Wondrous Rex

  Dedication

  This is for Anna MacLachlan,

  a wondrous storyteller.

  With love,

  P. M.

  Epigraph

  We can find magic in the sunrise,

  the full moon, a kindness,

  someone’s laughter, and

  even in a dog who doesn’t talk.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  1. Flummoxed

  2. The “L’s”

  3. Rex

  4. Messages

  5. The Secret

  6. A Bit of Magic

  7. Love and Lemon Cake

  8. The Story

  9. Book Dreams

  10. Words / No Words

  11. Surprises

  12. A “Wondrous” Thing

  About the Author

  Books by Patricia MacLachlan

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1.

  Flummoxed

  I am seven years old, and my life is soon to be full of “wondrous” happenings. “Wondrous” is a word I learned from my aunt Lily, a writer of books.

  Lily lives next door to me, and I go there after school while my mother and father are at work. They are pediatricians, doctors for children. My friend Daniel calls us the “doctor/doctor family.”

  My parents deal with tonsils, broken bones, blood, and children who throw up on them.

  My aunt Lily deals with words. She loves words most of the time, and she has taught me many words, such as “melancholy,” “delirious,” and, of course, “wondrous.”

  My teacher, Ms. Luce, is often impressed, but not too impressed.

  “You know fine words, Grace,” she says. “Now why don’t you weave them into a story?”

  She hands me a journal of empty pages. My name, Grace, is on the cover.

  “I don’t know how to write a story,” I say. “Only my aunt knows how.”

  Ms. Luce smiles. “I know you better than you think,” she says. “You have stories inside you. You’ll find a story or a poem to share one day.”

  When I let myself into Lily’s house she has baked thirty-six frosted ginger cookies and laid them out in rows, and she is eating dill pickles out of a glass jar. Lily always bakes and eats dill pickles when her writing is not going well.

  “I’m flummoxed, Gracie,” she says.

  Another word.

  “I don’t know what new story to write. I’m like a sailboat without a sail. I’m wandering. I need help. Flummoxed!”

  She eats another pickle.

  “You will think of something,” I say.

  “I have put up a notice in the post office, on a grocery bulletin board, and also online for an assistant,” Lily said. “Help yourself to a cookie.”

  She shows me the printed notice.

  A WRITER OF BOOKS NEEDS AN ASSISTANT, A COACH, A HELPER, FOR INSPIRATION AND SOME MAGIC!

  Lily’s email address and contact information are written below the notice.

  “An assistant?” I ask.

  “Well, a coach, maybe—to help me write.”

  I see that her desk is a mess of papers and two coffee cups and books. One book is a writers’ help book titled What Now?!

  “Maybe your writers’ group will help,” I say.

  Lily shakes her head. “Maybe. But this has to come from me. In some new way.”

  She sighs. “I want magic,” she says.

  Later Lily and I will remember her word “magic.” It turns out to be the very word she gets.

  Magic.

  2.

  The “L’s”

  It is a half day at school, and Lily’s writers’ group is coming over to her house afterward. I love it when they come. They don’t ask me to sit in the group—I might learn their secrets.

  Lily puts me at the dining-room table, behind glass doors, closed a bit.

  But I am seven years old, don’t forget, and I have sharp hearing. I call the group the “L’s” because all their names begin with the letter “L”: Laura, Lois, Lila, Lacy, Lou, Lana, and my aunt Lily. They write novels for adults and for children, essays, and poetry.

  They eat snacks and talk about their news before they read their work aloud. Sometimes I take notes or draw pictures of them. Sometimes their news is “very dramatic,” as Lily puts it.

  Lily loves my drawings, and she frames them. One says “Sold” and has bright stars all around. The other says “Rejected” and has gray teardrops.

  The news today is this:

  “My editor did not want my book,” says Laura.

  “I spoke at a conference last week, and my day job is troublesome. No writing,” says Lois.

  “It’s spring. I work in my garden instead of writing,” says Lila. She crosses her legs and bounces one leg up and down. She wants to go back to her garden.

  “I sold three picture books. Sent out another,” says Lacy.

  “I have poems to read today,” says Lou.

  “I was too tired to write,” says Lana, yawning. “But I have some ideas.”

  I draw pictures of all the L’s in various states of gloom and glee; words I like.

  “Are you going to tell the L’s that you want an assistant?” I ask when the L’s have left.

  “No,” says Lily, checking her email on her computer.

  She sits up quickly. “Oh no! There’s an assistant coming soon! Hand me the pickles, please.”

  “Should I be here?” I ask.

  There’s a sudden knock at the door.

  “Stay,” says Lily. “Stay,” she repeats.

  She takes a deep breath. She opens the door. . . .

  3.

  Rex

  A man wearing a tall hat stands there.

  He has a brown, smooth-coated dog with a long tail.

  “I have brought you magic,” says the man. “The magic you want.”

  “Magic?” asks Lily. “I did write that, didn’t I?”

  “You did. I brought you Rex,” he says.

  Rex wags his large tail.

