No Place Like Oz Read online

  I’m the first one to admit that Oz is a lot to wrap your head around all at once, especially for two people who had always been perfectly content to spend their lives on the farm. At the same time, I had told them about this place so many times. You would think that would have given them at least a bit of a head start.

  I tried again, this time speaking slowly and simply and trying to keep the creeping frustration out of my voice. “We have been transported to Oz,” I said. “My friend Glinda the Sorceress must have brought me here. She’s in trouble. I need to help her.”

  Toto barked one sharp yip of approval.

  Neither of them looked very convinced, but before they could protest any more, Toto and I were already on the move, charging across the clearing, away from the house and the stream, in the direction of the Munchkin village I knew to be close by. I guess Aunt Em and Uncle Henry didn’t want to be left alone in this strange place that might as well be Timbuktu because they began to follow.

  I had imagined my triumphant return to Oz a thousand times. Probably more. This had not been exactly how I’d pictured it. I thought that I’d cleared up every last bit of trouble last time I was here. This time, I’d assumed my family and I would get to enjoy all the luxuries a magical kingdom had to offer without me having to go to the trouble of battling evil and saving the land.

  I should have known better than that. Of course the very reason I’d been brought back would be because they needed my help. I’d saved Oz before. If Glinda was in trouble, that meant Oz needed rescuing. Again.

  I have to say—it was nice to feel special, but I would have preferred to be able to just relax and see the sights with my family. You know, like a vacation.

  But it occurred to me that maybe a quest is the price of admission into a magical kingdom, and if that was the case I wasn’t going to complain. I just hoped I could get it over with quickly. And the only way to do that was to keep moving.

  It didn’t take long for us to spot the Munchkin town in the distance, and as we got closer, I remembered that it was hardly a village at all—it was just a circle of squat, domed houses ringed around a cobblestone plaza with a statue in the center of it.

  A statue. I didn’t remember that part. And when I stepped onto the cobblestone plaza I suddenly understood why.

  Towering over the square, looking every bit the hero, was a girl in a familiar checked gingham dress, her hair pulled into two long braids. She had her hands on her hips and was staring triumphantly into the distance. The statue had been cast in marble and was entirely colorless except for one important feature: the shoes on its feet were silver, and they were sparkling in the afternoon sun.

  This was Oz, where the unexpected wasn’t unexpected at all. A hippopotamus in a tutu, a fat man walking on his hands, a pack of wild polar bears dancing the cha-cha—you could have put almost anything in the center of that square and I wouldn’t have been surprised.

  The statue, though, surprised me.

  It was me. They had built a statue of me. I would have loved to see the look on Mitzi Blair’s face if only she were here. I would have loved to see the look on my own face for that matter.

  “Is that . . . ,” Aunt Em asked.

  “It can’t be,” Uncle Henry said. “Can it?”

  I stepped over to the base and gazed up at myself, awestruck.

  “‘HERE STANDS DOROTHY GALE,’” I read aloud from the placard at the base, my voice wavering a little as I spoke the words. “‘SHE WHO ARRIVED ON THE WIND, SLAYED THE WICKED, AND FREED THE MUNCHKINS.’” I turned around to face my aunt and uncle.

  They just stared at me, dumbfounded. A wave of triumph washed over me.

  “Can’t you see now? Everything I told you was true. It’s written right here. Written in stone.”

  Uncle Henry was rubbing his head. “Maybe I’m the one who’s not in his right mind,” he muttered to himself. “I did take quite a tumble.”

  Aunt Em, though, was still staring at the statue. Her face rippling with emotions. It was all sinking in for her. She turned to me.

  “I never—well, I suppose I just didn’t want to believe it,” Aunt Em said, her voice still unsteady but decisive now, too. “I still don’t want to believe it. It’s all too strange, you understand. Your uncle and I—we’re not like you. We’ve always been ordinary people. Something like magic . . .” She paused, marveling at the very word. “Magic! Well, that doesn’t come easily to people like us. But this is all too real. It doesn’t matter whether I want to believe it. I can feel it.”

