The Treasure Cave: sea tales of Tiptoes Lightly (2 page)

Never
mind the rain,

We’re
going just the same,

We’re off to see the sea at the shore.”

The windshield
wipers swung back and forth, back and forth. All the cars on the road had their
headlights on. After a while everyone settled down and stared out the windows
as the world rushed by. When they reached the mountains the rain lifted. They
turned north and wound up a long valley with gently rolling hills. The hills
were covered with vineyards, with row upon row of grapevines. Their leaves were
turning yellow and golden-brown and the fields were empty of people.

At the town of
Willits, Farmer John turned west into the mountains. The road rose; it
twisted and turned and fell again and redwood trees towered over their heads.
Tiptoes sat looking out the back window and gazed at the trees. She loved
trees. These redwoods looked old and upright—though she knew they were only
younglings compared to the real redwood giants. She also saw two eyes looking
out of the forest at her. They gave her a little shock. No matter where she
looked the eyes were there. It was the guardian of the forest. His job was to
know every person and creature who passed through. She waved, but the guardian
just kept watching until they drove out of the forest and came to the crest of
the last hill.

“There’s the
sea,” said Farmer John pulling into a lookout.

They got out
of the car and stretched their legs. It was mid afternoon and the sun was low
in the sky. The blue-gray ocean spread to the horizon below them, the sunlight
glinting off the waves. Even though they were miles away they could smell the
sea.

On they drove,
always downward, passing through farmland and scattered trees until they came
to the road that followed the coast. Turning right into Summer’s Fort, they
drove along Main Street, through the center of town and over the railroad
tracks. Just before the tracks was a sign that said: ‘Skunk Train—tickets
here!’

“Can we go on
the Skunk Train?” asked Tom. “We’ve never been.”

“Please, Dad,”
said June Berry. “Let’s go this time.”

“That’s fine
by me,” said Farmer John and the children smiled.

At the edge of
town they crossed Pudding Creek and went past the old railway trestle beside
the sea. The trestle was made of huge timbers and was three or four stories
high. A couple of miles later Farmer John turned in at their cottage. The
cottage belonged to the Nutcracker family. It was a small white house tucked
against a low hillside and surrounded by windblown hedges. On the south side of
the house grew a lemon tree, festively adorned with bright green-yellow lemons
amid dark, glossy leaves. Out back was a grove of pine trees leaning away from
the wind, and between the cottage and the beach was a wide sea meadow, now
covered with brown summer grasses and a few wild flowers.

Farmer John
parked the car and they all piled out. “Let’s unpack before we go to the
beach,” he said, “otherwise it’ll never get done.”

In a moment
the car was unpacked. Then they put Lucy on a leash and went to see the sea.

The
Sea

Tom and June
ran ahead, following a faint path through the sea meadow. Small piles of sandy
dirt, the diggings of ground squirrels, lay scattered about. The path skirted a
tangle of blackberry bushes. They were bare and leafless. Further on, a single
windswept pine lay low to the ground. It leaned so steeply that it made a
small, sheltered space underneath.

“It’s a
house,” said June Berry, hunkering down inside. “There’s no wind here at all.”

Tom joined her
and they watched their dad coming across the meadow with Lucy. They were so
well hidden he didn’t notice them as he passed.

“Boo!” they
cried, jumping out and grabbing his arm.

“Hey, you
scared me!” he laughed. “That’s a good place for a playhouse.”

Tom and June
raced to the edge of the bluff. Here the wind was always blowing—always and
always. The bluff ran for miles along the coast, sometimes low and sandy,
sometimes high and rocky. Here it was only as high as a house and a pathway led
down to the beach.

“The sea! The
sea!” cried Tom and June running towards the waves with their arms opened wide.
They loved the sea and the waves crashing wildly on the shore.

They turned
and ran back to their dad. “Can we go swimming?” June Berry asked.

“Oh no, it’s
far too wild,” said Farmer John. “Listen to the roar! And the water is icy
cold—you’d turn as blue as ice.”

Tom and June
ran off along the strand, skirting the rising surf as it raced up the shore.

“Woof, woof,”
barked Lucy, straining on his leash. He wanted to be free.

Farmer John
let him go and he raced after the children. He passed them by and bounded into
a flock of seagulls. They took to the air, crying loudly as he ran amongst
them. Then he charged into the sea and barked at the waves—but Lucy had never
been to the seaside before. He didn’t know how strong the waves were. A huge
breaker reared up over his head. Lucy turned and tried to run away, but the
surf pulled against him. Higher and higher the wave climbed as Lucy looked more
and more worried.

