“Abby’s Fox”

I

The dew glistened off his sleek, smooth, rusty coat. Stepping with flawless grace through the mist of a typical sleepy English morning, the young fox strode silently amidst the dense shrubbery at the crest of a hill on the outskirts of a forest. Then he stopped and gazed down with his glittering, green eyes on the majestic and sturdy-looking Oxford estate, nestled amongst the rolling hills of the countryside.

The woods rose above the mansion on one side, and a field left in its natural wildness lay sprawled out on the other. Ivy climbed up the cold stones enveloping the intricately carved wooden door. Symmetrical chimneys projected from the roof. Perfectly manicured grass hugged the edges of the cobblestone driveway. An expansive rose garden was kept in pristine condition on the backside of the country mansion, with climbing roses decorating the trellises arcing over the garden’s walkways. All was serene and picturesque.

After a few brief seconds and a flick of his bushy tail, the fox turned to slink like a cat back into the forest from which he came.

Hours later, after a vast majority of the fog had dissipated into the late morning air, Abigail pushed back the white goose down sheets on her canopy bed. Yawning, she got up and walked drowsily over to the big mirror on her dresser. She began brushing her cascading, brown hair with the ivory-inlaid brush her mother had given to her on her seventeenth birthday nearly two months ago. Sketch books lined the wooden shelves in her spacious bedroom. The luxurious wallpaper and cozy furniture made the room feel like a sort of refuge.

Abigail, known by all as Abby, was a shy, but kind, innocent-looking girl who was known for her natural artistic talent and love and compassion for animals. Not wanting to wait any longer to satisfy her complaining stomach, Abby hopped down the house’s central stairs two steps at a time, with its elaborate balustrades and uniquely carved lions guarding the bottom. The well-lit, warm, little breakfast room took on a yellow hue from the sunlight streaming in. Hibiscus, banana trees, and other such tropical plants occupied the corners. Abby’s mother and twelve-year-old sister, Olivia, sat at a circular table near one of the many tall windows. Abigail’s dad enjoyed going on morning hunts with his friends on the weekends, and having left an hour or so earlier, didn’t stay to have breakfast with the rest of the family.

“Ha! I beat you!” exclaimed Olivia proudly. Olivia felt she had to be just as good at anything her sister could do, and so Olivia turned everything unnecessarily into a competition, no matter how stupid the subject was. Normally Abby put up with Olivia’s competitiveness, but on occasion the feeling of annoyance she kept locked up inside would escape. This time she made no comment.

Breakfast proceeded without any further conflict. The only sounds were from the soft small talk and the clattering and clinking of silverware as the ladies picked at their ample portions of cinnamon twists, toast, and jam. It was agreed that Abby’s lifelong friend and neighbor, Felice, would join her for afternoon tea. The elderly Mrs. Browning, the Oxford family’s trusted, patient housekeeper, picked up the china dishes and calmly left the room.

After breakfast, Abby returned to her bedroom and prepared to walk the short distance to her family’s private stable for a quick ride. She slipped on her hunter green velvet riding coat and matching skirt, and then stuffing her feet into her black leather riding boots with the shining silver buckles, she skipped out of the room, down stairs, and out the back door.

A mixture of horse, hay, and sweet feed smells greeted Abby’s nose upon her arrival. Two gently-curving, potted topiaries leaned against the arched entry way, and a weathered oak tree loomed over the roof. A trotting horse sat motionless atop the stable’s weather vane. Inside, two endless rows of horse heads hung over their newly-painted stalls. Most of the horses belong to Abby’s dad, who used them in his fox hunts and polo tournaments. Today, many of them were missing.

She walked briskly to Patrick’s stall and called out to him. A noble, crimson-colored head with soft, chocolate-brown eyes appeared at the door. He rested his velvety nose against her shoulder, leaving a messy trail behind as he raised his head up again. “Eww…” said Abby, disgusted. “Thanks.” Overhearing the commotion from the adjacent stall, Gavin threaded his muzzle through the stall bars. Abby reached over to pet the inquisitive, flea-bitten gray, gelding’s forehead. Abby’s close friend, Felice, boarded the athletic thoroughbred at the Oxford family’s stable so that they could go on pleasurable rides together periodically.

Abby shuffled over to the impressive, hard-to-open tack room door. After turning the key, the overpowering smell of clean leather and silver polish emerged. Abby returned to Patrick’s stall laden with her personalized ebony-black saddle and coordinating bridle in one hand and a plaid blanket in the other.

Merely minutes later, horse and rider appeared from beneath the wooden door on the far side of the stable, each feeling fresh and high-spirited in the crisp air. “I bid you a good ride, ma’am,” said the groom who held Patrick steady as Abby mounted the conveniently placed block alongside the stable wall. And then after a little sidestep, they plodded off into the countryside, carefree as can be.

