Tree Musketeers Page 7

  What can Isabelle and I do? Maybe my uncle won’t even come. Maybe he couldn’t talk our tree’s owner into coming. Maybe we’ve decorated the tree for nothing.

  Maybe, as Isabelle says, the Tree Musketeers are doomed after all.

  And so is our tree.

  * * *

  At seven on the dot, Mr. Grady plays a loud chord on the piano and the long curtains swish open. His wide mouth stretches to remind us to smile.

  “Welcome. We say welcome. Welcome to our show!” My heart’s thumping as I stand beside Isabelle with the choir and sing out to the audience.

  What if I forget the words? Crazy. I can sing them in my sleep.

  There at the back of the audience, I see him. Uncle Berny!

  He’s guiding an elderly gentleman to a seat near the middle aisle! He flashes a thumbs-up sign as he sits down beside the man.

  “My uncle’s here!” I whisper to Isabelle, as the curtains close and everyone shuffles to their places for the next scene. “And I think he’s got that Mr. Johnston with him!”

  Isabelle doesn’t have time to reply before the curtains slide open again.

  It’s the scene where Biggy-Big-Ears and Santa do a jogging sort-of hip-hop dance around the stage. As we rehearsed, Isabelle dances while I sing the duet with Santa/Mojo in his red suit and shaggy white beard.

  Then while Isabelle and Mojo whiz and twirl to whirlwind music, I sing the rap, “Joggin’ and Jammin’.” I almost forget our problems. About how we can’t find an extension cord for those Christmas lights to light up the big cedar for the grand finale. And about how our plan to save the tree is all one dismal failure.

  I link arms with Isabelle and together we exit behind the big snowbank, leaving Santa lost in the swirling fog.

  Now we don’t have to be back on stage again until the last scene, when our Biggy-Big-Ears duo leads Santa back home safely to the North Pole.

  “Well done, girls,” Mrs. Honey says backstage, patting our sweaty furry backs. “You can wait in the dressing room until we call you for the last scene.”

  On the way down the darkened stairs, Isabelle has a big coughing fit. I help her to the dressing room and get her a drink of water.

  Isabelle yanks off her big ears and takes a big gulp of water. Finally she stops coughing. “Thanks,” she croaks. “That’s better.” She takes another gulp of water and clears her throat. “Man, that was cool! You saw your uncle? And Mr. Johnston’s with him?”

  I nod glumly, tugging at my sweaty armpits. “They’re here, all right. But they came too late for us to ask to borrow an extension cord.”

  “Yeah.” She slumps onto a bench. Now she’s dejected too. “You must admit, it was a good idea while it lasted. The lights and star and everything. Too bad it’s not going to work. Our Tree Musketeers plan is one big bust!” She kicks at the cement wall.

  “Hold on!” I squeal. “I just thought of something!”

  “What?”

  “About your idea to get an extension cord from my uncle. Remember when he gave us a ride last night? That roll of plastic tape he gave us, you know, for the decorations?”

  “So?”

  “I’m sure there was an extension cord under it in his van.”

  Isabelle’s green eyes flash. “You’re thinking maybe it’s still in the van? And we could borrow it and plug in the Christmas tree lights right now? Then hurry back here like crazy for the last act when we have to be on stage again?”

  “You got it!” I nod vigorously. “Except I’ll go alone. It’s so dark and cold out there, you’ll get pneumonia.”

  “No way. Where you go, I go. All for one and one for all. So what are we waiting for? Tree Musketeers. Let’s go!”

  Chapter 21

  ISABELLE SNAPS HER gigantic ears back on and rushes for the fire exit.

  I’m right behind her. I prop the door open with a rock. Then I sprint to catch up with her, bounding out into the swirling fog.

  “Now where’s that van?” she pants.

  “There it is! In the driveway next door, near the tool shed.”

  We race to the van. I grab the door handle. It’s locked.

  Isabelle dashes to the other side. Driver’s door’s locked too. And so is the rear door!

  “Drat!” Isabelle says.

  I peer inside. The yellow extension cord is still in a big coil on the floor.