  Uncle Henry was still rubbing his head, but he was listening. And Uncle Henry never, ever doubts my aunt when she sets her mind to something. He swiveled his head toward her, then to the statue, and finally back over to me.

  “In all the generations of Gales, there’s never been a liar,” he mused, trying the idea out.

  “Or a crazy person,” I pointed out.

  “Never had one of those either,” he agreed.

  Now Aunt Em was getting excited. “Oh, Dorothy,” she said. “I’m so sorry we didn’t believe you. I’ve always known you were something special, ever since the day you came to live with us. And now!” She gestured at the statue. “To think you did something so brave and important that they put up a monument to you! I just wish your poor father and mother were here to see it. They’d be so proud of you.”

  With that, she wrapped her thin, strong arms around me and hugged me tight. I hugged her back, too overwhelmed to say anything at all.

  “I’m so proud of you,” she said.

  “Yes, we’re very proud,” Uncle Henry said gruffly. “Of course,” he added, “that doesn’t mean we don’t need to get home . . .”

  For a tiny woman, Aunt Em has a strong grip, and I was trying to peel myself out of her embrace when I began to hear excited chatter and whispering coming from all around us. “Hello?” I called. “Munchkins?”

  They began to reveal themselves, a few at a time, their little faces slowly popping out of bushes and shadows and doorways and everywhere else you could imagine, like frogs after a rainstorm. Soon, we were surrounded by at least two dozen of the little people, none of whom were more than three feet high and all of whom were wearing little blue breeches and gold-embroidered bolero jackets, and funny pointy hats with bells around the brim.

  “Declare yourself!” a voice shouted out from the crowd.

  “It’s me!” I replied, not sure who I was supposed to be addressing. “I’ve returned. I’m so happy to be back—I’ve missed you all so much.”

  A Munchkin man stepped forward, looking up at me quizzically. He glanced at my outstretched hand, but made no move to return my shake. “Excuse me, young lady,” he said. “I am Cos, the alderman of this Munchkin village. And who are you?”

  I cocked my head in surprise, and looked around.

  “Well it’s me of course. Dorothy Gale.” I gestured up at the statue. “See?”

  Cos looked up, back and forth between the figure and me, comparing the resemblance.

  For a second there was silence. Next, a murmur spread through the crowd. Then, as one, they began to roar, “Dorothy!”

  Cos took off his hat, twisting the brim in his hand like he was embarrassed to have forgotten me. There still seemed to be some uncertainty in his eyes, though, as he examined me intently. “Dorothy? The Witchslayer? Is it really you?”

  Witchslayer? I liked that. “It’s me,” I said happily.

  “It’s been a very long time,” Cos said slowly. “We never thought we’d see you again.”

  “I’ve been trying and trying to get back,” I said, kneeling so that we were face-to-face. “It’s not so easy, you know. A good, strong wind only comes around once every so often.”

  I rose back up to my feet and looked around at the growing throng surrounding us, all of them gazing up at me in awed admiration.

  I wanted to stay and talk, to hear about everything that had happened in Oz since I’d been gone. But there wasn’t time for that. There
were more pressing things to worry about now. Like finding Glinda.

  I wasn’t sure how much I should say about what I’d seen back at the old farmhouse. It was possible that no one knew, yet, that anything was wrong with Glinda. If that was the case, it was probably a wiser idea not to let the cat out of the bag in front of an entire village of Munchkins, who, truthfully, are known for being an anxious and high-strung people.

  Instead, I decided it was better just to try to get as much information as I could before I decided what to do next. “How has everything been lately?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” Cos seemed befuddled by my question, and the Munchkins began to chatter amongst themselves.

  “I mean, how has Oz been, since I’ve been gone? There haven’t been any more witches causing trouble, or anything like that, have there?”

  “Oh no, Miss Dorothy,” Cos replied, bobbing his red, cheerful face up and down. “We Munchkins have never been happier, since you slayed the witches all those many moons ago. The crops grow, the sun shines, and there is good magic everywhere. Praise Ozma!”