An eloquent robin chattered away at his perch among a decrepit oak within the thicket; and sunlight filtered through the leaves fluttering in the breeze, which were delicately fastened to the oak’s artistically-carved limbs. Patrick’s slow, peaceful stepping heightened into a lively prance after Abby had given him a little cluck of encouragement. Patrick carried a reputation throughout the county as an exceptional jumper, and he had proved himself victorious at the various annual local fairs when Abby had the whim to take him. Squinting into the distance, Abby saw a fallen tree, which had finally surrendered to the eroding elements and the overpowering hand of time. She steered her steed toward this new obstacle, and they cavorted up to it. Sitting on the back of a seventeen-hand animal, one could feel as if she had the ability to jump the moon. In only a second, they sailed through the air and landed on the opposite side, leaving the cracked bark untouched. Adrenaline rushed through her veins and all over her body as Patrick cantered on in his rocking-horse gait, his sturdy hooves pounding into the dirt with every step.

Abby could tell they had reached the estate’s property line when she observed a high stone wall, the aging work of an obviously experienced mason, overgrown with ivy and hiding within a stand of trees. Without another thought and little urging, Patrick gladly accepted the challenge. The already sizeable hurdle became increasingly imposing as they swept toward it in a fluid motion. But as Patrick gathered himself and prepared to soar over it, a startled black bird flew out of the foliage engulfing the ancient structure. This caused the horse to reel back abruptly, unseating Abby. Dirt flew up in her face as her body collided with the damp ground. In a daze of fear and bewilderment, Patrick bolted through the dense woods until he was out of sight. Fortunately the landing for Abby’s unsuspected dismount was well padded, but the impact was enough to knock the wind out of her.

Abby’s body lay in a motionless, limp lump in the shattered and decaying leaves strewn about the ground. As pain rampaged through her side, she envisioned the bruises that were bound to await her. Suddenly, she heard a rustling from within the vegetation, and a sliver of fear grew in her chest. Then she caught a glimpse of golden-red fur. A fox gasping with each breath proceeded to drag himself towards her with every ounce of strength left in him. He carried his left front paw close to his weary body. She could see the blood from a bite delivered by a hound who got too close refused to clot.

With a painful grunt, the fox hesitated before going any further, twitching his finely-tuned, white-fringed ears. He realized he was in a very vulnerable position, and fought his instincts to run. Abby sat as still as the stone wall. Speaking softly, she spoke to him. “It’s okay…Don’t be shy. I think I can help you.” A glimmer of trust mixed with hope sparked in the fox’s expressive eyes. Inches at a time, he approached until he closed the distance between them. The fox’s tameness intrigued her. Abby tugged at a corner of her soiled skirt until she had torn off a strip of the fabric. Grimacing, but without resistance, the fox allowed her to lightly grasp his paw and bind it with the slightly unraveled material, sealing off the wound. Full of gratitude, the fox looked up into her face. “Thank you, Miss. You are very kind.”

Stunned by his ability to speak, Abby stared at him, paralyzed. Attempting to recollect herself, she stammered, ”You...you…just spoke to me. I..I must be dreaming... or mad.”

“I’m so sorry to have startled you. I can assure you that you cannot possibly be mad. But I merely could not have walked away without a word of thanks for your much-appreciated kindness.”

Gradually, Abby began to regain her senses. “I’ve never had a conversation with a fox before.” The fox replied, ”There is a first for everything. I’ve never had a conversation with a human before. “ He paused. “If you would follow me, I can show you to your horse.”

The fox’s fine coat glinted in the splattered light as he escorted Abby through the underbrush, burrs snatching at the fabric of her clothes. They came upon a clearing, and there was Patrick, meandering through the grass and chewing nonchalantly. “Thank you,” Abby told the fox.

“You’re welcome.” The fox paused before adding, “And thank you again for helping me when you were under no obligation to do so. It’s caused me to see things in a different light. But, there’s one thing I ask of you. Will you meet me at the back gate of the rose gardens tomorrow morning?”

“Certainly,” Abby replied, curious to know more about this talking marvel.

The fox limped away beneath a berry-laden bush before glancing back at her. “Excuse me for not asking earlier, but I have yet to hear your name.”

“It is Abigail, but please, call me Abby.”

“Then I shall see you tomorrow, Abby.” And he was gone.