  “Drat! Drat! Double drat!” I kick a tire.

  “Just a minute,” Isabelle says. “This window’s open a bit. Your arm’s skinnier. I bet you can get it through and reach the lock.”

  I wiggle my fingers into the crack and try to pull the window down. It moves a fraction. Enough so I can squeeze my arm inside to reach the lock.

  Yes! I catch it between my fingers and pull it up.

  I barely get my arm out before Isabelle yanks the door open.

  I grab the extension from the floor.

  I feel guilty. But I’m sure, positive, in fact, that Uncle Berny would understand. If we’d had time to ask him, he’d have let us borrow his cord. For sure.

  Besides, it’s for a good cause. A very good cause.

  We sprint to the tree. Isabelle leans against the trunk, coughing and wheezing.

  “All right,” she pants. “You climb up and plug the extension into the lights. I’ll run this end out to the shed and plug it in there. Oh, I just hope, hope, hope it works.”

  “It will,” I say, with more confidence than I feel.

  Breathing hard, I swing up into the tree, the cord between my teeth like Tarzan. As I scramble upward, my feet automatically find the branches. It’s as if they shift for me.

  Like magic, the tree lifts me up and up into the darkness to where I think the end of the light cord is. I feel around the trunk for it.

  There it is. I plug it in, good and solid.

  “Now, old tree.” I pat its trunk. “Now it’s up to you to show your stuff.”

  Slithering back down the trunk, I feel the tree whispering its thanks. As I swing down onto the spongy ground, the fog blazes into a soft pink.

  Great! Isabelle must have found a plug in the tool shed.

  Through the fog drifts the chorus of “Merry Monsters’ Hand Jive.” That’s our cue to go back on stage, to find Santa and lead him back to the North Pole.

  “Isabelle!” I yell. “Come on! It’s our cue. They’re already singing ‘Merry Monsters’ Hand Jive.’”

  Chapter 22

  ISABELLE DARTS THROUGH the glowing fog. Then we both swoop back to the fire escape.

  I kick away the stone and yank the door open.

  Isabelle grins and her giant ears wobble as she flashes by and bounds for the stage.

  “Girls! Where have you been? I couldn’t find you anywhere.” Mrs. Honey is frantic. “Hurry! You’re supposed to be on stage right now.”

  No time to explain. We lurch up the stage steps.

  Mr. Grady has launched again into our entrance cue music.

  We burst on stage together.

  I glance at the hushed audience. Everyone’s staring. Waiting.

  I gulp down fear and take a good deep breath. Then I boom out in my loudest voice:

  “Oh Santa! Dear Santa,

  so there you are!

  We’ve searched and we’ve searched

  behind each tiny star . . .”

  I sing and sing while Isabelle again does some cool hiphop moves with Santa/Mojo. She leads him across the stage and around the snowbanks. And finally to the Christmas tree at the North Pole. Just in time for Christmas Eve.

  The whole cast of various monsters files on stage singing, “We wish you a merry Christmas” and ending with a loud “and a monstrous New Year.”

  The audience cheers and claps.

  Isabelle holds up her hands and the audience falls silent. She motions me forward.

  I swallow hard and take another deep breath. I announce in my loudest voice, “We’d all like to say thank you for coming tonight. But just before you leave, we have one
more special number. A surprise. Please follow us outside through the side doors.”

  With a grand flourish, Mr. Grady plays the introduction for “O Christmas Tree.”

  Mojo grins at me through his white beard and gives me a thumbs-up. With a jolly, “Ho, ho, ho,” he leads the way off the stage.

  Isabelle and I and the rest of the cast follow him, leading the audience outside through the gym’s side doors.

  Singing “O Christmas Tree,” the whole audience files in a grand procession around the side of the school until they see it, its outline barely visible in the thick fog. Our giant Christmas tree!

  “Oh, how lovely are thy branches!” I sing out, gazing up at the gorgeous sight.

  The red bows glisten, and each yellow, red and green light glows in its own pale foggy halo. And the star! Not quite at the top of the tremendous tree, but certainly high enough, its lights twinkling like a real guiding star in the dark sky. Perfect.

