PART ONE OF FIVE



"I can't believe it," the mouse muttered, standing on tip-toes in front of the window. In his little farm house. "Somebody actually BOUGHT that place." He had a pair of old, black binoculars to his eyes. "Oh, my gosh ... "

"What?" asked Field, sitting on the couch. Reading Farm World magazine. Adjusting his glasses.

"Moving trucks! Like ... FIVE of them!"

"It IS a mansion, Perry," the other mouse reminded. "It can fit a lot of stuff. And I"m sure that whoever bought it," he added, "has a LOT of stuff. It was going for over a million, wasn't it?"

"One point two," Peregrine corrected, still looking through his binoculars. At the large, LARGE country house across the way. On the other side of the creek. Standing conspicuous above the corn and alfalfa fields. It had been built by a millionaire (as a country retreat). But the millionaire had gone bankrupt, and had been forced to put it on the market. It had been over a year ...

"1949 Farmall," Field said. "350 dollars."

Peregrine blinked. Frowning at his friend. "What?"

"Antique tractors," said Field, rustling the paper.

"Since when do you have any money?" Peregrine challenged. A blink.

"Well, I don't. I'm just saying ... trying to make conversation, you know, instead of nosing in the new neighbors' business."

"It's OUR business, too. Don't say it's not. You know, I just ... " A huff. And the grey-furred mouse started to pace. "I hate it when city furs come out here, thinking they know ANYTHING about rural life, and when they inevitably up and leave ... we get stuck with their eyesores. There used to be FIELDS there, Field, where that mansion is!"

The honey-tan mouse sighed. "I know, Perry. But you've sentenced the movers-in ... even before you've met them. I just ... I don't like fighting. The fur who built that place, remember, he was at odds with all us country furs the WHOLE time, and it was miserable. Remember?" The past owner had been the uppity, academic sort. Thought he was better than all the rural furs. Made it a point to flaunt the "fact" every chance he got. "I don't want a repeat of that. I don't want," Field repeated, "fighting."

"I'm NOT fighting."

"You seem like you're gearing up for it," Field observed. "Just ... calm down."

A slight chuckle. "A mouse telling a mouse to calm down? Please ... "

A sigh. "Perry, I got other things to do, okay? So ... if there's nothing else but mansion-watching, then I'll ... "

"Like what? Do what?"

"I gotta walk home. Be with my mate."

"Oh."

"Oh," Field echoed, nodding. "Adelaide will be home by now." A pause. "I'm going to cook her a candlelight supper."

"Must be nice," was all Peregrine whispered. He'd lost his own mate, a squirrel, seven months ago. In a car accident. He remembered getting the call ... it had been seven in the evening, and ...

Field just nodded at the other mouse's words. Wanting to comfort Peregrine, but ... knowing how stubborn the other mouse was.

There was a silence.

"Well," Field said, standing.

"Have fun," Peregrine told him. Voice at a weak whisper. He felt such a pang of jealousy, suddenly. Which was wrong of him. Which was petty. But ...

"Maybe, tomorrow, you could come over, yeah?" Field suggested. "Or we could come over here. We could all get together. You know, invite Juneau and Chester and all them, too ... "

"I don't need any company, really," Peregrine said quietly.

"I was once," Field whispered to him, "very lonely myself. I was once in great ... pain," he said, eyes darting. He bit his lip, and swallowed, saying, "If you want help, Perry, then ... ask for it. And if you ask for it and proceed to shut everyone out, and proceed to insist that no one could POSSIBLY understand. It's ... you're not the only one who's ever hurt. Who's ever lost. It's ... don't be so arrogant as to presume that you are. To presume that we can't help you. All you have to do is ... "

" ... ask," Peregrine whispered. "Yeah, I'll do that," he said. Voice neutral. "But I think I'm gonna take it easy tonight. Just ... go to bed or something."

Field nodded quietly. "I gotta go," he repeated.

"Tell Adelaide I said hello," Peregrine whispered.

Field nodded, giving a warm, soft smile. "Sure. And, uh, happy mansion-watching, huh?"

A light smile of his own, Peregrine weakly waved his binoculars. "Yeah," he agreed, looking out the window, at the moving trucks in the mansion's driveway.

And Field left.

And Peregrine sighed. Lingering in the middle of the living room. Before filtering back to the window, putting his binoculars back to his eyes ...



Audrey sighed. Setting her purse down. "Mm ... "

"Something wrong?" asked Aria. Head of her staff. Audrey had a gardener, a cook, a housekeeper, et cetera. Aria, the white-furred rabbit, oversaw the staff and ... also happened to be Audrey's best friend.