Abby burst through the door of her bedroom, and shut it so swiftly behind her that one of the many painted portraits in the hall swayed out of alignment. After attempting to tame down her unruly, wind-blown hair, she dressed herself in lacey lavender and a single pearl necklace. Looking out the window, she could see Felice approaching the front door. She looked at herself briefly in the mirror before running down to meet her friend

Mrs. Browning opened the door for the visitor, and the two girls hugged each other in the foyer. “It’s been so long since I saw you last!” said Felice. “I know! I’ve missed you so. But I’m ready for tea. You can tell me all the latest gossip then.” Felice smiled as she pulled out a twig intertwined with Abby’s hair. “Well I know where you have been.”

Three shades of frosting adorned the butter cookies laid out before them on plates embellished with painted owls, along with many jelly-filled pastries and other sweet treats. Felice sat in front of the Oxford family’s heirloom china cabinet, and Abby was across from her, both girls sipping their tea and trying to practice their etiquette.

“How are you and Christopher coming along?” asked Abby. Felice’s cheeks turned a rosy hue. “Very well, I think. I believe he tries to impress me with his swordplay. He’s actually quite good. And he always looks so dashing in uniform.” Felice and Christopher had “been in love” since their childhood days, but nobody expected it to ever be serious.

The girls chatted about everything from the latest fashion to politics, but Abby failed to mention the talking creature from the woods. Although Abby considered Felice a trustworthy friend, despite her talkative nature, she worried Felice would suspect her of telling stories. It would have to remain a secret for now.

Sometime later, after the Oxford family had finished dinner, they were gathered in a rather large sitting room, illuminated by a marble fireplace. A golden-scrolled clock sat upon the mantle. “Did the hunt go well?” Mrs. Oxford asked her husband as she embroidered a scarlet rose onto a handkerchief. Mr. Oxford was reclining on a nailed-down leather chair with his feet propped up on the ottoman. “The dogs flushed one out of his hole sometime mid-morning. They caught his trail immediately. We must have chased him halfway across the country. The hounds almost had him once, but the bloody fellow got away.”

Abby thought about her fox, hoping he was safe in his burrow and out of harm’s way.

The following morning was fresh and innocent, and Abby strolled alongside the cabbage roses bordering the lush grass, soaking her robin-egg blue slippers. But Abby didn’t care. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and breathed in the sweet perfume. If only the rest of the world could feel such beauty as she was now.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Abby started at the sound, tripping and catching herself before she muddied her dress. As soon as she had fully regained her balance, she dropped her gaze to the chuckling fox sitting at her feet. “Do you make it a habit to go about frightening people?” Abby asked while attempting to glare at him. But a smile was working itself up the corners of her mouth.

“Please forgive me; you seem to frighten so easily. But then I forget that you can’t hear as well as I can.”

“I suppose I will. This time.”

The fox accompanied Abby as she headed toward one of many sculpted stone benches in the garden, taking several steps to one of hers. She sat herself down, and the fox sprang up to sit beside her.

“I assume you’re feeling better?”

“Aww yes. But I’m still quite sore.” Abby’s curiosity took hold of her, and she couldn’t resist asking the question that had been picking at her mind since the previous day.

“Where did you learn to talk?” she asked.

“By observation. I’m fascinated by human creatures and their habits, and because I’m forced by mankind to become more and more immersed in their world, I find it beneficial to educate myself. It’s more challenging, but still rather similar to my native tongue.”

“Your…native tongue?”

“Yes…Every species speaks a different language, each with its own dialects.”

The thought had crossed Abby’s mind before. When watching the birds outside her window serenade each other, they seemed to rejoice at the passing of winter. She had always wondered on a shallow level if they really “talked” to each other as she talked to other people.

“Do you know any other languages then?”

“Oh no. Not many,” he responded. “I dabble in wren, badger, hedgehog, and deer. But human language interests me most.” He paused. “Because of my fluentness, I thought I could gain a foothold in the door of the human world. You see, I’ve been nominated by my society to speak like an ambassador for animals like myself, who’ve felt threatened by the selfishness of man. We cannot live our lives peaceably when man looms over us. Man kills us out of sport, and destroys our homes for his own greedy desires. Man can never be happy with what he has, and cares only for himself. We see man as being evil. But because of you, I realized that I was too quick to judge.”

Abby carefully took all of it in, working it over. She didn’t immediately respond.

“Perhaps I said too much…”

“No! No….” she stopped him. “I don’t mind hearing it.” Silence was suspended in the air.

“I shall leave you alone now.” He slipped out of sight before Abby could protest, even though hindered by a wounded foot.

The next morning, the defiant darkness stubbornly refused to surrender and retreat from the light of day. Abby splashed water onto her sleep-laden eyes from a conveniently placed, ornate china pitcher beside her bed. She was not confident that the fox would be in the gardens today, as he had not promised her anything the day before, but there was still a chance.

