Moo Read online

alone

  in the room

  at the top of the house

  with her silver flute.

  PORTRAITS

  While Luke and I sat quietly beside Mrs. Falala, waiting for the others, Luke whispered, Did you see what’s on the walls?

  Dozens of drawings were tacked along the walls: renderings of the barn, the house, Zora and Paulie and Crockett and China and Edna, the pasture, the fence, the trees.

  Did you see the ones of us? Luke asked. There were several sketches of Luke, all of him sitting on a hay bale drawing. Two drawings showed me and Zora: in one, Zora was pushing me over with her big head; and in the other I was resting my head along her back, staring off into the field.

  Mrs. Falala must have tacked them up in the order she finished them, because at the far left, the drawings were primitive and awkward, but you could see her skills improving as you scanned the room, for the ones at the far right, nearest her cot, were more detailed and fanciful, even playful. On the table was her drawing pad with two final sketches on it. One was of me holding a show stick in one hand and Zora’s halter in the other, both of us looking at each other, with blue ribbons floating in the air all around us and a big plop of manure behind Zora. The other drawing was of Luke and me, as we were riding away on our bikes, and trailing behind us were all the animals—Zora and Yolanda, China, Crockett, Paulie, and seagulls flying circles over our heads. Very small in the bottom right corner was a little figure with a long braid, her hand raised in the air.

  MRS. FALALA’S GIFTS

  According to Mr. Colley, Mrs. Falala had spent the past month “getting her affairs in order.” This included making out a will, which she and Mr. Colley had finalized the week before the fair.

  She must have had a sense about things. Old people do, you know. After all, she was losing her sight—

  She was?

  —yes, yes, and fell a few times—

  She did?

  —yes, yes, and she was feeling so weak—

  She was?

  —yes, yes, but for the first time in a long while, she had stopped worrying about what would happen to the animals if she died. She must have been looking for just the right family and—along you came.

  Us?

  Yes, it’s here in the will. She wants you to have the animals.

  Us? Mom repeated.

  The animals? Dad said.

  Yes, yes, the cow, the pig, the cat, the parrot—

  Luke said, The snake?

  Oh, is there a snake, too? Well, yes, I suppose—

  Dad said, But we don’t have a farm. We can’t take care of the animals.

  I hadn’t cried yet about Mrs. Falala’s death, but I cried then, thinking of her and of what would become of her animals, Zora especially.

  Maybe you could buy this place then, Mr. Colley said.

  Mom and Dad exchanged a look. I knew that look.

  We can’t afford this place, Dad said. It’s a great idea, but I’m still looking for a job.

  Oh, Mr. Colley said. Oh, I see.

  MORE DRIPPING

  When we left Mrs. Falala’s that day, we were all feeling low and blue. Luke and I took turns weeping and staring out the windows. We all took naps. We wept some more.

  The

  d r i p

  r

  i

  p

  of the rain

  matched our

  d

  r

  i

  p

  p

  i

  n

  g

  eyes

  and our

  s a g

  g i n g

  souls.

  And then I had an idea.

  It is strange how ideas can arrive

  out of dripsagging blue.

  Come on, Luke, I said. Let’s go find Mr. Colley.

  THE PROPOSAL

  We found Mr. Colley sitting at Mrs. Falala’s kitchen table, reviewing documents.

  I am glad to see you, he said. Do you think you and Luke and your friend Zep can feed and tend the animals until I arrange for someone else to do it?

  Sure, I said. We’d be missing Zora so much if we couldn’t do that, right, Luke?

  Right.

  Mr. Colley? Your property is next to this, isn’t it?

  Yes, over there, the house with the blue door.

  And wouldn’t you like to have more land? I stood by the window looking out. All that nice pasture? And that little pond? Mm?

  Mr. Colley joined me at the window. It is a nice piece of land, he agreed.

  We talked a little longer and then Luke and I fed the animals again before leaving. The following day, Mr. Colley phoned and talked to Dad.

  I have a proposal, he said. Let’s talk.

  SIX MONTHS LATER

  It is hard to imagine that it was less than a year ago that we first thought of moving to Maine, and now here we are, at home in the house on Twitch Street, with a blizzard raging outside and a fire roaring in the fireplace, and animals warm in the barn.

