The Motion of Puppets(63)

“But we can’t know for sure.”

The smile faded. She finished her milk and let him take the two empty mugs to the sink. “I know what Mackintosh really thinks, and maybe that Dr. Mitchell you brought along. The puppets are just a coincidence. Maybe, maybe not. The mind sees what it wants to see, but all I know is that you will not find her if you do not look. I’m off to bed now, if I’m to be up making breakfast for the lot of you in the morning.” He nodded from his chair, and as she wheeled behind him, she laid a hand upon his shoulder to say good night, a kind and simple gesture, but he felt the weight long after she departed, conjuring complexities of emotion, memories of the last time Kay had touched him so. He wondered for the millionth time if he would ever see her again.

*

The barn door swung open and the late afternoon sunshine blasted the shadows, bits of old straw and dust swirling in the light. A calico cat slunk in and trotted over to where the puppets rested, rubbing its head and body against the legs of the Three Sisters and stopping to scratch its back on the Good Fairy. Behind the cat tromped the Quatre Mains, dressed like a country squire in long boots and a field jacket, and the Deux Mains in a hunter-green flannel and new blue jeans. He carried a small bag of tools. She was eating an apple, the snap of each bite sharp as a gunshot. A crow, curious about the visitors, flew in and paced in the yard. Together the puppeteers inspected their creations, straightening a crooked limb, folding the hem of the Queen’s robes, wiping a line of frass from Nix’s shoulders.

“Where is the Devil?” the Deux Mains asked. “Did you put away the Devil?”

“I don’t see him. Maybe the boy misplaced him in one of the other rooms. We’ll have to ask.” Pausing before No?, the Quatre Mains stared at the patches of broken straw upon her head. “What do we have here?”

“The poor dear.”

He looked confused at the puppet’s changed condition, and with the gentleness of a father, he cradled and set her down upon the ground. The Deux Mains, who had been attending to the Good Fairy’s branches, hurried over for a closer look.

“Do you think this happened when we last had them out? At the parade? Or has someone not been behaving herself?”

“The latter,” the Quatre Mains said, and he flipped No? to her side to reveal the crude stitches at the base of her skull. Working quickly, he popped off her head and set it atop a post.

The Deux Mains disappeared into the maze of back rooms and brought back a length of muslin and a sheath of broomcorn straw, brightly colored, some of the stalks with panicles intact, delicate as oats. In the meantime, The Quatre Mains picked the broken follicles from the top of No?’s head and removed the twine sutures. He fashioned a patch from the muslin and cemented it in place with a dab of wood glue, and together they wove her a bright new hairpiece strand by strand.

“What on earth got into her?” the Deux Mains wondered as they worked.

The Quatre Mains stopped, picked up the head, and gave it a few good shakes. From the neck hole, the dried husks of two honeybees fell into his open palm. He blew and they drifted to the floor like snowflakes. They finished the hairdo, and while his wife held the head in place, he sewed it back onto the body. Satisfied with their handiwork, they put her back in the stall, jostling Kay in the process. She would have fallen over had not the Quatre Mains caught her. The feel of his hands on her was electric.

“We’ll have no more funny business,” he said to them all. “Winter is a-comin’, and I don’t want to have to be traipsing through the snow drifts to check on you, and I surely do not want to find more trouble next spring after the hibernation.”

The puppets stood impassive but listening. Slipping her arm into the crook of his, the Deux Mains rested by his side and faced Mr. Firkin and the Queen. “It is a long wait, I know, but not forever. Keep your wits. You may go anywhere you like as long as you do not try to leave the barn. Be well, my pets. And where has that cat gone off to?”

They stood still and listened. A low rumbling came from the belly of the barn, and the Deux Mains called “Mimi, Mimi,” but when the cat did not come, a note of panic rose in her voice. “Come, ma minette, time for dinner.” From below came another grumble, louder still, and she unhooked her arm from her husband and ran out of the room.

“The Worm,” the Quatre Mains said. “Oh, that stupid fearless cat.”

The floorboards lifted and gave a sudden lurch, and the Quatre Mains moved quickly down the stairs to aid his wife. Something long and large was squirming in the basement, moist earth moving, and banging into the side walls. The cat hissed and screamed. The Deux Mains shouted a warning in French, and the Quatre Mains bellowed for everything to just stop. An animal mewed deeply as a cello. More commands were issued—stop, drop it—and then the Worm went quiet.

Moments later, the cat reappeared in the stalls, no worse for wear. It roped its way through Kay’s legs and meandered to the front door. Huffing from the climb, the Quatre Mains rested in the doorway. “Go anywhere you like. Except down in the cellar. That one has gotten away from us a bit. And for heaven’s sake, keep an eye out for the Devil.”

“Have a nice long rest,” the Deux Mains said. She laid her hand briefly against Kay’s papery cheek. “Bonne nuit, mon chouchou.”

After they shut and locked the door a soft whimper came from below. A sigh of missed opportunity.