Unfortunately, she did not escape undetected as planned. Her mother met her in the hall. “My, this is unusual for you to be up and about so early, Dear. I pray you are not troubled by any unpleasant dreams?”

“Oh no, Mother. I was just going for a little…walk to stretch my legs a bit.”

“Ah yes. Morning walks are always quite refreshing. But please do not wander for I can feel a storm is brewing, and I would hate to find you caught in it.”

“Don’t worry, Mother, I won’t be long.”

And with that, Abby hastily fled her mother’s loving gaze into the blustery, darkly-cloaked, outside world.

After an unsuccessful search of the rose gardens, she began scanning the meadow beyond them for any sign of the elusive fox. The fierce wind was picking up, pulling at her skirts and blinding her vision. But then she caught a glimpse of a red crescent-shaped form leaping in midair a couple hundred meters before her. She breathed a sigh of relief and approached the animal as quietly as she possibly could. When she could finally make out the greenness of his eyes, she saw that he was concentrating on something imprisoned between his black-gloved paws.

“I knew I should find you here,” she said. The fox diverted his attention away from his paws and looked up at her through the lengthy, swaying blades of grass. “So you have. This is a pleasant surprise, and to surprise me is a rarity.”

“Yes, that is certain.” Abby shifted her eyes back to the clutching paws. The fox noticed her inquisitiveness. “Even a fox must eat.” He spread apart his paws to reveal a terrified field mouse, which took advantage of this unexpected opportunity to vanish from sight. “But I will spare you of watching it.” At that very moment, the heavy clouds splintered and spilled out their contents upon the earth. Abby shut her eyes and sighed as the sky wept around her. “How could one possibly loathe the rain?”

“Not I,” the fox said, “But I would detest your catching a cold as the result from it.”

“You speak as if you were my mother. Come with me to the stables, where it will most certainly be dry.” The fox was hesitant, but followed close at her heels.

As her boots scraped and his claws clicked in a rhythmic pattern against the cobblestones inside, the rain still continued to patter steadily against the shingled roof. The coach lamps flickered brightly in the dim light. Abby observed how uncomfortable the fox was. He looked cautiously about the aisle, fear radiating from his eyes. His expression reminded her of a claustrophobic country man trapped in a packed train car on a typical Monday morning in London. “Please don’t be nervous, we are alone and you are perfectly safe,” Abby tried to soothe his fears. Indeed none of the stable boys were bustling about, as it was a Sunday, their day off. The fox relaxed somewhat at this truth.

“Oh! I would like to introduce you to my horse.”

Abby took him to Patrick’s stall, and the horse gave a welcoming nuzzle to her shoulder and eyed the fox curiously.

“This is Patrick,” said Abby while untangling a knot in her horse’s forelock.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Patrick,” he acknowledged. And then immediately to Abby, “Yes I remember he was the horse you were riding on the day we met.” Patrick stared at the fox with perplexity written across his face and nodded ever so slightly. An awkward few seconds passed, and Patrick’s eyes never left the fox. Abby sensed the tenseness in the atmosphere. “Perhaps you would like to see the tack room?”

“Very much,” replied the fox, relieved.

Strolling between the stalls, Abby gave the fox a quizzical look. Abby didn’t need to ask.

“It is a complicated matter,” he responded with a serious tone. Then melting into a smile, he chuckled to himself. “But from what I already know of you, my efforts to resist telling you would be futile.”

Abby lightened at this. “I see you are a good judge of character. You’ve sparked my interest, please go on.”

“Aw, but where to begin…” the fox thought aloud. Then he commenced with his lengthy explanation. “As you may recall, I have mentioned to you that I was sent as a type of ambassador for my fellow animals. As the story goes, many a year ago, before we had ever encountered man, we roamed about the countryside doing as we pleased. We did whatever we had the mind to do, and had no regard for each other’s well being, a constant chaos. But soon we realized without any kind of organization, we would soon perish. Out of the anarchy, leaders arose and laid the foundations for an animal-run government, very similar to yours, which has been laying guidelines for Animalia ever since.” He paused to catch his breath.

“But man gradually seeped and slithered his way into our kingdom. Sometimes he would offer us the necessity of food, and he seemed of a very affable nature to many of us. Man’s foreign, unfamiliar ways mystified us, drew us closer. Some of the elderly leaders did not approve of this interaction with these outsiders. Let me add that I do not wish to offend you in any way, and if I should err against you, I already feel the deepest regret.” Abby assured him that he had not offended her, and encouraged him to continue.

