Bonus Material: Mrs. Merriweather and the Sewing Mice

After If the Boot Fits released, many readers were captivated by young Fergus Ellis and his active, story-loving imagination. They clamored for a tale featuring Mrs. Merriweather and her barnyard buddies along with the mice inspired by Asher Ellis's first run in with Samantha Dearing. I thought it was a grand idea, but I didn't have the time to create such a tale. So I sponsored a fan fiction contest and invited readers to submit their own Fergus stories. And what children's story would be complete without illustrations? Those were a must as well, so we sponsored a second contest for illustrators. I'm so pleased with the results. If you read carefully, you'll catch several references to the original novel. I hope you enjoy this fun children's story in honor of Fergus Ellis and the animals that fueled his imagination.

Mrs. Merriweather and the Sewing Mice

by Fergus Ellis

(as imagined by Marianne Decorvet and illustrated by Korin Linaburg)

Once upon a time, there was a fancy house filled with uppity folk dressed in ruffles and feathers. This house belonged to a very rich man and reached as high as a magnolia tree. The rich man strutted through the rooms conducting important business, never guessing that a family of mice lived in his walls.

This family wasn’t like most mice. They didn’t work in farms or fields but instead were the finest tailors in Palo Pinto County.

Gramps was the head of the family. He was a good-humoured mouse whose eyes sparkled behind his spectacles every time he laughed. And he always wore his brown flat hat, no matter the weather. The head was the most important part of the body to protect, after all.

Constantly at his side was his daughter Beatrice, or Mama Bea as everyone else called her. A lady of fine taste, she wore a white, lace-trimmed apron. Her gentle ways would soften the hardest hearts, and her cheese puffs never failed to lift low spirits or entice her daughter to stay indoors for an afternoon. This spirited mouse was named Matilda. Though she preferred racing to sitting indoors and climbing to baking, this young mouse loved her family’s trade. One passed down from generation to generation and recognized by the needles tied to their belts, as though they carried swords.

Every night, Mama Bea and Gramps would leave the family hole, and venture out to gather pieces of cloth, threads or carpet strings to sew with. They never stole, of course. Gramps made it a rule to only take what was forgotten or left behind by the humans.

One night, after much convincing from Gramps, Mama Bea declared that Matilda was old enough to go on her first excursion. Bounding with joy, the young mouse squealed with delight.

Her grandfather approached her with his paws behind his back and his lips pressed together as though suppressing a grin. Slowly, he extended one arm. Matilda gasped with delight when a bright red kerchief lay in Gramps’s paw.

“I know you always wanted one, and I made sure to use only the best red threads since it’s your favourite colour,” he said softly.

Matilda cradled the gift in her paws and raised glistening eyes to her grandpa. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered through her tight throat before launching herself into his arms.

He faltered slightly backwards but eventually wrapped his arms around her.

After tying the kerchief around her neck, Matilda strapped her needle to her belt and followed her mother and grandfather out of their hole. Room after room, they grabbed threads that clung on loose nails, stained gloves that had been thrown away, and buttons that had slipped through the boards of the floor.

A few hours passed as they rummaged through the drawers of a desk. Suddenly, heavy boots thumped in the hallway. The mice froze. The steps drew nearer.

Looking around frantically, Matilda knew they wouldn’t have time to hide. The closest exit was an open window behind the desk.

“Come. Quick!”

The mice scampered to the windowsill and inched out onto a narrow ledge along the side of the house. After a few moments, Matilda peeked the top of her head inside to find the human exiting the room. Releasing a sigh of relief, she was about to wave her family inside when a rustle caught her ear.

“Did you hear that?”

Before anyone had a chance to answer, a quiet whoosh came over their heads and all three mice were swept into the air. Too shocked to scream, Matilda stared wide-eyed as she hung upside down, her tail caught in something. Claws. Yes, owl claws. An owl that had silently swooped upon them without anyone hearing him.

A sudden realization dawned on Matilda, and it was as though the owl’s claw had seized her throat. Owls ate mice.

Her heart beat ever so fast. She had to do something.

A thought penetrated her mind.

Matilda reached for the needle in her belt, a difficult task seeing as how she dangled upside down. Grunting and groaning she strained her tummy muscles until she managed to grasp it. Squeezing her eyes shut, she raised the needle over her head and jabbed the owl's claw with all her might.