  Mr. Grady has left his piano. He makes his way to the front of the cast. Then he leads the students and the whole audience in singing “O Christmas Tree” again as we gaze up at the lovely sight.

  In the front row, Mom and Dad are standing arm in arm watching me. Their eyes shine with pride.

  My voice soars up and up through the swirling fog. Into the swaying branches. To the very heart of that magnificent tree.

  When the song comes to an end, I hear a familiar voice. “Ladies and gentlemen. Just before you leave, we have an announcement.”

  It’s Uncle Berny. He comes to the front of the crowd. The elderly gentleman follows him. Uncle Berny looks questioningly at the principal. She nods and smiles.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Uncle Berny continues in his deep voice. “I’d like to introduce Mr. Johnston. He wants to say a few words before you leave this evening.”

  The hushed crowd waits.

  “A short announcement, ladies and gentlemen,” says the man, whose voice is strong, despite his frail appearance. “I understand from some letters I’ve received, and even a petition, that we have something quite special here. The children have worked very hard to show us just how special this beautiful old cedar is. I wish to especially thank Isabelle Seconi and Jeanie Leclare for their great efforts. And I wish to announce that as long as I own this property, this tree will not be harmed in any way.”

  Everyone cheers and claps.

  “And what’s more,” the gentleman continues, “it’s so lovely like this, all lit up, I’ll have it decorated in the same manner every Christmas! Now I wish you all peace and good will.”

  The crowd cheers again.

  “All right!” Mojo yells, throwing his Santa hat up and into the crowd.

  “What do you know?” Isabelle is grinning at me. “We did it, pal. We saved our tree. I can’t believe we did it. Our tree is saved!”

  Grinning back at her, I give my friend a high five. Then I give one to Mojo as well.

  “All for one and one for all!” we all yell. “Tree Musketeers!”

  As the crowd starts to break up and leave, a tall woman with red hair bustles over to Isabelle. “Oh, Issie,” she says. “That was wonderful. Simply wonderful!” And she crushes Isabelle in a big hug.

  “Mom, this is Jeanie.” Isabelle’s voice is muffled. She shakes loose and pulls me over to meet her mother. “The girl I was telling you about. My new friend.”

  “Jeanie. You’re a real lifesaver,” Isabelle’s mother says, squeezing my shoulder. “You did a terrific job filling in for Isabelle up there on stage tonight.”

  Mom and Dad appear at my side. “We agree,” Mom says, wrapping her arms around me in a hug. “We’re so proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Here’s Isabelle, my new friend, and her mother.”

  “Great meeting you both.” Isabelle’s mother shakes their hands. “I’m having a few people over for cookies and hot toddies this evening. Would you like to join us? And Jeanie as well, of course.”

  Mom glances at Dad, who grins and nods.

  “We’d love to,” he says. “Thank you.”

  Before Isabelle’s mom can give us her address, Uncle Berny appears. “There you two are,” he says in his booming voice. He pats Isabelle’s head, then he picks me up and twirls me around. “The stars of the show!”

  I’m a bit dizzy when he puts me down.

  “Oh, you must be the Uncle Berny Isabelle told me about,” Isabelle’s mom says. “Now you must join us for our little party tonight as well. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “A party? Count me in,” Uncle Berny says, winking at me. “Count me in.”

  “Thank you, Uncle,” I whisper, grinning at him.

  “And thanks, old tree.” The long graceful branches of our tree are swaying gently in the evening breeze. “Thanks for finding me some new friends.”

  Maybe living on the coast isn’t going to be so bad after all.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Norma Charles is the author of many books for children. Her latest book, Runner: Harry Jerome, World’s Fastest Man, was shortlisted for the Sheila A. Egoff Prize for Children’s Literature. Norma is a former teacher/librarian and enjoys visiting schools and libraries to meet young readers. She travels widely and lives in Vancouver in a home surrounded by former Christmas trees, several of which have grown taller than the house, and includes one old, magnificent cedar. Visit her online at www.normacharles.ca.