“Whilst some creatures claimed man amiable, and providing for their needs in return for some small task they had performed, others had quite different stories. Tales of horror and pain spread throughout the kingdom, stories of fear, cruelty, even death. Over time the lines between legend and reality became so blurred that it was hard to discern between them. Most of the animals had never personally come in contact with a human, and were so confused by the stories, that they decided to remain hidden and distrustful in the wilderness, as far from man as possible. The creatures who favored man, and had over time given their heart to humankind strayed farther and farther away, adopting his culture and adapting to his lifestyle. It is at this crucial point the kingdom split in half. The disgusted council, along with society, shunned the traitors, prohibiting them from ever going back to their homeland and participating in the business of the rest of animality. Thus the domestics were formed. As to the matter of language, nearly all of the domestics can comprehend man’s spoken language as they are encompassed by it from birth, but only the most intelligent know enough to respond back. Even the domestics still endeavor to retain what dignity they have left by adhering to Animalia’s universal standard of silence. But because I have sacrificed my reputation by breaking this code to talk with you, I have been greatly looked down upon by the society .”

All of it was a little much for Abby to comprehend at once, but the pieces of this remarkably-concealed puzzle where aligning into their proper places.

“And that would account for Patrick’s queer behavior towards you earlier. Are you are also saying that Patrick understands precisely what I say, and could possibly respond back if he chose?”

“I have no doubt of it, “ replied the fox matter-of-factly.

Fresh possibilities lay ahead beyond the framework a door which had just been opened.

The initial downpour of rain was subsiding. Abby realized she mustn’t forget to attend to her studies and risk upsetting the governess again. She was sure that after interrupting his breakfast, the fox was still utterly hungry. Physically, they went their separate ways, but Abby was still thinking about what the fox had sacrificed for her sake long into her piano lesson.

Abby and her new friend’s daily visits continued as the days were becoming ever longer. Late morning was always the arranged time, and neither failed to show for a meeting. The topics of conversation ranged from card games and croquet to the best mushrooms and the new fawn. The more they bonded and the more they learned about their once alien worlds, the more relaxed they felt with each other and were willing to reveal.

One of those late mornings in early summer, Abby and the fox were walking along the edge of one of the property’s numerous ponds. A mallard and his wife huddled beneath a low willow tree talking amongst themselves, unaware of the fox and girl. But stopped abruptly upon hearing a loud splash.

Abby’s behind was firmly planted in the mud, and the fox was flattening the weeds with his back as he rolled with laughter.

“Well I hope you got your fill of laugh for the day,” said Abby. She dug up a fist full of mud and swung. Her throw didn’t miss its target. Now was her turn to laugh. The duck couple watched the mud fight that ensued in disapproval.

And then the mallard’s temper would hold out no longer. He left his wife safely behind and flew up in the fox’s face in a squawking fury. The fox staggered backwards, trying to get away from the drake’s bill, until he had backed himself into a tree. Then the enraged duck landed on his flat, webbed feet before the fox, glaring at him with stern black eyes. The fox responded in stumbling barks, trying to regain his footing at the same time. But the fox could not satiate him, and the outspoken mallard, along with his mate, left the fox with a few closing remarks and a viscous present before disappearing over the treetops.

“And what, may I ask, called for that delightful conversation?” Abby smirked. The fox dipped his face in the murky pond water and tried to work the filth out of the dirty-white collar that framed his face. “Do you remember what I told you concerning the code of silence?.” Then he breathed a sigh. “I can see one problem that our worlds share: they are afraid of difference.”

Abby could see now what the fox’s intentions were. He was willing to bridge the gap, to negotiate the predicament when his fellow creatures would only stand to the side, watch his every move, and ridicule him for his efforts. She wanted so much to help him, but what could a young girl no one took seriously do? Abby determined that she would do all that she could within her power to educate the fox of her human world, even if that meant risking a few things. After all, he was risking so much for her.

“Umm..I want to show you something, but I am taking a mighty chance in doing so. You must obey my every word.” The fox was interested, yet anxious as to what this thing could possibly be.

As they were approaching the house, the fox shook from snout to toe and the hairs along his back began to bristle. “W….We…we’re not….,” He barely stuttered out. “Oh hush! Of course we are” interrupted Abby, tired of his lack of confidence. The two hardly took a breath as they slowly made their way to the back door. Every few steps they would hide behind a tree or crouch beneath a hedge to make sure all was clear. When they had finally done through the threshold of the door, and seeing no one around, both let out enormous sighs. Abby even laughed a little. To speak the truth, the fox was still frightened out of his wits. Considering his circumstances, this is no big surprise.