"Nothing wrong," the skunk whispered, looking around. "Wish I had a chair to sit down in," she said, smiling lightly. Padding around. Pausing to allow the movers to bring in her bed. She side-stepped them, turning in a slow circle. "I can't believe I found this place, Aria. I just ... it's perfect, you know?"

"It's alright," was Aria's response.

"You don't like it?"

"Well, frankly, Indiana isn't ... well, there are better places to have houses, I would think."

"My business is here. My family is here. It's my home. And it's yours, too, if I'm not mistaken, so ... "

"Still ... couldn't we have moved to, like, Hawaii?"

The skunk giggled. "What? With this fur?" she said, of her black pelt. "I'd roast!"

"Ah, the curse of black fur. But, hey, at least you got SOME patches of white. On your tail, and on the bridge of your nose, and your belly, and ... "

" ... mm ... " The skunk sighed. "You have the flea medicine, right?"

"Uh-huh. It's packed away somewhere. I'll find it later."

A nod. In the city, one only had to use flea medicine, like, every two months. Just squeeze the liquid stuff onto the nape of your neck. Let it soak into your fur and skin, and it was supposed to do its job for several weeks ... but, in the countryside, there were more bugs. Or, at least, one would ASSUME.

The skunk fidgeted.

"They'll have your stuff moved in by nightfall," Aria assured. "And, then ... we can spend the night getting it all arranged. And tomorrow, too. By tomorrow night, we should have most of it set up. It'll be just like home."

"It IS home," Audrey whispered, with sudden realization. And she moved to one of the windows. Looking out at the large, grassy lawn (which was unkempt). "It'll have to be mowed."

"The yard?"

A quiet nod.

"I'll get to it, but ... not today."

"Well, I know that. I'm just ... mm ... " She looked harder out the window. At all the fields. At all the rustic barns. The old farm houses. "Our neighbors," she said aloud. "I wonder how they'll take to me."

"They didn't take very well to the last owner," Aria said, joining her at the window.

The skunk looked to the rabbit. "No?"

A shake of the head. "Not from what I hear."

"And what do," Audrey pleaded, "you hear?" She playfully took a swipe at her friend's tall, long rabbit ears. Her white ears that were a delicate pink in the middles. The insides. "Cause I know you have good ears."

Aria giggled. "Yeah ... mm ... well, I don't know. I just hear that he wasn't the rural type. A lot of friction."

The skunk nodded, paws on the windowsill. Looking out at the countryside. "Well, hopefully, I can fit in. "



Field turned the corner. Squeaked. "Adelaide!"

"Didn't mean to scare you," she whispered, holding out a glass of water.

The mouse swallowed. "Yeah ... " His eyes darted. He took the water glass, holding it with both paws. "I was, uh ... "

"Field, you have to take your pills," she said. "Open your muzzle."

"D-darling, I ... "

"Come on," she whispered.

The mouse, whiskers twitching, nodded. Nodded. Opened his muzzle, and she put the little, white pill on his tongue. And he sipped of the water, and tilted his head back. And swallowed. His anxiety medication.

"You keep trying to ‘forget' to take it," she told him.

He moved past her. Into the bedroom. "I just ... it changes my brain. I feel ... " He put the water glass down on the bedside stand, and then turning on the lamp, and ... closed his eyes. And then sat on the edge of the bed. "I can't write anymore. Like how I used to. I just ... you know?" he opened his eyes.

And she sat down beside him. Next to him. And leaned her head on his shoulder. The pink-furred bat whispered, "I know, baby. But ... at least you can sleep at night, yeah? At least you don't cry all the time anymore ... I mean ... you know?"

Field nodded weakly. He knew.

She turned her head and kissed his cheek.

The mouse smiled shyly. And took a little breath. And whispered, "I love you ... "

"Love you, too," she whispered back (into the fur of his cheek). And she breathed through her nose. And just leaned there.

"Thank you," Field said (after a moment). A swallow. "For taking care of me ... and for everything. I was ... " He'd been a mess before she'd entered his life. He'd been a wreck. He'd actually been introduced to her through Bell-Bell (Peregrine's late mate). A year ago.

"It's okay," she whispered, and she leaned back on the bed, wriggling into the center of it. And tugging at him.

He joined her. And they laid, eyes closed, with each other. Just breathing.

Breathing.

"We got new neighbors," Adelaide told him.

"I know. I saw. Peregrine was watching the whole move-in with his binoculars."

"Poor Perry ... he must be lonely."

Field nodded quietly. "He is." A pause. "He's obsessing over the newcomers. In his mind, I already see his fur bristling."