  The man hands a card to Lily. Lily hands it to me.

  The card reads, Maxwell the Magician.

  “I have never met a magician before,” says Lily.

  “My pleasure then,” says Maxwell, bowing.

  “This is Grace,” says Lily.

  “I bow to Grace,” says Maxwell.

  And he does.

  Rex leans against me. He is heavy and friendly. I slip him a piece of cookie.

  “Rex has worked with me for a long time,” says Maxwell. “But now he’s bored. Jake the vet says he’s sad. He needs new work. He loves work. He can be your assistant.”

  “What does Rex do?” asks Lily.

  “Most everything you need,” says Maxwell. “It will make him happy. It will make you happy.”

  He puts a bag of dog food and two bowls on the floor. He brings in a soft dog bed from outside the door.

  “Let me know how it goes,” he says to Lily. “I’ll visit if I can.”

  “Of course,” says Lily.

  Maxwell leans down to kiss Rex on the head. Then he is gone.

  I offer Rex another cookie piece and he eats it.

  “Well, I have an assistant,” says Lily.

  “I can’t believe it,” I say.

  “I can,” says Lily. “I’m a writer. I believe most anything.”

  Rex walks over to Lily’s desk. He pushes her scattered papers together in a neat pile with his nose. He carefully picks up the papers on the floor with his teeth. He pushes a chair next to Lily and sits there.

  Lily sits down at her computer. She offers Rex a cookie, but he just stares at her with a look that says, “No more c
ookies. Time for work.”

  Rex presses the search button on the computer, and his paws move over the keys. A quote appears on the screen.

  If you find a book you really want to read but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.

  —Toni Morrison

  Lily reads it.

  I read it. I feel goose bumps on my arms.

  Lily smiles, her first smile of the day. She begins to write.

  And I have a startling thought. An unbelievable thought.

  Rex can read!!

  Rex reaches over with a paw and magically inserts a comma on Lily’s page, then a semicolon.

  Lily writes and writes. After a minute she turns and reaches over to stroke Rex’s muzzle.

  Only once does Rex jump down from his chair. He goes to the door and looks at me. I open the door, and we go out together. We can hear the steady keyboard sounds inside.

  Rex goes behind a tree and lifts his leg. And then we go inside; Lily is still writing.

  Rex goes over to his dog bed, turns around once, and lies down. He sleeps.

  Maxwell the magician was right!

  Rex is happy.

  Lily is smiling.

  She is happy.

  4.

  Messages

  The doctors are home with Chinese food for dinner. Vegetarian for my mother. Garlic chicken for my father. Spicy, amazing orange beef for me.

  “So how is Lily?” asks my father.

  “She has a new assistant,” I say.

  “Really?” says my mother, her fork suspended over her plate. Her dinner looks like leaves and twigs. “That’s hard to believe,” she says.

  I think about Lily saying, “I’m a writer. I believe most anything.”

  “Is she helpful?” asks my father.

  “He,” I correct him. “He is helpful. And he doesn’t talk.”

  “What? How can he help?” My father stares at me.

  I smile at what my parents do not yet know.

  “It’s kind of magical,” I say.

  My mother and father stare at me for a moment.

  Everyone eats.

  And once again I get goose bumps on my arms when I open my fortune cookie. I straighten the paper with the written message.

  It reads:

  Your talents will soon be recognized.

  At school, I show my fortune to Ms. Luce.

  “Ah, a message to you!” she says as if she expected it all along—as happy as if the message might have been written by her.

  Daniel and I walk home together, talking about his white dog, who guards and herds his farmer grandfather’s large flock of sheep.

  “Sometimes she walks over their sheep’s backs to get to the other side, watching for coyotes or wolves,” he says. “Dogs are smart.”

  “And they don’t talk,” I say before I know I’m saying it.

  “No, they don’t,” says Daniel matter-of-factly.

  I stop walking.

  Daniel stops.

  “Can you keep a secret?” I ask.

  Daniel nods. “I know many secrets.”

  “My aunt Lily has a dog assistant who helps with her writing,” I say.

  “Great. I’m not surprised. I told you dogs are smart.”

  He starts walking again, and I am relieved to have told the secret and to have told it to Daniel.

  “What do Doctor and Doctor think about that?” asks Daniel.

  “They don’t know yet,” I say.

  Daniel grins his big grin, which means he is truly amused. He doesn’t ask any more questions.

  “You should write a story about this,” says Daniel.

  “I don’t write stories,” I say.

  “Soon, maybe,” says Daniel as he turns down the road to his grandfather’s farm.

  He doesn’t look back at me.

  At Lily’s house there are no cookies laid out in neat rows.

  There is no dill pickle jar.

  There is just the clicking of Lily’s keyboard keys as she writes.

  Rex is sleeping in his bed, his work over for now. He doesn’t hear me come in.

  I stand and watch the two of them. I don’t want to disturb Lily or wake Rex. But Lily sees me and beckons me over.

  “Look what Rex found on the computer,” she whispers. “Look!”

