Tree Musketeers Read online

  OTHER NOVELS BY NORMA CHARLES

  Runner (Red Deer Press, 2017)

  Last Chance Island (Ronsdale, 2016)

  Run Marco, Run (Ronsdale, 2011)

  Chasing a Star (Ronsdale, 2009)

  Bank Job (Orca, 2009, with James Heneghan)

  The Girl in the Backseat (Ronsdale, 2008)

  Boxcar Kid (Dundurn, 2007)

  Sophie’s Friend in Need (Beach Holme, 2004)

  All the Way to Mexico (Raincoast, 2003)

  Fuzzy Wuzzy (Coteau, 2002)

  Criss Cross, Double Cross (Beach Holme, 2002)

  The Accomplice (Raincoast, 2001)

  Sophie, Sea to Sea (Beach Holme, 1999)

  Runaway (Coteau, 1999)

  Dolphin Alert! (Nelson, 1998)

  Darlene’s Shadow (General, 1991)

  A bientôt, Croco (Scholastic, 1991)

  See You Later, Alligator (Scholastic, 1991)

  April Fool Heroes (Nelson, 1989)

  Un poney embarrassant (Les Editions Héritage, 1989)

  No Place for a Horse (General, 1988)

  Amanda Grows Up (Scholastic, 1978)

  TREE MUSKETEERS

  Copyright © 2018 Norma Charles

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher, or, in Canada, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from Access Copyright (the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency).

  RONSDALE PRESS

  3350 West 21st Avenue, Vancouver, B.C., Canada V6S 1G7

  www.Ronsdalepress.com

  Typesetting: Julie Cochrane, in Minion 12 pt on 16

  Cover Art: Kathryn Shoemaker

  Illustrations: Kathryn Shoemaker

  Paper: 70 lb. Husky Offset White (FSC) 100% post-consumer waste, totally chlorine-free and acid-free

  Ronsdale Press wishes to thank the following for their support of its publishing program: the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada, the British Columbia Arts Council, and the Province of British Columbia through the British Columbia Book Publishing Tax Credit program.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Charles, Norma M., author

  Tree musketeers / Norma Charles; illustrations by Kathryn Shoemaker.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-55380-550-2 (softcover)

  ISBN 978-1-55380-551-9 (ebook) / ISBN 978-1-55380-552-6 (pdf)

  I. Shoemaker, Kathryn E., illustrator II. Title.

  PS8555.H4224T74 2018 jC813′.54 C2018-904077-7 C2018-904078-5

  At Ronsdale Press we are committed to protecting the environment. To this end we are working with Canopy and printers to phase out our use of paper produced from ancient forests. This book is one step towards that goal.

  Printed in Canada by Island Blue, Victoria, B.C.

  for sweet Coco

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thanks, as always, to my family, for inspiring

  this book, for your patience in hearing the story

  time and time again, and for your continuing

  encouragement and support.

  Chapter 1

  “BOYS AND GIRLS. Listen up,” my new teacher Mr. Grady says. “This is Jeanie Leclare. She has just arrived with her family from Saskatchewan. I’m sure everyone will make her welcome.”

  All the kids in the class look up from their books and stare at me while Mr. Grady points to a vacant desk beside the windows. When I sit down, I notice it’s behind a girl with red hair tied back in a loose ponytail.

  She turns around and sort-of smiles and nods a welcome. My churning stomach eases a bit. At least there’s one friendly face in here.

  But I so miss my old friends. I don’t want to be here. Vancouver feels like a million miles away from my old school. It sure is tough being the new kid in December, halfway through the year, in a new town. A new province, even.

  Here in my new grade five class, it’s silent reading period. Everyone’s reading. The teacher, as well. There’s not much choice left on the silent reading shelf at the back of the classroom. Not a single book about cats. So I choose the next best thing. A book about a dog. A Great Dane Called Big Morgan.

  Before opening the book, I check the view out the window beside my desk. At the edge of the school grounds, there’s an evergreen tree with waving branches. It’s enormous. Probably the biggest tree I’ve ever seen. Behind it is a cute Hansel and Gretel gingerbread kind-of house.

