One Week of Wonder

4. Mabel's In a Jam

(August 24, 2015)

Part 1: Visit to an Ex

Unlike Dipper, Teek was no runner. Tall, a little on the skinny side, and lanky, he was in average shape, probably, but not used to traveling long distances on foot at top speed. Mabel, on the other hand, didn't practice running, but she had tons of sugar-fueled stamina. When Soos drove them back to the Shack that Monday morning, she suggested a long walk in the woods, and Teek agreed because when Mabel suggests something, what can you do but agree?

"Where are we going?" he asked for the third time that morning when they had walked for more than an hour and were miles from the Shack. He felt a little uncomfortable. He had given up his big round glasses for contacts, except in the spring allergy season, but for the expedition he and Mabel had both donned sunglasses, and he wasn't used to wearing them.

"Want to say goodbye to some friends," Mabel said, shoving through a tall fern and letting it slap him in the face. That was the main reason for the sunglasses—eye shields. "Don't lag behind! This is dangerous territory. We're not far from the Gremloblin's stomping grounds, and there's also unicorns to worry about."

"I thought you liked unicorns—"

"Nah. They're jerks," Mabel said flatly. "Even though they helped us out during Weirdmageddon. The only way they won't mess with you is if you threaten to beat them up. Forget them."

Teek said mildly, "I don't even remember what I was talking about."

"Good man!" Mabel said. They broke through the brush and into a six-foot-wide lane through the heavy, dense forest. Years of old leaf-mold lay on it. "Ah-hah! Here's the pathway. We could have taken the golf cart—"

Teek slipped in the leaves as they went down the steep bank to the trail. "Now you tell me."

"Yeah, well, if the Gnomes should get ticked at us, golf cart's a bad idea." She started walking again. The heavy layer of leaf mulch at least gave them a soft footing, a little like taking a stroll over a bed the size of a county.

"Wait," Teek said. "You're going to say goodbye to the Gnomes?"

"Well, yeah, and visit," Mabel told him. "Oh—don't react if you see them doing weird stuff with squirrels."

"Like what?" Teek asked suspiciously.

"You'll find out, if they're doing it. If they're not, we didn't bring any brain bleach, so you're better off not knowing."

"At least it's pretty here," Teek said, and that was true. It was still before noon, and the heavy canopy of leaves overhead sent slanting rays of sun down to the ground, dappling the surface. Mabel was wearing one of her own sweaters, a brilliant, vibrant red with a beaming sun-face on it. Teek, in a blue short-sleeved shirt and jeans, felt drab by comparison. When sunbeams hit Mabel, it was like a spotlight. Teek found the sight enchanting.

They walked for another half-hour. "We're in Gnome territory now," Mabel announced. She stopped and sniffed the air. "Hey, do you smell that?"

Teek concentrated. "Uh—woodsmoke? And something sort of sweet and fruity?"

"This way!" Leaving the trail, Mabel pushed through some ferns and said, "I think it—wait, what? Hi, Gnomes!"

Teek blundered against her. "Sorry."

She wriggled a little. "Later, Teek! Hiya, ladies!"

In front of the two teens and in full sunlight, a clearing opened, and the clearing had been set up with four very long—for Gnomes—tables. Long and low to the ground. Four waist-high (to the teens) stone—what? Barbecue grills? Outdoor stoves?

Something involved with cooking, anyway—the four stone structures sent up fragrant, pale blue applewood smoke, and on them enormous iron cauldrons—well, each one held about a gallon, but they were enormous for Gnomes—bubbled and steamed. Dozens of Gnomes had paused in their work and stared at Mabel and Teek in utter horror. "Hi," Mabel said again, trying for the third time. "I'm Mabel! This is Teek! I was nearly your Queen once! What's cooking?"

The Gnomes, all female—you could tell because they didn't have beards, though otherwise with their blue overalls and conical red caps they were identical to their men—clustered, muttered, and shoved the eldest one forward. She tried with no noticeable success to make her voice deep: "Interlopers! Flay or feece the wrath of Gnomes!" Then the diminutive figure turned to the others of her kind and squeaked, "Was that right? It didn't sound right."

Teek cleared his throat. "Ma'am, I think you meant 'Flee or face the wrath of Gnomes.'"