The winged creature let out a night-piercing screech and released them to an endless fall. One sure to be fatal. With her eyes still shut, Matilda prepared to slam against the hard ground, but when the thud came, she didn’t find it nearly as painful as she had expected. Cracking one eyelid open, she found herself on a pile on grains. Wheat and oats and other kinds Matilda had never seen before.

“I do not take kindly to rodents dropping in on my supper.”

Jerking her head up, Matilda stared wide-eyed at a creature that stood above them.

“You’re the biggest dog I’ve ever seen!” cried Matilda.

“A dog?” exclaimed the creature with her brows arched high. “I am Mrs. Merriweather. Patroness of the Pastures and bovine by birth.”

Matilda didn’t know what to say to that, but thankfully she didn’t have to for Gramps stepped forward. He cleared his throat and removed his hat.

“Please excuse us, Mrs. Merriweather. My name is Silas Sourie. This is my daughter Beatrice and my granddaughter Matilda. We never meant to land in your trough.” He then laid a paw on Matilda’s shoulder. “And please forgive my granddaughter. She has never seen a cow before.”

Mama Bea came up beside him and clasped her paws in front of her. “You see, we were captured by an owl and fell from the sky. We have no idea how to get back home.”

There was a rather lengthy and uncomfortable stretch of silence as Mrs Merriweather eyed the three mice through narrowed eyelids.

Matilda pressed her lips in thought. From the corner of her eye, she noticed tendrils of green grass swaying in the breeze, and an idea popped into her mind.

She bounded to the edge of the trough and with quick steps, she scurried down its wooden legs. Grabbing a blade of grass, she snipped it near the ground with her teeth and gathered an armload full until the blades reached over her head. Glancing up at the top of the trough, she called to Mama Bea and Gramps. Both had their brows furrowed as they glanced from the young mouse to the stack of grass, but they made their way down anyway. Once they reached her, Matilda began whispering her plan in their ears. This brought not only Mrs. Merriweather to pick up her ears, but the hens and pigs as well.

Soon, a circle of wide-eyed barnyard animals surrounded the three mice as they began braiding grass leaves.

One after another, the mice unsheathed their needles, dug into their bags that had thankfully not been lost during the harrowing flight, and began sewing the braids together.

They worked together quietly and quickly. Matilda winced at the burn growing in her arms but managed to keep up the pace.

Spying the finishing touch, she picked a bouquet of wildflowers and sewed the delicate petals with gentle stitches.

The sun now shone in the sky, high above their heads. Mama Bea wiped her dripping forehead with the back of her paw, and Gramps fanned himself with his hat. Matilda hoped their efforts would pay off.

Turning up her face, she shielded her eyes as she addressed Mrs. Merriweather. “We don’t have much, but we offer you this a payment.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “This hat in exchange for shelter in your barn. At least until we know how to get home.”

Matilda held her breath as Mrs Merriweather kept her eyes fixated on her. Then, her long eyelashes slowly blinked as one corner of her lips perked up.

The next few moments passed like a blur as Mrs Merriweather welcomed the mice into the barn, or rather side-stepped so that they could walk past her. The hens then took it upon themselves to crown their patroness and after much fluttering, the hat rested on Mrs. Merriweather’s head. And Matilda could have sworn she saw cow stand even more regally.

Once they entered the barn, the pigs offered their pen, but one glance at the mud pile and all three mice shook their heads vigorously. The hens presented their nests, but one step in the hay brought fits of violent sneezes from Gramps. Once his allergies died down, Mama Bea sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly.

“I’m afraid we were never meant to live on a farm.”

Mrs Merriweather then stepped forward. “Why don’t you go and stay with Mr. and Mrs. Fielding?”

“The church mice?” asked Gramps. “But their home just burnt down.”

“Yes, but they are now living in the church until the Hopewells rebuild a new home.”

At the mention of the pastor and Mrs. Fielding, Matilda’s ears picked up. “Why don’t we Mama?” she asked looking up at her mother with a hopeful expression.

Mama Bea exchanged a glance with Gramps, and he nodded with a smile. Looking down, she smiled at her wide-eyed daughter.

“Well, it seems like we are taking our first step in the adventure of finding a home.”