They passed room after room after room in peace. Abby suspected the maids must all be in their quarters because she never heard a sound. She knew exactly where she was going, and the fox treaded meekly at her feet. His paw pads were barely a whisper on the lush Persian carpets, and he was careful to keep his claws from clacking on the hardwood floors. After endless corridors and countless rooms, at long last they reached the library. The fox had never seen one before, as he had never even been in a house before. At one corner of the room sat the Oxford’s ebony-black grand piano, and the room was filled wall to wall with shelves of thick, dusty books. A cushioned window seat had shown an excellent view of the driveway, and a fire place filled with ashes from heavy use was cold against the room’s back wall.

Abby walked over to one of the shelves, retrieved a book, and reclined on the tiger skin rug on the floor. The room abounded with trophies and treasures her dad had brought back from his many African and Asian expeditions. “Come look at this,” Abby invited. The fox studied the book. The stale air smell was foreign to his nose. Written on the outside was Gulliver’s Travels, but although the fox could speak English fluently, he could not read. As Abby flipped the first couple of pages, the fox looked hard at the strange printed figures. He had seen written words and watched the humans look At them before, but he had no understanding of what they meant. The fox was very much intrigued. “Please, read me something!” he begged. Abby read the first few lines. This was something that Man had created and Animalia lacked. He wanted to know more “How did you learn to do that?” he asked. “My governess taught me when I was very young and I have loved reading ever since,” she explained. New possibilities popped into the fox’s mind. Perhaps he could acquire this knowledge himself and use it to his own benefit. “Umm…” he hesitated. “Is it possible that I might learn this ‘reading’ myself?” “Why of course!” she replied. “I was hoping you would ask. That was the very reason I brought you here. Oh! One can learn so much from reading. And I only wished that there was something I could do to help. Then I reasoned that if I could teach you to read some good might come from it.”

“I would most certainly appreciate that. You are nothing but kindness. Surely there must be something I could do to repay you?”

“Actually, there is one thing. I want to learn the language of the animals. I want to know what they speak. I want to know what to say.”

“It is a deal then. If you will allow me the knowledge of your people, I will share my own.”

And from then on, Abby and the fox had their daily meetings sometimes in the gardens and sometimes in the library, depending upon the weather. Abby brought him books to read with large lettering and taught him the alphabet. When he had mastered it, she introduced him to phonics. And as she was teaching him to read, she was simultaneously learning the basics of animal languages. First, he taught her the barks and yips of the fox and their meanings. Then he taught her to speak it herself. To lessen suspicions, these sessions always took place outside, but it would still have been rather quaint to see a young girl laying in the grass beside a fox making such animal-like noises. Fortunately, they always managed to remain out of sight and hearing.

Over the span of a month, The fox was becoming well-learned and an excellent reader. Abby, in turn, was quite fluent in fox, even though she had only spoken to one in her life. Now that she knew the basics principles of all the Animalia languages, she ventured out on her own on a mission to learn more. Sometimes she even attempted to “talk” to the few cats that lived in the stable, and they looked at her in wonder, but never said a word in response.

Abby continued to bring the fox more books to read, and he would read them cover to cover, one by one. Sometimes Abby brought over things from her world for the fox to try. One such thing were cookies she plucked from the tea table as soon as the everyone was pushing back their chairs. The fox had snatched the treat up in one mouthful, but soon proclaimed it too sweet for his tastes. Another time they were sitting in the library on a rainy, Sunday afternoon when Abby perched on the piano bench and began to play a popular minuet she had learned at a recent piano lesson. The fox was delighted with the lively melody and was practically skipping about the room, hopping on his hind legs and letting out little excited barks here and there. Abby giggled at his merry little antics until she had finished the piece and the fox was panting and exhausted. Since he loved the music so much, she promised to play for him at least once a week.

One might be wondering how the whole business could possibly be kept a secret for so long, and what had been taking place the past few months outside of these private meetings. At first Abby’s parents took no notice of her long absences, seeing as it was an expansive property and a person could be almost anywhere. One fair morning, Abby’s very good friend, Felice, showed up unexpectedly on the Oxfords’ doorstep, and wished to invite Abby to a ride through the woods. One of the maids had answered the door and immediately began a search of the house. Neither the maid, nor the other servants, nor even the Oxfords themselves could find her. Felice joined in the search, and it was not fifteen minutes later that Abby casually came through the back door, twirling a rose between her thumb and index finger, and found herself amidst the discontentment. “Where have you been?” her mother asked. Abby thought quick. “I always love a brisk walk in the gardens on beautiful mornings such as this. The fresh air seems to do my lungs a great deal of good.” The matter was never brought up again, and Abby and Felice proceeded down to the barn. Felice and Christopher spent so much time together that the friends hadn’t seen much of each other, and therefore had plenty of gossip to share. And although Abby’s days were filled with picnics, friends, dashing young men, etiquette studies, card games, shopping in town, too many piano lessons, and the occasional ball, the fox’s frequent visits were still the highlight of her days.

