The fabulous Emerald City, capital of the Land of Oz, has been celebrated in story and song for many years as the most wonderful fairy city in the world. So great are its marvels that many people have made difficult journeys to reach it. Many others long to reach it, but have failed to find the way. It is inconceivable that anyone would want to run away from the Emerald City. Yet that is exactly what Scraps the Patchwork Girl decided to do.

Scraps had been created from an old patchwork quilt. A magician's wife had sewn the quilt into the form of a girl, adding suspender-button eyes and yarn hair, intending to put the gaudy creature to work as a maid. But such a lively assortment of magic brains found its way into Scraps's head that when she was brought to life she refused to work. Scraps set out at once for the Emerald City. Since then she has lived there in the royal palace as a friend of Ozma, ruler of Oz.

One afternoon Scraps was practicing her favorite pastime: having fun. She would crouch at the end of one of the many long, glossy hallways in the royal palace. Then with a spring she would push off from the wall and sprint madly down the hall, patchwork skirt flapping. After gaining sufficient speed she would stop short, red leather shoes braced, and slide the rest of the way down the hall on the embroidered runner that humped before her as she slid. Meanwhile she shouted as loudly as she could:

"My name is Scraps the Patchwork Girl,
All somberness I shun.
Just stick with me and you will see
The way to have some fun.
I'll race and spill and jump until
My colors start to run.
When others tire I'm full of fire
As if I'd just be--"

That was usually as far as she got before slamming into the far end of the hall. Then, giggling wildly, the brilliantly colored girl would squirm out of the tangled runner and swing on a velvet drapery into the next hall.

Scraps was just about to start on the twenty-third hall when around a corner marched Jellia Jamb, Ozma's personal maid in charge of the palace. Jellia was usually sweet-tempered, but at this moment her fists were clenched and her face was pulsing red.

"Y-y-you!" she screeched, pointing at Scraps.

Scraps paused. "Is something bothering you, Jellia?" she asked.

"Just look at these halls!" screamed Jellia. "Look at the scuffs on these floors! For three weeks I've had thirty teams of cleaning crews sweeping, scrubbing, and polishing the entire palace. Every tile gleams, every emerald sparkles, every fold of every curtain hangs straight and true --"

"I thought the floor seemed slipperier than usual," Scraps murmured. "Don't get overheated, Jellia. Everything can be swept and scrubbed and polished again. Just think, if it weren't for me, hundreds would be out of work."

"There's no time!" roared Jellia. Scraps thought she could see steam shoot from the maid's ears. "Tonight is the grand banquet for the arrival of the ten most important monarchs of the Gillikin Country."

Scraps froze. "Oops," she said. "I forgot."

"F-f-f-forgot?" spluttered Jellia. "The whole city's been getting ready for weeks! The monarchs are arriving this evening! Ozma has declared tomorrow an official holiday!"

"The holiday part I remembered," said Scraps. She cackled gleefully.

"Out! Out! Out!" shouted Jellia, pointing one rigid finger down the hall.

"You're sure you mean it?" asked Scraps.

Jellia glared.

"Fine," said Scraps, turning on one heel so that it left yet another mark on the tile floor. "I guess I can take a hint."

"Odds pods and peanuts," she hissed through pearl-button teeth as she approached the banister of the grand staircase and looked over into the great front hall below. "It's getting so a girl can't have a little harmless fun anymore."

A curious man made entirely of tin walked through the palace entrance into the front hall. This was Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman, Emperor of the Winkies. Evidently he had just arrived for the festivities surrounding the arrival of the ten Gillikin monarchs. Nick was an old chum of Scraps's, but she hadn't seen him in several weeks.

With a suppressed giggle she ran lightly to the head of the staircase and dove for the banister. "Yippee!" she cried, sliding faster and faster on her patchwork stomach down the long curve.

Nick Chopper looked up just in time to see Scraps leapfrog over the newel post. She flew directly at him. With a clattering crash they landed in a heap.

"Scraps!" exclaimed Nick as he got awkwardly to his feet. "Sometimes you're just too much."

"Howdy, Nick," said Scraps, leaping up and dancing about him as he examined his tin body.

"I've just been polished for the banquet tonight and now look," said Nick, pointing to three long scratches on his tin side. He had a kind heart given to him by the Wizard of Oz and so he could not be really angry with anyone, but he eyed the Patchwork Girl reproachfully.