  A truck with an orange excavator on a flatbed trailer is stopping in front of the little house. Two men get out to unload the excavator. Another man with his arms crossed watches them. He’s big and burly. He looks familiar. My insides jolt as I recognize him. My Uncle Berny!

  I haven’t seen him since the summer when he came to visit us in Sandberg. But I’m sure it’s him. After a few minutes, he drives off in a white van.

  I watch as the two other men staple a fence of red plastic tape around the yard. Danger.

  One man climbs into the orange excavator. It rumbles toward the house. Its motor grinds and its shovel jaws gape open hungrily.

  The big machine confronts the little house, shovel snapping. Goliath and David.

  I stiffen.

  The shovel wallops the house! The house shudders, its glass windows splintering.

  The shovel wallops it again. And again.

  Crash! One side of the house crumples.

  Everyone in class gasps. Including me.

  We all rush over to crowd around the window ledge. Even the teacher.

  The monster shovel bashes the little house again. And again. Until the house topples over and completely collapses in on itself. The roof, the walls crash into a cloud of debris.

  All that’s left is the brick chimney. It’s like the last brave soldier left standing after a mighty battle.

  The kids squeal.

  Now the mighty shovel attacks that brick chimney. Bash! Smack!

  I can’t watch. I have to look away.

  “Holy moly!” a boy with curly black hair says. “See that baby shake, rattle and roll!”

  “Hoo-ie!” a girl shouts. “Another one hits the dust!”

  “No,” another kid says. “How can they do that?”

  “Oh, it was such a sweet little house,” moans the redhead who sits in front of me.

  I guess she won’t be my friend after all. Not when she finds out it’s my uncle’s construction company that just destroyed that cute house.

  “Fun’s over now, boys and girls.” Mr. Grady claps his hands. “Sit down, everyone. Let’s get back to our reading.”

  I peel myself from the window ledge and return to my seat where I pick up my novel. I keep seeing the little house cringe and shudder and finally collapse under the giant shovel. When everyone finds out about my uncle’s company, they’ll all hate me, for sure.

  My nose is running but I don’t have a tissue, so I have to wipe it on the back of my hand. My eyes sting. I sniff, blink hard and stare down at my book but the letters wobble. I can’t read a word.

  By the time recess bell rings, the entire little house has vanished. Squashed to nothing under the heavy excavator. All that’s left are piles of rubble and a small wooden tool shed at the corner of the lot. And it’s all my uncle’s fault.

  Then something even more terrible happens.

  The excavator starts rumbling toward the side of the yard.

  It’s heading straight for the giant evergreen tree!

  I slip back to the window to watch.

  “No, no.” I grip the window ledge. “Not the tree! They can’t knock down that beautiful tree.”

  “Are
n’t you coming for recess?” the redhead asks me.

  “Look! That excavator. It’s heading for the tree.”

  “No. Not our tree!” She shouts. “We’ve got to stop it!”

  I follow her and so do a couple other girls. We grab our jackets and dash down the hall and out a side door. We shoot across the school grounds and duck under the red danger tape fence.

  “Stop!” We’re shouting and waving our arms at the excavator like a bunch of mad traffic controllers. “Stop! Stop!”

  But the excavator keeps on chugging right at us.

  Does the operator even see us?

  “Stop!” we yell again. “Stop! Stop!”

  I yell so loud, my throat hurts. But the excavator thumps even louder as it grinds closer and closer, its giant shovel snapping greedily.

  The excavator’s not stopping. I hold my breath.

  “Hey, kids.” A man sticks his head out of the cab. “Get out of the way! You’ll get hurt.”

  “We’re not moving!” the redhead yells at him in her very loud voice. She shakes both fists. “You can’t knock down this tree. It’s ours!”

  “What? Can’t hear you.” The man turns off the motor and climbs out of the cab. “Now what’s going on here? I told you kids to move. We’ve got to clear away those bushes. It’s dangerous around here. You’re going to get hurt.”

