Chapter 26: Somewhat Blue
“I can’t believe it’s time for you to go back,” said Jane. She bustled about, fussing unnecessarily. Jane was easily the most unflappable frog that Piggy knew, but she also knew from recent experience that when Jane fussed it was only to cover for some other emotion. How much like her Kermit is, Piggy thought with great affection. She moved impulsively and put her arms around Jane’s shoulders. Surprised, Jane stopped moving, then turned and made the hug come full circle.
“I’m so glad you came,” she whispered against Piggy’s shining curls. “I’m so glad to see Kermit so…” She stopped, not sure what to say.
“Settled down?” teased Piggy, but Jane shook her head.
“Happy,” she said firmly. “I’m so glad to see Kermit so happy.”
Piggy nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She had been so deliriously happy herself that Kermit’s testament of happiness had been like a cherry on top of the sundae.
“You’re gonna miss your train,” said James the Frog, looking at his pocketwatch and shaking his head. Young people simply did not have proper respect for time, he grumbled to himself.
James was, quite possibly, correct about their disregard of the time. The change in plans had been managed, with 38 hours shaved off the trip, but it necessitated a departure time for the railroad that was rather indecent. Kermit and Piggy had stayed not quite two weeks, which seemed to be about as much vacation as Kermit could comfortably stand, no matter how comfortable the stay. Jane and James had greeted the news blandly, but Piggy now knew them both well enough to see the secret amusement in their eyes. She assumed that they knew what she knew—and what Margaret knew—that Kermit’s restlessness had nothing to do with them, and everything to do with Kermit’s dream of making a lot of people happy. The world was a big place, and if Kermit was going to reach the entire world with his dream, well, he’d have to get cracking.
Their luggage had been hauled to the edge of the road to await the arrival of Sherwood and the faithful pickup truck, but Piggy and Kermit had lingered as long as possible in the common clearing. Restless or no, Kermit seemed reluctant to leave now that the time was upon him.
“We’ll come home again when we can, Mom,” said Kermit, embracing his mother for the third—and last—time before leaving. When their cheeks were pressed close, Jane murmured, automatically, “You be a good boy.”
Piggy had said much the same thing to Orville and Norville, who had stood—awkward and morose—and offered repeatedly to carry things or be put to use. Piggy had let them carry her trunk, and they had performed the duty with all the solemnity they possessed.
Robin burst through the swamp grass, bouncing excitedly. “He’s here!” he cried. “Mr. Sherwood is here!” He had begged and begged to be allowed to stay up late and later and finally, early, in order to see his Uncle and new Aunt off.
“He can sleep it off this afternoon,” James had said, indulgently, granting amnesty.
“Robin can come for a long visit once we get settled and figure out what comes next,” Kermit said, talking hastily as he walked toward the road and the sounds of a rattling old engine.
“He can stay as long as he wants!” Piggy said, anxious to show that it was not just Kermit doing the inviting.
“Yippee!” shouted Robin, who was immediately shushed by all of the adults. Maggie did not appear to be a morning person, and her shushing was, perhaps, a bit more stringent than some of the other adults. Robin was quieted, but not cowed, and he continued to bounce around them as they made their way toward the country road that ran past the swamp. James and Jane and Maggie and a handful of early risers followed them toward the road, with James casting anxious glances at his pocketwatch every so often.
At last, the battered truck was in sight, blowing faintly blue smoke in the early morning light from its exhaust. More hurried goodbyes, then Sherwood had the door standing open.
Because of the stick shift, Kermit got in first, and—just before mounting the running board, Piggy turned and looked back the way they had come. She saw the swamp, timeless and serene, and wondered that it had ever looked strange and intimidating. She saw the paths that countless generations of frogs had made through the rustling swamp grasses—none of them in high heels. She saw the waving hands and smiling faces of Kermit’s family—of Jane and James and Margaret and Robin—and oh, there was Matthius with Puddin’ waving a pudgy hand. Not Kermit’s family, Piggy corrected herself. Our family. Her vision blurred suddenly, but she covered it well. She was, after all, a professional. And she was also Mrs. Kermit The Frog. She rose to the occasion and waved gaily.