"Well, none of us know who's moved in. I mean, I've heard nothing, and ... the only way we'll find out is to actually go over there."

"That place intimidates me," Field said. "Mm ... too big. Too many windows. Too many rooms."

A giggle. "It's kinda pretty, actually. Like ... Victorian."

"Better suited for England, then."

Another giggle. "Well, whatever fur bought the place ... it's surely livened up the local gossip scene. Certainly causing a stir."

"Yeah ... "

She nuzzled his neck with her nose. "Field," she whispered.

"Mm?"

"Can you reach the lamp switch?"

"Yeah ... why?"

She whispered into his ear, "Turn off the light ... "

"Oh ... "

An airy, smiling breath on her part.

And the light went off.



Peregrine paced back and forth, back and forth. And sighed. Pausing at the window. Night had fallen, and his binoculars were pretty useless. He had half a mind to go over there and demand that the nameless, ritzy furs show their muzzles. Explain what they were doing where they didn't belong.

Half a mind.

"I have half a mind," he whispered. Sinking into a cushioned chair. Pulling his legs up to his chest. Hugging himself into a ball. And he shook. Eyes closed. It had felt like that. Ever since he'd lost his mate: half a mind. With Bell-Bell gone, he was only half. Half of a whole.

Like half of him had been ripped away.

He shook.

Oh, he had Field ... and Adelaide. And Chester. All those friends. But ...

... no one to be with him at night. Nights were the worst. He was most afraid at night. Alone, in bed, he would cry. Would shake. Afraid he wasn't gonna wake up.

Afraid.

Field had quietly suggested he see a doctor.

"So I can be medicated for BEING a mouse?" Peregrine had spat back. "So I can take the easy way out of this pain?"

The resulting look on Field's face had been one of deep hurt. Especially at the first part of his friend's verbal lashing.

"Oh ... um," Peregrine had stammered, realizing what he'd just said.

Field's eyes had welled with water.

"I didn't mean it," Peregrine insisted. "Field ... "

"I just wanna help," Field had muttered, crying without sound. Leaving (with less energy than he'd had upon coming).

Peregrine opened his eyes in the current dimness of his own living room. Remembering the encounter. Remembering how, during the past seven months, everyone had been so kind to him. Everyone had wanted to help.

And he kept turning them away. Always finding excuses.

Always insisting he could help himself.

He would find ways to occupy himself. To distract himself from the pain.

And, looking back out the window, the grey-furred mouse blinked. Blinked. He was going to find out who lived in that ostentatious mansion. And was going to give them a piece of his mind. Who were they to barge into the countryside? Who were they?



It was just after nine in the morning.

And Audrey stared at her bowl of finished cereal. Just the milk remaining in the bowl. She sighed and scooted back in her chair.

"You look tired," said Aria, filtering into the room. Washing a few dishes at the sink. And then grabbing a glass for herself (to put orange juice in). "Want some orange juice? That always wakes me up."

The skunk nodded at the table. "Got some already," she said.

"Oh," said the rabbit, nodding.

"I don't know, Aria. I went to bed at, what, 11:40, and I woke up at 8:30, so that's, like, nine hours of sleep, yeah?"

"Yeah." A nod. Already having poured her orange juice. The rabbit padded to the kitchen table. And sat. There was also a much larger table in the dining room, but the kitchen table was smaller. And since they were eating a lone, it was the kitchen table they had defaulted to using.

"Why am I still tired?" was the question. It sounded more like a plea. "I shouldn't be tired all the time, Aria. Sleep doesn't help. Rest? I mean, rest ... "

"Well ... "

"Well, what?" A blink. The skunk looking the rabbit over. "Come on. Spit it out."

"Well, if you want my honest opinion ... "

"I do," Audrey insisted, nodding, scooting her chair back up to the table. "I do."

"Well," Aria said, sipping at her orange juice, and then putting the glass down. Holding to it with both paws. She looked to her friend and employer, a little smile in her blue eyes. "You need a male."

"A what?"

"A male."

"A male? I'm tired cause I don't ... "

" ... have a male. When was the last time you had one? I mean, the last time," Aria pressed, "you were in ANY kind of romantic relationship."

The skunk faltered, squinting her green eyes. "Um ... " And she blinked and sighed and shrugged. "I don't know. Years?"

"My point exactly. You need," she whispered certainly, "a male."

"And why's that?" Audrey pressed.

A quiet, cheeky smile. "They're like vitamins. They do things for the mind AND body," she assured.

Audrey giggled, putting a paw over her mouth. "Aria!"

"Hey, it's true! It's a natural need. You NEED," the rabbit insisted, "a romantic companion. Someone to love. You know? I think that's why you have trouble sleeping."