  Mr. Colley bought Mrs. Falala’s place

  (An investment! he said)

  and hired Dad as the live-in manager

  and we all moved here in September.

  We had a summer of cows and fairs

  and “lobstahs” and ocean

  and riding our bikes up and down

  the narrow roads of this coastal town.

  We had an autumn of dazzle-dazzle leaves

  red and orange and yellow

  and going to a new school

  and meeting new friends.

  We’ve had our first Christmas here

  and our first blizzard

  and our first power outage

  and many, many shovelings of snow.

  And for five months now

  thanks to Mrs. Falala

  we’ve had the company of Zora

  and Paulie and China and Crockett

  and probably Edna the snake

  (who we hope is hibernating)

  here on Twitch Street.

  Yolanda is also here and Zep visits daily.

  Is he coming to see Yolanda or you?

  Dad asks regularly.

  I don’t answer that question

  because I don’t know the answer.

  From a file Mrs. Falala kept on her cows,

  I learned about Zora’s lineage.

  She did indeed come from a long line of

  champions

  and maybe one day when I show her

  at a fair

  she will receive a blue ribbon

  or become a Grand Champion

  but

  right now

  I have a lot more to learn

  about showmanship and

  about Zora—

  that stubborn, crazy, belligerent

  sweet, sweet heifer.

  Maybe she will calm down

  just enough

  to please the judges

  but not calm down too much—

  because then she would not be

  Zora.

  Luke drew a portrait of Mrs. Falala

  with her long white braid

  swinging over one shoulder

  and he hung the drawing in the barn

  so the animals could see it.

  We have kept the attic

  pretty much as Mrs. Falala

  left it: all the drawings on the wall

  and her silver flute on the cot

  and sometimes Luke and I go up there

  and remember her

  with her long braid swishing

  and her stars and leaves and

  music

  floating

  out

  the

  window.

  It feels a long, long way

  from the city with subways and monuments

  and traffic and sirens

  to this town

  where the mountains

  meet

  the

  sea
r />   where people hike and bike

  and fish and farm

  and to this house and barn on Twitch Street

  where we live with animals we love

  even

  Edna

  the

  snake

  but most especially

  with

  that

  Zora:

  That cow!

  Moooooooo.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Sharon’s granddaughter with Ginger the cow

  Photo by Karin Leuthy

  SHARON CREECH has written twenty books for young people and is published in over twenty languages. Her books have received awards in both the U.S. and abroad, including the Newbery Medal for Walk Two Moons, the Newbery Honor for The Wanderer, and Great Britain’s Carnegie Medal for Ruby Holler.

  Before beginning her writing career, Sharon Creech taught English for fifteen years in England and Switzerland. She and her husband now live in Maine, “lured there by our grandchildren,” Creech says. “Moo was inspired by our mutual love of Maine and by our granddaughter’s involvement in a local 4-H program. We have all been enchanted with the charms of cows.”

  www.sharoncreech.com

  BOOKS BY SHARON CREECH

  WALK TWO MOONS

  ABSOLUTELY NORMAL CHAOS

  PLEASING THE GHOST

  CHASING REDBIRD

  BLOOMABILITY

  THE WANDERER

  FISHING IN THE AIR

  LOVE THAT DOG

  A FINE, FINE SCHOOL

  RUBY HOLLER

  GRANNY TORRELLI MAKES SOUP

  HEARTBEAT

  WHO’S THAT BABY?

  REPLAY

  THE CASTLE CORONA

  HATE THAT CAT

  THE UNFINISHED ANGEL

  THE GREAT UNEXPECTED

  THE BOY ON THE PORCH

  CREDITS

  COVER ART © 2016 BY VINCENT MOUSTACHE

  COVER DESIGN BY SARAH NICHOLE KAUFMAN

  COPYRIGHT

  MOO. Text copyright © 2016 by Sharon Creech. Illustrations copyright © 2016 by Vincent Moustache. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  www.harpercollinschildrens.com

  * * *

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015952544

  ISBN 978-0-06-241524-0 (trade bdg.) — ISBN 978-0-06-241525-7 (lib. bdg.)

  EPub Edition © August 2016 ISBN 9780062415271

  * * *

  16 17 18 19 20 CG/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  FIRST EDITION

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