The Gnomes conferred and then all forty-one of them—Mabel had counted—said in unison, "Yes!"

"Aw, c'mon," Mabel said in her most ingratiating tone. "We don't mean you any harm. We're friends of Gnomes. My Grunkles have helped you from time to time, and you've helped us. Hey, where's Jeff? He'll vouch for us. And I fed your Queen a peanut-butter-and-Graham-cracker snack once. She ought to remember that."

More conferring. Then finally, the oldest Gnome lady said reluctantly, "You may stay, but don't dare step into the sacred jam circle."

Curiously, Mabel stepped forward. "This one that I'm standing in now?"

"Yes, that's the one. Don't step into it."

Mabel stepped back. "OK. Hey, what are you cooking? It smells delicious. Oh, and what can I call you?"

The Gnomes had to conference again. Mabel remembered that they had not exactly a hive mind, but at least a scattered one—almost all individual Gnomes had an incredibly hard time making decisions, which is why the civilized ones relied on a wise Queen (though the current one happened to be a badger—long story) to give them orders and directions. Finally, though, the old Gnome said, "I'm Gnorma, Mistress of the Jam Works."

"Hey," Mabel said. "Jam? My first crush in Gravity Falls, Norman, was a pile of Gnomes! Jeff was at the top. I remember when he first came to the Shack, he had jam on his face. My brother thought it was blood!"

The Gnome women all dropped their gazes to the earth and sighed. Gnorma said, "That was Mourning Jam. We serve it only at a funeral. Our former Queen had recently died then."

"Mourning Jam? Is that what you're making?" Now Mabel could see that tiny earthenware pots with carved wooden stoppers covered about half of each table. Each pot might have held as much as two ounces, no more.

Again, the Gnomes had to discuss the response before Gnorma replied, "No, we have sufficient Mourning Jam for the next year, the Dark Death willing. Now we're making strongberry, grope, boobberry, and graspberry jams today. This is because they're all in season now."

Mabel licked her lips. "Strawberry, grape, blueberry, and raspberry, you mean?" she asked.

Every question led to another Gnome conference. After this one, Gnorma said, "No."

"Smells delicious. Hey, Gnorma, you've got a lot of jam there," Mabel said. "May we sample some? Just a taste?"

After a five-minute-long discussion. Gnorma said, "We would need the Queen's permission. You must ask her prime minister, Jeff."

"Yeah, I know Jeff. Where do we find him?" Mabel asked instantly.

Gnorma stood on a table and pointed north. "Do you see the tall brown dead tree that towers above all the others?"

"Got it!" Mabel said, standing on tiptoe.

"He's not there. But if you go to it and find the side with moss on it and then go around to the opposite side of the tree and walk into the forest the other way, you'll probably find him. He's leading a construction crew today. They're gathering fallen wood. But if he's not there, he may be somewhere else."

"My brain hurts," Teek murmured.

"C'mon, Teek!" Mabel said, grabbing his hand. "Let's go talk to the Queen!"

"I thought she was a badger," Teek said.

"Yeah, she is. I didn't say she'd talk back!"

The teens hurried back to the trail and off in the direction of the tree. One of the Gnomes said to Gnorma, "Why would biggers like them need Gnome jam?"

Gnorma shook her head. "And jam meant for our young who are coming of age, too."

"It's not like we don't have plenty of it."

"No," Gnorma said. "We have so much that every year we have to throw away lots of it. It's no good after three years of storage. But it's not meant for biggers."

"We must wait to hear the Queen's decision," someone said.

And all the Gnome women automatically said, "All praise the Queen!"

Then Gnorma—who, for a Gnome, really was a bit of a leader—said, "Enough lollygagging. Let's get back to work!"

"Lollygagging?" one of the others asked. It wasn't the sort of question anyone would answer, though.

Instead of answering, they all got back to work. The youngest one, Cynthia, had just filled a dozen jars with strongberry jam. She forgot herself—the young sometimes did—and licked a spoon.

Then without thinking, she took the cauldron off the fire, scoured it with water, and put it back on the heat again, pouring in the strongberries.

Nothing remarkable about that.

Except, under ordinary circumstances, it would have taken six Gnomes working together even to lift the cauldron.