"Cause I'm lonely?" Audrey whispered, paws fidgeting now (with her spoon).

The rabbit nodded a bit.

There was a pause.

"Or maybe you just need some fresh air," the rabbit suggested. "Could be either one."

"Ah," said Audrey, smiling again. And shaking her head slightly. "Well, I'll go for a walk, then? Wanna come?"

"I gotta check out the gardens, first thing. If we want them fruitful this summer. And ... "

" ... that's alright. It's okay," Audrey insisted. "We can walk together another time, yeah?"

"Yeah," Aria agreed, reaching her white-furred paw out. Giving the skunk's black paw a firm, little squeeze. "Now, just go out and walk the countryside. It's your new home. Say hello to it."



The breeze was blowing. The skunk walked across the pasture. And sighed, pausing. It was partly-cloudy, and the sun licked and lapped at her fur. And, oh, to be young and alive in May! Another sigh.

It made her yearn.

A small plane motor-motored overhead, and she craned her neck, watching it go by. There was a rural airport not five miles to the south. Private jets could land there, she knew, but ... mostly, it was just small planes. The propeller kind. She, herself, had a company chopper. But it was down in Indy. She never really used it.

The skunk came to a fence-row. Barbed wire. She paused, considering whether to slip through it, wriggle under it, or simply find a way around it. She could walk a few hundred yards or so to her left, and reach the gravel road.

She closed her eyes. And breathed.

Fresh air.

Air that smelled of green. The fields. Growing alfalfa. Grasses. Of earth. Of dirt and soil. Of water. A pond. A creek. She could see the creek from here. It divided her property and fields ... from several others. Here in Big Springs.

She ended up walking toward the gravel road, and when she got there, she looked down it. One way. And then the other. And set off for the north of it. Thinking she might as well stop by the first house she came to. Introduce herself, say hello, and get to know some of her neighbors.



A knock on the door. A paw going rap-rap-rap.

"Coming!" Peregrine squeaked. "I'm coming," he said, reaching the door, pausing. Taking a breath. Collecting himself. He hated answering doors. Just like how he hated answering phones. It always put him on the spot. Made him feel self-conscious. So, he closed his eyes, said a little prayer, and ...

... opened the door.

A nod from the fur on the other side. A skunk. "Hello," she said softly. Nicely. Brightly.

"Uh ... hi," Peregrine said shyly.

"Did I come at a bad time?" the skunk asked. Angular ears cocked and swiveling.

"What? Mm ... no," he assured. "I don't think so."

"It's just ... " She nodded at him, smiling a bit. "Um, you don't have a shirt on."

The mouse looked down. "Oh. Yeah. I was outside," he said, looking up to her, "a bit earlier. Working in the barn and stuff."

A quiet nod.

"And the sun's kind of out. I was just sunning my fur."

"Oh." A smile, and a nod. She discreetly eyed his slender, furry chest. The soft, grey fur. He was trim. But not bulked-up. In fact, he looked like he could use a few more pounds. "It is a beautiful day," she agreed, green eyes meeting his grey ones. "I was out walking, myself. Thought I'd stop by. Say hello. So ... hello," she said, giggling.

Peregrine, a paw still on the doorknob, flushed beneath his cheeks. "Hello," he whispered back.

"I'm Audrey," she said, extending a paw. "Don't mean to be rude. I just ... should've told you my name right off the bat."

"It's okay. I'm Peregrine," he said, shyly taking her paw. And nearly shivering at her touch. At another paw holding his. She was silky. Silky, with black fur that was streaked with snowy-white. And her tail was like a squirrel's tail. In that it was bushy and luxurious and held in a poised arch. But it was all black and white, and looked to be softer than anything.

"Peregrine," she whispered. "Like the falcon, hmm? Bird-of-prey?"

"Yeah." He blinked. Trying to clear his head. Trying not to fixate on the distinct scent of her. His nose and whiskers twitch-sniffing. Sniff-sniff.

"Now, how does a mouse," she wondered, "get named after a predator?"

Peregrine just shrugged (with avoidance). And said, "Um ... I don't know you." He changed the subject. "I've never met you."

"Well, that's because I just moved here," Audrey said brightly.

"Oh?"

"Mm-hmm. See that big, white house ... " She pointed to the other side of the creek. To the short distance.

"The mansion?" Peregrine's eyes widened.

"Well, I guess you could call it a mansion. I don't like to call it that. But, yeah, I bought it. I moved in yesterday." Her tail lazily swished, as if caught in the eddies of the breeze.