  Hmm. So whatever had happened to Glinda, the Munchkins didn’t seem to know about it.

  But what was Ozma?

  “Miss Dorothy, would you and your family like to stay for a feast?” A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd at Cos’s invitation. “We would like to celebrate your visit.”

  It sounded tempting. A big Munchkin feast—all in celebration of me!—would certainly be a good way to make up for the disaster that had been my Sweet Sixteen. And Munchkins are known to be magicians in the kitchen—literally. But . . .

  “I’m sorry,” I said, kneeling down again. “But it’s very important that I see the king right away.”

  “Now, Dorothy . . . ,” Uncle Henry interjected.

  “The king?” Cos asked. “What king?”

  “Why, the King of Oz, of course,” I said in surprise.

  When I first came to Oz, before the humbug Wizard had packed up his balloon to head back to America, he had chosen to appoint my friend the Scarecrow as the new king, and the people of Oz had immediately embraced him as their ruler. My friend the Tin Woodman had been made the governor of Winkie Country, and the Lion the King of Beasts. When I’d gone back to Kansas, I’d done it knowing that I was leaving Oz in good hands.

  But now it seemed that the Munchkins didn’t know who I was talking about.

  “We don’t have a king,” Cos said. The rest of them all nodded their agreement.

  “But I was there when they put the crown on his head,” I said.

  They all began to mutter confusedly amongst themselves. “Oz has only one true monarch,” Cos said. “Princess Ozma. The rightful and just ruler of our land.”

  “Princess what?” I had never heard of any princess before.

  They all began talking over each other, trying to explain how great this Ozma person was. “Princess Ozma is beautiful and kind! Princess Ozma is our one true ruler! Long live Ozma!”

  “What about the Scarecrow?” I asked.

  Cos’s face brightened. “Oh,” he said. “The Scarecrow. I’d forgotten all about him. Well, I suppose he was king. But that was for a very short time indeed, and it was ages ago.”

  “It was only two years ago!”

  “Two years?” Cos frowned. “No . . . it seems to me that it was much longer than that. Perhaps your calendar in the outside world is different from ours.” He fixed me with a serious look. “Dorothy, much time has passed since the days of the witches.”

  Uncle Henry cleared his throat. “Dorothy,” he said. “This is all very interesting, but we need to be getting home. Mr. Munchkin, can you advise us on the best way back to Kansas?”

  Cos looked at my uncle and blinked. “Where’s that?”

  I didn’t have time to worry about Uncle Henry’s grumbling. Between Glinda’s plea for help and the news that the Scarecrow was no longer the king, it was becoming more and more clear that Oz had changed since I’d been gone. And I had an uneasy feeling that it wasn’t for the better.

  If I was going to put it right, I had to find my old friend.

  “Never mind Kansas, Cos. It’s very important that we see the Scarecrow right away. Does he still live in the Emerald City?”

  “Oh no,” Cos said. “He lives quite near here, as a matter-of-fact, in a mansion made of corncobs just off the Road of Yellow Brick. It’s less than a day’s walk.” He pointed into the distance. “You’ll find the road that way. Just be wary—the trees are restless today.”

  “The trees?” I heard Aunt Em whisper to Uncle Henry.

  “Thank you, Munchkins,” I announced. “Next time I see you, I hope I’ll be able to feast with you.” Then, confident in my path but nervous about what other surprises Oz had in store for me, I gave my most dignified good-bye wave.

  As the people of Munchkin Country began to cheer my name, I knew that no matter what Oz had in store for me this time, one thing was clear:

  I was home.

  Seven

  “Couldn’t we have at least stayed for the banquet?” Aunt Em asked as we made our way from the Munchkin village, toward where Cos had told us the Road of Yellow Brick began. “I’m getting a touch hungry.”

  “I’m not sure I’d want to see the food those strange little folks serve,” Uncle Henry said, raising his eyebrow skeptically. “Back in the war, they forced us to eat monkey brains and lizard tongues for breakfast, you know, and I didn’t care for that one bit.”