“Good-bye, everybodee!” Piggy called. She climbed in the truck. She was not wearing a hat this time, but she waved a hanky theatrically out the window, finally letting it drift back as the truck rounded the corner and disappeared in a cloud of dust. Maggie rolled her eyes as Orville and Norville dashed after the scrap of pink linen, but she could admire the artistry in the gesture all the same. Margaret The Frog watched the road until the dust had all settled and the sound of morning had replaced the sounds of dawn, then she turned and started back toward the clearing with Orville and Norville.
“Nice of you to take Miss Piggy’s luggage,” she said. Her voice and manner were a little stiff, but the twins cottoned to the fact that she was making an overture of friendship to them.
“Um, we could help you carry things, too,” said Orville eagerly. “You know, clothes or, um….” He trailed off in confusion, but Norville came to his rescue.
“Or anything else you need carrying,” he said. Maggie noted with some amusement that his voice seemed to be deepening a little, marking him as a man, if a young one.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Maggie said, managing to remove all the sarcasm and most of the irony from her voice. “If you keep this up, you guys are going to give Sherwood a run for his money.”
They exchanged startled glances. Was she teasing them? Was Maggie tweaking them or being sincere? It was hard to know. While they were still pondering, Maggie nudged Orville with her bony little shoulder and laughed.
“Just don’t start running the roads in a pick-up,” she said. “You two are dangerous enough in the trees!” She started trotting, and picked up speed as she dashed toward the edge of the trees ahead. With a whoop, Orville darted after her, with Norville in hot pursuit. One, two, three figures swung up into the overhanging branches and disappeared from view as the swamp swallowed them utterly. You can take a frog out of the swamp, they say, but you can’t take the swamp out of a frog.
Piggy leaned her shining curls against the cool glass of the window and looked out the window. The trip down dusty lanes must be affecting her, for she wiped now and then at her eyes. Beside her, Kermit sat still, but she could feel the coiled readiness in him—as usual, he had his face toward the future and what it might hold.
Mrs. Kermit The Frog wondered if Kermit knew how much he took for granted, wondering if he knew what it was like to feel the warmth and security of knowing where you cam from, and where you belonged. Piggy looked down at the ring on her hand and smiled. She was just beginning to know.
The train was mostly empty. It would not pick up any significant number of passengers until it they got into a less rural setting. Kermit took advantage of the privacy to slip his arm around her waist. With a sigh of great contentment, Piggy leaned away from the window and into her husband’s shoulder—away from the cold and into the warmth. Kermit smiled indulgently.
“Go ahead and sleep,” he said softly. “I’ll be right here.”
The ringing of a bell tied to a cord gave warning of a customer. Jack came out of the back where he was trying to down a peanut-butter sandwich, wiping his hands carefully on a moist towelette.
“Whacha got there, Sherwood?” asked the storekeeper. Sherwood drew out a carefully wrapped brown paper package, tied with enough string to secure the Mongrel hordes.
“S’picture,” he said. “I was hoping you could help me find a frame for it.”
“Got plenty of frames,” the man said. “What kind are you looking for?”
“Somethin’ fancy,” Shewood said. “I like that one there.”
The man followed the line of his pointing finger. “The gold one? The big one with all the curlicues?”
“That’s the one, Jack,” Sherwood said firmly. “That’s just the thing.” Carefully, regretfully, he laid the wrapped package on the counter as though fearful of letting it out of his hands. “Reckon you could frame this for me afore I come back to town on Friday?”
“I could do it now, if you want to wait.”
“Really? That’d be—that’d be great.” Sherwood hesitated, then picked up the package and handed it to his friend behind the counter. Gently, Jack peeled the paper back to reveal a beautiful 8 x 10 glossy of stage and screen diva, Piggy The Frog nee Miss Piggy. His eyes grew wide.
“Pretty nice, Sherwood,” he said approvingly. “I’ll take extra special care of this.”
Scrawled across the bottom of the photo, in large loopy cursive, it read, “To Sherwood, from his biggest fan, Miss Piggy” and under that, “Kissy, kissy!”
No doubt about it—things around the swamp were never going to be quite the same.
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