“Watch out,
Lucy!” shouted Tom.

“Run!” cried
June Berry.

It was too
late. The wave crashed down on him. It picked him up and tumbled him head over
heels up the beach. Finally the wave let Lucy go and washed away. Lucy stood
up, wet and bedraggled. His ears were laid back and his soggy tail hung between
his legs. He wasn’t sure what had happened.

“You’re okay,
you’re okay,” said Tom and June, stroking his head.

Soon he was
wagging his tail and licking everybody’s hands. He shook his whole body and
sent the water flying. Then he ran along the beach, exploring everything he
saw—but he didn’t go into the water again.

Tiptoes
walks along the Shore

Tiptoes
wandered along the shore. At the other end of the beach Lucy was chasing
seagulls.

“Lucy better
be careful,” she thought. “He’ll go into the waves and then there will be
trouble!”

Tiptoes walked
quietly. The tide was rising and the surf shot up the beach and touched her
feet. Flecks of foam blew in the air or rolled along the sand. Tiptoes found
that she couldn’t keep still, she just had to run, and away she went skipping
lightly over the strand. The wind played in her hair and sang:

“Tiptoes
comes to us this evening,

Bringing
songs of joy and skipping

Lightly
over sands a-stretching,

As the waves come landward reaching.”

And Tiptoes
replied:

“Yes,
I come this autumn evening,

To
my friend the wind that’s blowing

Over
ocean waves a-roaring,

Sending flocks of foam a-soaring.”

Then the wind
picked Tiptoes up and blew her high into the air. Over the beach it carried
her, over the rocky bluff and into the garden of the cottage where she was
staying. It set her down on the doorstep as lightly as a dandelion seed.

“Thank you,
Wind,” called Tiptoes, laughing, as she made herself small and slipped through
the keyhole of the cottage door.

Before
Supper

Tiptoes was in
the living room by herself. She sat on the arm of an old stuffed armchair by
the fireplace. She listened to the wind sighing around the cottage, and beyond
that the hush ... hush ... hush of the waves breaking on the shore.

Dusk was
falling when June Berry came into the cottage, followed by Lucy.

“Woof! Woof!”
said Lucy ambling into the living room.

“Lucy, stop
that,” said June Berry. “Don’t bark at Tiptoes.”

Lucy looked
guilty for a moment, then spun around three times and flopped on the hearth
rug. He was exhausted from being on the beach.

June Berry sat
in the armchair next to Tiptoes and told her their adventures on the beach.
She’d found two seashells and a smooth white pebble.

“Lucy got
caught by a wave too,” she added.

“I know,” said
Tiptoes. “I saw. Poor Lucy, he looked like someone put him in a washing
machine.”

Lucy wagged
his tail back and forth on the rug. He knew they were talking about him.

Farmer John
and Tom came in with armloads of firewood and put it in the firebox. Their hair
and shoulders were damp with the sea mist that had moved onto the land.

“Who are you
talking to?” asked her dad, as he lit the fire.

“Tiptoes,”
said June Berry. “Can’t you see? She’s here on the armchair.”

Farmer John looked
but couldn’t see her. So he smiled and patted June Berry on the head. Sometimes
he saw Tiptoes and sometimes he didn’t. Then he went to the kitchen.

Tom put
another stick onto the fire and gazed at the flames as they grew. He sat for a
long time without moving. He loved the way the fire flickered and hissed and
the flames danced.

“Tiptoes, are
there fire fairies?” asked Tom.

“Yes,” said
Tiptoes.

“Where do they
come from?” asked Tom.

“And where do
they go to?” chimed in June Berry.

“They go up
the chimney, of course,” said Tom, grinning. “But I asked where they came
from.”

“And I asked
where they go to,” insisted June Berry. “Tiptoes is the only one who knows.”

“No
bickering,” said Farmer John from the kitchen. He was making supper. “I’m sure
Tiptoes will answer both your questions if you ask her politely.”

“Please,
Tiptoes! Please tell us everything!” said Tom and June, falling to their knees
and begging her with much-too-polite voices. They were being cheeky.

Tiptoes
laughed. Her laughter was like a ringing bell. “Of course I will,” she said.
“You guys are just being silly. But first you must settle down and listen.”

So Tom
Nutcracker and June Berry settled down, and a moment later, when Farmer John
looked in the door, he saw Tom and June wide awake and listening, but all he
heard was the crackling of the fire.