  By now, a bunch of other kids has scrambled over the piles of debris to join us. My heart’s pounding.

  “This tree! You can’t knock it down!” the girl repeats. “There . . . there’s a woodpecker’s nest up there.”

  “That’s right!” one of the other kids shouts, waving his arms.

  “What? A woodpecker’s nest?” The man grins. “Come on, kids. I’ve got work to do. I have to clear away those bushes. You’re in my way. You shouldn’t be here. Like I said, it’s dangerous.”

  “But . . . but my uncle’s Berny Leclare,” I pipe up in my loudest voice. It sounds like a tin whistle beside the redhead’s trumpet. “I’m sure he wouldn’t want this tree damaged.”

  “So your uncle’s Berny Leclare, the contractor in charge, eh?” The man scratches his head and checks his watch. “We’ll see what he says. We’ve got to leave now, for another job down on 32nd. But we’ll be coming back tomorrow or the next day. With chainsaws. And the tree removal crew.”

  He climbs back into the cab and guides the excavator back to the flatbed trailer. They load up and drive away.

  The redhead turns to me. “Is your uncle really the guy whose company wrecked that cute house?”

  I shrug.

  “Berny S. Leclare, contractor?” She points to the APPLICATION FOR DEVELOPMENT sign in front of the property. “That’s your uncle?” Her eyes are huge. It’s like she can’t believe anything so horrible is even possible.

  I shrug again.

  “So your uncle is one of those awful . . . developers?” She screws up her nose like her mouth’s full of nasty medicine. “Developers who knock down nice old homes and build those ugly monster houses?”

  “Well, um, actually, yes.” I have to admit it. “He is my uncle.”

  “Well, in my opinion, your uncle’s a total jerk. How could he ever do such a terrible thing?”

  I turn away and kick a rock so hard it rolls past the danger tape fence onto the pile of rubble. My lips feel like tight rubber bands.

  “You heard what that guy said?” The girl bounces in front of me and yells in my face. “Tree removal crew! With chainsaws! Like, tomorrow!”

  I force my rubber-band lips to move. “I’ll talk to my uncle. Tonight. Okay?”

  I cross my fingers for good luck. Except for this morning, I haven’t even seen my uncle since we moved to this awful city.

  The bell ends recess and pulls us all back to class.

  Chapter 2

  AFTER RECESS, MR. GRADY announces it’s gym period, so the class lines up at the classroom door. He’s wearing a dark blue sweater with silvery buttons down the front. As he waits impatiently for us, his thick eyebrows are like two caterpillars playing follow-the-leader across his forehead. He’s got the kind of face that doesn’t look used to smiling. It’s long with downward creases at the sides of his mouth.

  I stare at him and yearn for jolly Mrs. Fan who was my teacher at my old school in Sandberg. No one else seems concerned about gym strip, so I don’t worry about it either.

  As we follow Mr. Grady along the hall to the gym, two by two, I try to be the redhead’s partner. But she pulls forward to walk beside another girl. I know she’s mad at me because of my uncle. The other kids avoid me like I’ve got rabies. So I end up walking down to the gym alone.

  When we get there, Mr. Grady divides us into four groups. We practise whacking volleyballs over the volleyball nets.

  “No, Jeanie!” he yells at me. “Hit the ball with the heel of your palm, like this.” He demonstrates.

  Everyone stares while I blush and try again. My palm stings, but not as much as when I hit the ball with my whole hand.

  After a few minutes, Mr. Grady says, “Okay, class. We’ve got time for a quick game. Let’s get you into teams.”

  I follow the other kids and sit on one of the low wooden benches at the edge of the gym.

  “Team captains for today will be Trudy and Mojo,” he says. “Remember, this is co-ed. We want mixed boys and girls teams.”

  Trudy’s a blonde girl even shorter than me. Her first pick is the girl with red hair. I find out her name is Isabelle. Mojo chooses his buddy, George.

  “Remember, guys. Mixed teams,” Mr. Grady reminds them.

