Froelich's Ladder Read Online Free Page B

bread, and shoveling a handful of eggs into his mouth. Binx gave his brother an exasperated look as he too wolfed down his meal, nearly twice the portion allotted for Gordy. The day Johnny Appleseed stood under the ladder would be the day that Gordy met his idol.
    “You’re an idiot,” Binx said.
    “Well,” Gordy mused as he gnawed on a piece of bacon, “I respectfully disagree. And I don’t see why you get to decide. Shouldn’t we ask Froelich?”
    It was only with some difficulty that Binx managed to swallow. “We can’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because he’s gone.”
    “Who’s gone?”
    “Uncle Froelich. He’s missing.”
    It took a moment for this concept to sink in. “What d’you mean, missing ?” Gordy asked, the look on his face changing from wonder to bewilderment.
    “I mean missing from the ladder.”
    “Since when?”
    “I don’t know—yesterday? The day before that? I only realized it this morning.”
    “He’s probably just ignoring you.”
    Normally, Binx would’ve agreed. Froelich’s feelings could be easily hurt, and playing deaf was his favorite punishment. But today that wasn’t the case.
    “Not ignoring me,” he said, shaking his head deliberately. “Not here.”
    Then Gordy did the only natural thing: he stared straight up into the sky, even though it was pointless. The ladder kept rising beyond the tallest tree, where it became lost in the leaves. On a good day, they could distinguish clear up to the four-hundred-rungs from where they were standing, but Froelich hadn’t ventured lower than the hundred-rungs since they were kids.
    In all of recorded history, Froelich’s ladder was the fourth tallest that had ever been erected. The tallest, of course, had been Jacob’s ladder—which, even if it was fictional, had still been conceived of by man, and therefore had to be counted among his many accomplishments. In truth, neither Gordy nor Binx had any idea how tall the ladder was—not precisely, anyway. Froelich claimed the Very Big Tree had never ceased to grow. He claimed never to have seen the top of the ladder, suggesting it might be infinite. When Binx reminded him that Harald had carved the other end, and therefore the ladder couldn’t be infinite, Froelich had given the TAP equivalent of a shrug.
    Gordy turned to face the far side of the meadow, taking in the lean-to, the wood pile, and the lonely fulcrum—shaped, to Binx’s eye, like an abandoned ax head. Not finding what he was looking for there, he began to pace around the foot of the ladder, inspecting every inch of dirt.
    “What’re you doing?” Binx asked him.
    “Checking for footprints.”
    “Footprints? Whose footprints?”
    “Froelich’s, of course! Who do you think?”
    For a moment, he departed from Binx’s field of vision, circling around to the far side of the ladder. When he reappeared, Binx cleared his throat.
    “Let me understand this. You’re searching for Froelich’s footprints … on the ground? You think maybe he climbed down to the double-rungs, over me , and then walked away?”
    “Also, scuff marks.”
    “You think maybe he climbed down while I was sleeping, then scuffled with someone?”
    Refusing to meet Binx’s eye, Gordy muttered, “Anyway, that’s what I’m looking for.”
    “Brother,” Binx said. “Quit it—there ain’t any footprints. The only possibility is that he fell.”
    “Has he ever fallen before?”
    “It only has to happen once.”
    “Still, where’s the proof?”
    “I don’t need any proof! He’s gone—I can feel it. Try sitting down for a minute. Take some deep breaths until you start making sense.”
    Grudgingly, Gordy obliged.
    “He’s probably just napping.”
    “In the middle of the day? It’s too bright out.”
    “Well … what if he did fall? Where’d he land? I don’t see any Froelich-shaped holes in the ground, do you?”
    When Binx craned his neck to demonstrate his limited range of motion, Gordy protested, “But why now? It hasn’t