The sun could not win against the downpour still beating heavily on the glass window panes, and Abby could not help but feel a little bleak when supper had passed and the weather remained dismal. She hadn’t seen the fox today. Or not yet, anyway. Abby often spent days like these curled up in her father’s leather chair by the fire with a classic in hand. The day had already reached its midway point, but there was still daylight time left. That is, the daylight that banged itself against the brick wall-like clouds, like a firefly trapped in a jar. Down to the stable she went with a raincoat laden across her shoulders.

Brushing Patrick’s gleaming coat had as much of a relaxing effect on Abby as it did on the horse. She rubbed a dollop of oil into his baby soft mane. Now for the part Patrick disliked the most. Recently he had scratched his back badly some how out at pasture, and the vet had prescribed an ointment that was to be applied once a day. As she unscrewed the lid of the vial, Patrick muttered something under his breath. She could understand every word of it. Now was the opportune moment. “Well now, so you were flirting with that mare again. You can’t blame anyone but yourself. You know very well that she’s nothing but trouble,” she reprimanded him. The horse gaped a bit, surprised, but quickly brushed it off. She touched his ear lightly and whispered, “No, your ears do not deceive you. It is true. Do you remember the fox, from many months ago? He has taught me about your world.” The horse sighed deeply. Then he spoke. “There is not much point now I suppose. Now that you know everything. I knew he would be a nuisance from the moment I met him. Never trust a fox, that’s what I always say. A bunch of back-stabbers they are, the whole lot of them. Don’t know when to keep their bloody jaws shut. What else has that little loyalist told you?”

“You don’t think very highly of him, I see. Very well then.” She paused. “Think what you will, but he’s not a back-stabber. He’s only trying to help. And as for me, I’m going to help too.” Patrick snorted mockingly. “Now you’re a nice, sweet, little girl and all. And I must admit a fairly good rider too. Don’t catch me in the mouth over the logs or whack your bum on my back so much anymore. And Oh… the carrots! Straight from heaven….,” he trailed off a bit. “But I’m afraid nothing you can say shall change my opinion if the fox.”

“Yes, yes, very well…. But if you will not help the fox, will you at least help me?” The horse stopped to consider the possibilities. “Hmm…We will see. Don’t go getting your hopes up just yet.”

“Forgive me for not being….,” the fox started.

“No it’s quite alright. I think you should know. Patrick, my horse as you must remember, spoke to me yesterday. I’m afraid he is not on our side. And it seems he has a prejudice against foxes as well,” said Abby.

“That doesn’t surprise me. Foxes tend to be labeled with a bad reputation as a whole from the crimes of a few, the same as your world. So is there no hope?”

“He said ‘We will see’ for my sake, I believe.”

“All is not lost then. Horses were always ones to keep their word. Very uh…strong-willed.”

Abby and the fox were sitting on the cold, hard steps of one of the gardens’ gazebos. They were very comfortable with each other by now. The two felt like they had always known each other, had always been talking. They were ready to take risks. “Abby?” the fox asked, a little wearily. “Yes?”

“Saddle your horse. It is time.”

Abby met up with the fox again outside the stable, reins in hand. She swiftly swung her leg over and landed as softly as a leaf into the saddle. The following reunion was awkward, as one might expect. Patrick smelt the fox immediately. “Ugh…” he grumbled. His nose and lips wrinkled in disgust. “Believe me. You will live,” Abby said without feeling. “Please follow me,” the fox addressed Abby before heading off. He saw no point in even trying to talk to the horse. After that, Patrick glanced every once in a while at the fox out of the corner of his eye, but otherwise ignored him. The fox made sure to keep his tail in full view and was extremely cautious of the horses sharp, plodding hooves. To be trod on is never a pleasant experience.

Trudging through the thicket, Abby realized that the fox was taking them very close to where they had first met. The wild meadow grass was so tall, usually all she could see was a flash of shining red and white fur. Patrick never faltered, and she trusted he would honor his word, even though it was against his will. At last, the fox halted and spun around in what seemed to have previously been a deer herd’s sleeping grounds because of all the patches of flattened grass. The fields ended and woods began right here. “It would be for the best if the horse remained here,” said the fox. Abby dismounted, tied the reins in a knot, and told Patrick to stay. She didn’t believe she would be long.

Then the fox trotted off into the woods again, calling back to be certain Abby had not lost him. The ground was covered in dense ferns, and Abby felt almost as if she was actually wading through it rather than walking. She was beginning to feel like she was being watched, yet when she turned about, no one was there. A woodpecker tapped intermittently in short bursts of speed somewhere high in the trees. Now the aged stone wall was beginning to come into view. The sight of it brought back memories of her unexpected dismount, and she thought she could feel her side aching again. The fox was getting farther and farther ahead, for she saw only the white tip of his tail, raised up like a flag. As she jogged a short way to catch up, she thought she could hear excited, high-pitched yips and barks up in the distance. And then she could see why.