  I sit tall. I hate being the last one chosen. Isabelle whispers to Trudy. Then Trudy picks Robert, a lanky boy with big feet.

  Isabelle probably told her not to pick me. They wouldn’t want someone from a family of house demolishers and tree killers on their team.

  A few other kids are chosen. My hands are sweating. I can’t be last! I sit up even taller.

  Mojo calls out, “Jeanie.”

  Oh well. Better to be picked by Mojo than be loser-last.

  After the teams are all chosen, we start playing. There are about fifteen players on each side of the net, which makes it crowded. That’s okay. I head for the back row of my team where I can hide out.

  During the game, I can’t stop thinking about the evergreen tree. Why destroy it just to build another stupid house? There are already thousands of houses crowding this city. But there aren’t many trees as big as that giant evergreen.

  Also, Isabelle and the other kids seem to be bent on saving the tree. If I want any friends at this new school, I’ll have to make darn sure nothing happens to it. They’ll all hate me forever if my family destroys something so important.

  But what can I do about it?

  In the game, I manage to stick to the back row so I don’t have to hit the ball. But while I’m standing there thinking about the tree and all, the ball shoots right at my legs. Hard. I trip over it and fall flat on my stomach. Splat. And bash my chin on the floor. For a second, I actually see stars. When my vision clears, Mojo’s there.

  “You okay?” He looks concerned.

  “I’m fine,” I mutter, shaking my head, getting back up.

  The other team, including Isabelle and Trudy, hoots with laughter. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Talk about a loser.

  A few minutes later, Mr. Grady blows his whistle. “All right, class. Time to pack it up.”

  Chapter 3

  THE REST OF THE morning drags through social studies. The class is studying Australia, so it’s all kangaroos and koalas and wombats. Finally, the lunch bell rings.

  I hang around getting my lunch bag and parka from the hooks at the back of the classroom. I’m not sure where to go to eat.

  Mr. Grady comes over. “Isabelle. Show our new friend where the lunchroom is, will you?”

  Isabelle screws up her nose, and he raises his thick eyebrows at her. So she shrugs and looks at me with a fake smile. “Want to have lunch with us,
Jeanie?”

  “Sure,” I mutter, although I know she doesn’t want me along. It’s probably better to hang out with your Enemy Number One than be alone in a sea of strangers.

  I follow her and two other girls along the hall filled with clamouring kids. We go down some side stairs to the lunchroom in the basement. Noise echoes off the cement walls. We push past the little kids who are all gabbing away, shoving food into their mouths. We get to a long table filled mainly with other girls who look like they’re in grade five like us.

  It’s cold down here in the basement. So when Isabelle sits on the long bench, she pulls her purple rain jacket over her shoulders. The other two girls huddle under their rain jackets as well.

  I’m freezing, but I can’t put on my parka. It’s so thick and lumpy it makes me look like a stuffed teddy bear. So I sit on it and pull my shirt sleeves down over my elbows. Every time the door opens, a draft blows up my back and I think of Siberia.

  If only I had a cool rain jacket like Isabelle’s and her friends’ instead of this babyish teddy-bear parka . . .

  “Auditions for the winter musical after school. You guys going?” one of the girls asks Isabelle. It’s Trudy, the short blonde girl who was team captain in gym.

  “Sure thing!” Isabelle says as she dumps her lunch onto the table. A pack of Lunch Munch crackers and cheese, chocolate chip cookies and a banana with a blue Chiquita sticker. Even her lunch is cool.

  She sticks the banana sticker on her nose. “Dah, da-da-da. Dah! Presenting Santa Lost in Mish-Mash Land,” she announces in her booming voice.

  The other girls laugh so I do too. Maybe a bit too loudly.

  “Mr. G.’s musical’s going to be so sweet!” Isabelle says, blowing off the sticker. “Everything he does in music is sweet. Sometimes I think it’s the only thing he truly cares about. That and reading us novels. What about you, Jeanie? Are you trying out for the musical?”

  Now she’s being nice to me? Is it just because she likes an audience?