  Uncle Henry was always talking about his days in the war, but sometimes it seemed hard to believe that he’d ever left Kansas at all. Some of his stories seemed much more bizarre than anything Oz could dream up.

  Then again there had never been a Gale who was a liar, so who was I to doubt him?

  “Henry Gale,” Aunt Em admonished him. “They did no such thing. Anyway, I’m sure the food here is just fine.”

  “They could serve me Lobster Newburg and Baked Alaska and it would still be time to get on home,” he replied.

  “Oh, don’t you see?” I exclaimed, trying to make him understand. “Don’t you see? We’re in Oz now! You don’t need to worry about the cows, or the crops, or the pigs, or anything like that anymore. Life here is so much better—can’t you see already how beautiful it is? In Oz, you won’t need to wake up at dawn to milk the cows ever again!”

  Aunt Em touched my shoulder gently, calming me down. I hadn’t even realized how worked up I’d gotten. “Now, Dorothy,” she said. “It is lovely here. And we’re so proud of your statue and all we’ve learned about you today. But your uncle is right. We can’t stay here. This is no place for us.”

  “Anyway, I like milking the cows,” Uncle Henry said.

  I stopped dead in my tracks, right there on the yellow bricks. For all of Henry’s griping and Aunt Em’s nervousness, it had never occurred to me that they would still want to go home once they got a taste of Oz. How could anyone want to go back to a dry, dusty field and a few irritable pigs when there were fantastic things around every corner here?

  “Of course we’re going to stay,” I said. “Why in the world would we go home?”

  My uncle looked downright aghast. “Because it’s our home and that’s where we all belong,” Uncle Henry said. “I’m glad the people love you here, but that doesn’t change who you are, missy.”

  “Don’t lose your temper, Henry,” Aunt Em cautioned him. “But I do have sewing circle next week, and the house is still a mess from your party, Dorothy. If we don’t go home soon, I’ll never have time to clean up all the dishes.”

  Suddenly I wanted to scream. They had to be joking. I had wished so hard to have a second chance here, never expecting it would actually happen. And now it had happened, and we were walking happily through Munchkin Country on a day more beautiful than Kansas had ever seen or would ever see. They wanted to give it all up so that Aunt Em could go do the dishes for her sewing circle?

  At least I had one foolproof ace up my sleeve.
I didn’t even have to lie. Well, not exactly.

  “I don’t know how to get home,” I said irritably, fighting back anger. “I don’t even know how we got here in the first place! The only one who can send us back to Kansas is Glinda, and she needs our help. Once we find her, we can all talk it over.”

  As I spoke, I felt my shoes pulsing against my feet with a warm, tingling feeling, as if I’d just dipped them in a whirlpool of warm water. So maybe it was a tiny lie after all—the shoes had brought us here, and it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if they could bring us home, too. But Uncle Henry and Aunt Em didn’t need to know that.

  Neither of them looked too thrilled with my plan, but it’s not like they had a choice. So Toto and I stomped ahead and we all moved on.

  The first signs that we were nearing the road were some scattered bricks here and there—they almost looked like they were growing out of the dirt. After a few more minutes of walking, there were more and more of them, and then the road sprung up in the middle of a wide, overgrown field, unfurling itself into the horizon like a golden ribbon.

  Aunt Em was so surprised when she saw it that she let out a squeak and jumped back on her heels. Uncle Henry shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  I’d spent my share of time on this road, but even I was taken aback by how radiant it was in the afternoon sunlight, at the dazzling golden contrast against the blue-green of the grass and the cornfields and the sky, at the way it twisted and spiraled through the fields and hills, winding out into the distance like it would lead us anywhere we could possibly imagine, if only we could name the place.

  Toto was already a few paces ahead of us, panting and wagging his tail in excitement. He barked three times, ready to lead the way.

  “Well, I suppose it won’t hurt to explore just a bit,” Uncle Henry said. “Now that we’re here anyway.”

  Aunt Em didn’t say anything at all. She just stepped forward and set a foot onto the road. She looked back at us with a small, playful smile. “I guess the dishes can wait,” she said. “For now at least.”