lamps all
down the block blinked in unison. His bed shook. Timmy rolled over to
see if Grandma was jumping. Grandma stood almost still as a statue,
cuddling Hildegarde in in the middle of his room..
"Wha?" Timmy started to ask.
Grandma held a finger to her lips. "Shh!"
The glass skittered across his night stand. Grandma
took a swift step, holding Hildy in one hand, and caught his glass just
as it slipped over the edge of the table.
She held the glass to her nose and sniffed. It was
lemonade – not the water he was supposed to have. But Grandma didn’t
say anything. On a normal night she’d have ordered him to brush his
teeth again – immediately!
The room shook. Books toppled from their shelves and
clattered to the linoleum floor. The little hooded rat made a series of
rapid high-pitched squeaks, and nestled its brown head into a fold of
Grandma’s nightdress.
In the dim light from the street lamp, he saw Grandma
touch her wrist, where she kept her braille watch. Grandma wasn’t
blind. She liked to be able to check the time without looking at her
wrist.
"It’s 10:13. Do you smell anything?"
Grandma asked.
"Smell what?" asked Timmy.
"The smell that comes after an earthquake."
Grandma said, calmly.
"Earthquakes don’t smell." Timmy pulled
the covers over his head again.
"Just take a deep breath with your nose and tell
me what you smell."
Timmy poked his head out from under the covers again,
and sniffed deeply several times. "It smells like the time you
overheated your cast iron sauce pot on the stove."
"That’s what I thought," said Grandma.
"We have a mystery. The Case of the Hot Metal Earthquake."
"Ms. Mulisch says earthquakes are natural
disasters." Ms. Mulisch was his sixth grade teacher. She had been a
schoolmate of Grandma’s. Timmy knew there was still a rivalry between
them.
"Old Ding-Ding doesn’t know everything,"
said Grandma.
"Ding-Ding?" asked Timmy.
"We used to call MaryBelle Mulisch,
Ding-Ding."
Timmy laughed. Then he said, "She does know a lot
about earthquakes."
"We’ll see," said Grandma. "I have a
hunch that this was more than an ordinary earthquake."
"I’ll ask about it in school tomorrow."
Timmy was in no mood for one of Grandma’s impromptu science lessons.
"Listen!" said Grandma.
What now? thought Timmy. But
he listened, his toes curling up. He heard a distant beepity beeple
beep beep beepity.
"That’s the Morse code machine in the garage.
Somebody is sending us a message."
"Can’t it wait ‘til morning?" asked
Timmy. "I want to go to sleep."
Grandma tapped her head. "I almost forgot. Our
neighbor Mr. Richter is giving a science demonstration at his house
tomorrow afternoon. He says he’s got a new invention."
"Who’s Mr. Richter?" Timmy tried to sound
bored.
"He’s our new neighbor. The one who put up that
funny looking house suspended from a pole up the middle. I’ll bet his
house really jiggled tonight."
"Oh, you mean the mad scientist." Timmy
pulled his covers up to his ears.
"Now, Timmy." Grandma gave him an amused
smile.
"That’s what the kids at school are calling
him."
"All the more reason to go check him out."
Grandma petted Hildegarde. "Isn’t that right, Hildy?"
The rat boggled her eyes. Then she reached a pink paw
up to stroke Grandma’s neck.
"I’ll think about it," said Timmy. He’d
seen enough kiddie magic shows to last a lifetime. Science was either
really simple stuff like Ms. Mulisch made them do, or it was too hard to
understand.
And he still hadn’t decided about track tryouts. He
didn’t want to tell Grandma, in case he didn’t make the team.
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