  I look at the computer screen.

  There is a quote.

  I write to find out what I think, what I feel, and what it means; what I want and what I fear.

  —P. M.

  “A message,” I say softly.

  I take the fortune cookie paper out of my pocket. Lily reads it. She smiles.

  “We’re both getting messages,” says Lily. “And maybe it’s our job to pay attention to them.” She grins, a bit like Daniel.

  Rex gets up at the sound of Lily’s voice, stretches, and comes over to me.

  Rex shakes his head toward the door.

  He wants out.

  Messages.

  5.

  The Secret

  My mother and father, Doctor and Doctor, visit Lily after work. I was wondering how long it would take them.

  My father kisses Lily.

  “My favorite sister,” he says.

  “Your only sister,” says Lily.

  “Hi, Gracie, my favorite daughter.”

  “And only,” I say.

  Rex goes up to my mother and sits in front of her.

  “Hello there,” she says, stroking Rex.

  “Why do you have this dog?” asks my father, patting Rex.

  “His name is Rex,” says Lily. “I’m keeping Rex for a friend. He’s good company. He relaxes me, and his kindness is inspiring.”

  I steal a look at Lily. She doesn’t look at me.

  Lily’s not about to tell my mother and father that Rex can use the computer and can read.

  “Nice,” says my father. “And where’s your assistant?”

  “Not working with me today,” says Lily in a light voice.

  Rex looks at my father and mother. He doesn’t go to the computer. He doesn’t arrange papers. He doesn’t sit on the chair by Lily. He shakes his head toward the door.

  “He wants out!” says my father. “Smart dog! It’s almost like he’s talking.”

  My father goes to the door and looks at Lily. “Does he need a leash?” he asks.

  Lily and I laugh.

  “Not Rex,” I say.

  “Not Rex,” echoes Lily.

  Both my parents’ phones ring. They listen, then end the calls. “We have to go back to the hospital,” says my mother to Lily and me. “Emergency. Four children and a bicycle accident.”

  Lily waves at them.

  “Go, go. Grace can sleep here if you’re late. There’s no school tomorrow.”

  My parents kiss me goodbye. They both pat Rex before they go.

  “Nice dog,” says my father as he goes out the door. “And smart!”

  “Rex was a ‘regular’ dog with my mother and father,” I say. “Not your assistant. Did you notice?”

  “I did. Rex knows things,” says Lily.

  Rex looks at us for a moment. He goes to the computer and presses a key.

  He moves his paws over the keys. He’s very quick.

  Lily and I look at each other.

  We’ve never seen him move this fast before.

  Two sentences appear on the computer screen.

  They are:

  Dogs know secrets. Dogs keep secrets.

  “Is that a quote from someone?” I ask.

  Lily looks like she might cry.

  “No,” she says slowly. “He wrote it.”

  She peers at me.

  She takes a deep breath.

  “It is Rex’s message to us,” she says. “Rex can write.”

  “Yes, he can type words,” I say.

  Lily shakes her head.

  “No, Grace. I mean he knows how to tell us his thoughts,” says Lily.

  Rex jumps down and drinks water from his water bow
l. He pushes his food bowl, and Lily pours food into his bowl.

  “Rex writes,” she says softly. The only sound in the room is Rex crunching his dinner.

  When he’s done he looks at Lily, then at me.

  He knows what we’re thinking.

  Rex writes.

  My mother calls Lily. Lily turns on the speakerphone so I can hear.

  “Lots of scrapes and broken bones,” she says. “And lots of parents,” she adds, making Lily laugh.

  “Good night, Grace,” says my mother.

  “Good night.”

  I sleep in Lily’s guest room. My framed drawings of the writers’ group hang on the wall—“Sold” and “Rejected.”

  In the middle of the night I feel Rex jump up on the bed beside me. He lies down and puts a large front leg over me.

  Like a hug.

  I look into his face. “You’re a writer, Rex,” I whisper in the moonlight. “I wish I could be a writer, too.”

  Rex looks closely at me until my eyes close.

  The next morning I wake in sunlight and Rex is gone.

  At the bottom of my bed is my empty journal with my name on it.

  It is opened to the first page. There is a pen beside it.

  I pick it up. Maybe Lily put it there for me. I go to the desk by the window. And I write:

  I am seven years old and am writing this for the first time ever. I know words, but I don’t yet know how to string them together to shape how I feel and what I think into a story.

  But I have help.

  And maybe that help will be part of what I write—

  Grace

  6.

  A Bit of Magic

  Lily is writing at her computer, her desk neat. The front door is open. I hear Rex woof outside.

  Maxwell the magician looks inside, Rex with him.

  “Maxwell!” Lily says, smiling. “Come in.”

  “Hello, Grace,” he says to me.

  “Hello,” I say. “Rex can write!” I blurt out before I know it.

  Maxwell sighs.

  “Yes, I know,” he says. “I didn’t tell you. I wanted you to discover his bit of magic yourselves.”

  Lily smiles at the words “his bit of magic.”