Ferry Godmother dropped Emily off at the dock by the mansion. The sweaters-for-children problem had a solution after all.
"The birds are well trained in haute couture," Ferry Godmother said. "Do you know, they can fly and weave at the same time? All we need to do is show them the stitches, and they'll assemble those puppies faster than you can twitter 'One more picnic and I'm going on a hunger strike.'"
Emily sighed. Ferry Godmother continued, "I'll even send over some Metrognomes to help."
"What are they?" Emily asked. "Are they from Alaska? Will they deliver the sweaters in a sled?"
Ferry Godmother laughed. "No, sweetie. They're wonderful creatures that can be programmed to do almost any task you desire as long as it's for good. They're quite lovable. They look a little bit like a colorful R2D2 with a dunce cap. They're from the Field of Dreams."
Emily thought that Care-A-Lion was enough of a strange place to adapt to, much less a place a half continent away that was full of corn. But she trusted Ferry Godmother.
"Thank you! Oh, thank you!" Emily gushed.
"Now come on." Ferry Godmother gave Emily a smirk and a wink. "You didn't really expect three men to get that job done, did you?"
Emily grinned. "I guess you had to be prepared for this."
"Just one last thing," Ferry Godmother finished up. Handing Emily a small envelope, she said, "You'll need these labels for the sweaters." Inside the envelope were a bunch of labels bearing the embroidered white raisins and the legend "Here for . . ."
Elated, Emily skipped up the path toward the mansion. All of a sudden, she pulled up short. There was a ghostly looking Dodge on the path in front of her.
"How did you get here?" she gasped.
Dodge showed Emily his insurance policy. Emily grabbed it and looked at it, frowning.
Dodge didn't really want to force his way back into the show on a technicality. He'd much prefer to be invited. "I know I behaved badly," he owned. "Please let me come back. I'm ready to do whatever you want." Uh oh!
"I'll face my fears. I'll take leaps of faith. I'll tell tasteful, hilarious jokes. I'll represent you if Mike Fleiss decides to sue you." That last was a stretch, but Dodge didn't think anyone would mind if he played a little fast and loose with the truth. He could blame Mary Anne for writing it on a cue card for him to say. "Please? Please?" Dodge continued.
Knowing she was going to be able to keep her sweater commitment, Emily was feeling magnanimous. "Sure. Why not? Go on back to the bunkhouse, and I'll check in with y'all in a little while." Dodge heaved a sigh of relief. Emily noticed how charged up Dodge was. They parted.
Emily walked into a special room in the mansion--she'd dubbed it the "project room." It was a veritable beehive (well, bird's nest or tech lab, maybe) of activity. The air was filled with riotously colored yarn, flying in all directions in the beaks of the birds. The metrognomes were churning out yards of knitted fabric with a beautiful cable stitch. "Whistle While You Work" was being pumped through the sound system. The whole scene was incredibly, amazingly awesome.
Emily smiled smugly. It had been an exhausting day. All things considered, though, she had gotten a lot accomplished. "I'm queen of the world!" She exuded.
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