At the base of the wall was a well-hidden den which she had never noticed before. Four young fox kits danced around the fox’s legs, like puppies, with their glossy green and golden eyes looking up into his with admiration. Abby knew at once who they got them from. She crouched down to touch one. It’s short, auburn fur was as soft as goose down. They bounded into her lap all at once, licking her face. They’re baby noises were not yet mature enough for her to understand, like a human baby’s babbling. “You have a charming family,” Abby said quietly. “Thank you,” he said with a foxy smile, if in fact a fox can smile.

Still, the family did not appear complete. “Where is their mother?” she asked innocently. The fox’s body instantly dropped his tail and his whole body looked as if it wilted. Using a lower, melancholy tone, he replied, “She….she didn’t make it. The hunters.…” She felt a sudden sympathy towards him and his pups. For all he had been through, he still saw some hope in people. He saw hope in her. “It was the day you found me wounded,” he continued unexpectedly. Abby watched one kit tackle its sibling, which let out a sharp yip, and wrestle it to the ground. They were as adorable as dog puppies, yet still looked wild, and they also had a peculiar sweet, musty, earthy smell.

“Do they know?”

“I do not believe so. Not yet.” He paused. “I want you to know that I brought you here for a specific reason. I trust you and I wanted to share my family with you. I know raising them myself will be a struggle. I just hope that you will come back and visit sometime.”

Abby didn’t have time to speak. They were taken aback when right above their heads on a low hanging tree branch a gray squirrel was in a frenzy chattering loudly and flicking it’s bushy tail every which way. It appeared to be calling somebody. A robin alighted on a twig below of the same tree and chirped in agreement. Soon wrens, finches, and a black bird gathered around. Something was about to take place. When a golden-eyed owl hooted sleepily and from the tree limbs, the fox sent the kits down into their den. Other animals were arriving shortly. A wart-covered toad looked like it had just appeared out of the earth. A pair of hedgehogs waddled through the ferns with dead leaves speared on their spines. A young hare was listening attentively, followed a cat-like marten. The last animals to appear were a badger, a kestrel, a red stag, and an adder who was cross from having been interrupted while shedding his skin.

The stag raised his crowned head and bellowed. All became quiet. Then the badger crawled up a moss-covered rock and rose upon his hind legs to “speak.” She did not fully understand his dialect, but she could make out that he was making an accusation. Since the fox was much more fluent in badger, and most of the dialects here, she wanted to ask him what exactly the badger was saying. Except it looked like it was the fox he was accusing, and the animals all stared at him. He remained silent. Before she knew what was going on, all the animals were staring at her, but with hatred in their eyes. Then all the animals began to speak in their own languages at once. The adder hissed something to badger, who seemed to approve of the newly-acquired knowledge. The stag bellowed again, and once again, all was quiet.

The badger stood up for the second time. Abby believed that he was proclaiming this information to the other animals, and then calling up specific ones. It reminded Abby of a trial. Several birds and the squirrel came to “testify.” The woodpecker was last. After he had finished “speaking,” the animals began to chirp, croak, grunt, hiss, hoot, and chatter amongst themselves. Abby took advantge of the time to pull the fox aside inquire of what had just happened. “The present leaders of the council are not happy with my work as an ambassador. They suspect I have betrayed them, like the domestics. Those birds and the squirrel were testifying against me. When this is over, the council will decide what is to be done. I fear banishment is most likely.”

Abby was not about to sit out and let this take place before her. And if they banished the fox, what would happen then? What would become of the kits? What would they do with her? The animals looked none too friendly when they had all stared at her. She hesitated no longer and stood up in front of the entire council. Abby related her story of the fox and how they had helped each other learn more about the worlds of the other. She went on to tell them that all men were not the same, just as it was with animals. As she was explaining to them all that she had learned the past few months, the fox joined in. When Abby had finished her speech, the atmosphere was entirely different from before. While some of the animals had not changed their hearts, others were softening. The badger looked gathered the animals together in a tight circle. After what seemed an eternity, the badger called up the fox to talk to him privately. Relief spread from each white cheek, and Abby knew what the final verdict was. As a whole, they had given mankind a second chance.

“Oh and I would love to visit your family! I shall come at least once a week,” Abby could finally reply. The fox gave her a simple “Thank you.”

And many years and generations later, if one should ever find oneself paying a visit to this grand estate, do not be surprised to see a fox striding gracefully alongside a young man or woman, reveling deep in conversation.