"You," Peregrine said slowly, blinking, "bought the mansion? I mean ... house? Or ... "

"Yeah. Why?"

"I just ... I don't know," he admitted. His own thin tail snaked like a fishing line. This way and that.

"I'm not a total yuppie, if that's what you're afraid of. I'm not gonna bulldoze the entire countryside to erect monuments to myself, if that's what you're worried about," she said.

"I'm not," was his whisper.

"Well, you seemed to flinch, I guess, when I said I'd moved in."

"I just didn't think anyone would buy the place," Peregrine offered. "And ... "

" ... I don't look like I could be a millionaire?" she supplied. "Too young?"

"I don't know," Peregrine said weakly.

The skunk fidgeted a bit (on the doorstep). "I inherited a grocery empire from my parents," she explained.

"Oh." A nod.

She nodded back at him. Taking a slow breath.

Peregrine suddenly realized it would probably be good manners to invite her in, but ... why should he? Did she expect she could just barge in here and ...

" ... I heard that the last owner of that place wasn't very kind, I guess, to ... all you rural furs. He was rather unpleasant."

Peregrine said nothing.

"I don't like to think of myself as unpleasant. I mean, I'm not," she said, "unpleasant. So, give me a chance, huh?" She extended her paw again. "We're neighbors now. So ... friends, too? I'd like to make friends."

"You want to be my friend?" Peregrine asked shyly, now half-hiding behind the half-open door.

"Sure," she said kindly. "Why not?" Her paw was still extended. "I don't bite," she whispered. And, as a little after-joke, added, "Unless asked." A giggle from her. She had a bright, feminine giggle. But she was not a waif. No, she had the look and demeanor of a strong-willed, confident femme. After all, she HAD to be ... running a grocery empire at twenty-two. She'd had to drop out of college to do it, but ... she was better off, wasn't she? In terms of financial security, especially.

He took her paw once more (as he'd done before). But held it longer this time. And swallowed. Saying, in his wispy, mousey voice, "Um ... friends."

"Friends," she whispered back. And gave his paw a squeeze.

He squeezed back, and ...

... she let go. Noticing, during the paw-squeeze, that he wore no mating ring.

And he retracted his paw, too. Noticing that she wore no mating ring, either. How could that be possible? She was young, rich ... why didn't she have a mate?

"Anyway," she said. "I'm sorry to just barge in on you like this. I mean, I would've called, but I don't have anyone's number. And I was out walking anyway, and yours was the first house I came to, so ... "

"It's alright," Peregrine stammered. "I mean, it's alright. As I said, I was up, anyway, and I was just about to head back outside, anyway." You're babbling, Perry! You're being a blabber-mouse, he told himself.

"So, I hope you weren't thinking I was some kind of vulture. Just circling above all the rest of you. Waiting to tear you apart with my suave urban wit and resources." She giggled a bit. "I'm really not that kind of fur, so ... really, again, you don't need to fear me."

Peregrine just nodded. "Alright," was all he said.

And the skunk took a slow, deep breath, closing her eyes for a minute. Still standing on the concrete porch-steps. And she opened her eyes, suggesting, "Maybe one of these days you'll invite me in?" There was no resentment or sarcasm in her voice. Just a warm, gentle teasing.

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just ... "

" ... shy," she said. Not knowing if that's what he'd been about to say about himself. But inserting the adjective, anyway. "It's okay. Anyway, I can't linger. I'm gonna do some more walking before noon, and ... then go back to the house and have a nice lunch."

"I got more work to do," Peregrine repeated, as if needing to assure her that he, too, had things to occupy his time with. As if needing to assure her that he could be productive. That he was of worth. Why did he feel this sudden, silent need to impress her? He didn't know her. She was a city-fur, for heaven's sake!

Audrey nodded, and began to back away, smiling. And saying, "Well, I'll see you around, then, Peregrine."

"Alright," he said. In a soft, squeaky way. Almost inaudible. And his eyes stayed on her as she walked away. Through the grass. Beneath the trees. Back to the grassy ditch of the gravel road (where the tilted telephone polls were spaced, every so often, stringing the electrical lines). Fields and openness on all sides. And a white-patched blue sky. Like islands in an inverted sea.

The skunk continued on her way. In the freshness of this mid-spring day.

Peregrine watched her walk. The way she moved. The way she ... and he blinked. Blinked. Stop it, Perry, he scolded himself, feeling his heart beat faster, faster. She's a skunk. You're a mouse. She's a city fur. You're a rural fur. She's rich. You're poor. Just stop it, Perry.

It could never work.

But, still, that didn't stop the daydreams from helplessly fluttering through his mind.