"Oh, no one'll notice," said Scraps. She rubbed the scratches with one of her hands which was made from a glove stuffed with cotton. "Chances are those old Gillikin fuddy-duddies are all too near-sighted to see the ends of their own noses."

"Someday your irreverence will land you in trouble, my dear Miss Patches," said Nick.

"Scold me not for I won't pay
Attention to a thing you say.
Lecture me, I'll never stay
To listen. I'll go out and play,"

sang Scraps. She skipped out of the palace entrance and cartwheeled down the front steps. Her spoolicle was lying on the palace lawn where she had dropped it earlier. This unique vehicle was a sort of bicycle designed by Scraps's close friend Jack Pumpkinhead. The spoolicle rode on two large spools in place of wheels. It was a clumsy machine, but Scraps treasured it and used it in preference to any other conveyance. She grabbed the handlebars of her spoolicle, lurched into the seat, and rode recklessly through the palace grounds out into the city.

"Aw, shucks," panted the Patchwork Girl, pedaling at a furious rate. "I shouldn't have treated Nick like that."

Bells in the palace bell tower began to chime.

Soon the visiting royalty would arrive to be greeted by Ozma. As Scraps steered her spoolicle along, she noticed the stir throughout the Emerald City. The streets and byways were growing crowded with people, animals, and other creatures making their ways toward the palace.

All state demonstrations in which Ozma took part were popular. By early evening the palace grounds would be overflowing with spectators. Everyone was eager to catch even a fleeting glimpse of the fairy ruler, to see the flutter of her silk gown or the sparkle of her golden crown.

Scraps noticed that those she passed were dressed in their finest clothes. Every face was freshly washed, every head of hair neatly groomed. The men's hats were immaculately brushed, the women's dresses rustled crisply, and the animals' claws were clipped and manicured.

Scraps looked down at her own patchwork dress, slightly worn and stained from her many antics. She was proud of her haphazardly arranged patches, but at this moment they looked far from their brilliant best. How could she appear at a public function in such a state?

"What'll I do?" she moaned. Then a thought popped into her cotton-stuffed head. "Jenny Jump's Style Shop! Jenny will be able to help me quick as a wink!"

With a burst of speed Scraps turned the spoolicle around a sharp corner, barely missing collision with a large emerald that protruded from the side of a building. In avoiding the emerald, Scraps did not notice the twenty-two foot long Dragonette crossing the street ahead of her. The spoolicle careened directly into the Dragonette, sending a shower of newly-polished silver scales over the marble pavement. Scraps sailed over the spoolicle's handlebars and skidded to a stop atop the spiked back of the Dragonette.

"Really, Scraps," said the Dragonette, shaking the Patchwork Girl to the ground, "you should be more careful. There's no time to have my scales reglued. My outfit is spoiled!"

"But look at me!" wailed Scraps, jumping to her feet. The front of her patchwork dress was rent with several long rips that trailed cotton stuffing. The Dragonette made a disgusted clucking in its long, flexible throat and turned to continue on its way.

Scraps stamped one foot in anger. Then she noticed that the accident had occurred in front of the Style Shop. "Well, maybe Jenny can fix me up," Scraps muttered. Her spoolicle was undamaged, so she rolled it to the side of the street and stomped up to the door of the shop.

Sometime ago a headstrong girl named Jenny Jump had jumped all the way from New Jersey to Oz where she discovered a magic turnstyle. Whoever went through the turnstyle was immediately clad in the outfit of choice. With the turnstyle Jenny had set up her popular Style Shop and done a thriving business ever since, providing the inhabitants of Oz with the most up-to-date fashions. Scraps pushed open the door of the Style Shop, stepped inside, and announced in a haughty tone: "I must be repaired immediately."

The shop was crowded with people, but not one of them paid any attention to Scraps. Too many other things were going on. At one side of the shop chatting women stood for alterations in their dresses as scissors snipped and needles sewed magically, needing no hands to guide them. Nearby a line of gentlemen sat as brushes and rags magically polished shoe after shoe to a bright shine. On the other side of the shop a clerk frantically searched rows of hanging garments for outfits that customers had ordered and were just now collecting. Above everyone's head circled a confused assortment of objects -- shirt studs, earrings, cuff links, even several feathered hats chased by dangerous-looking hatpins. Large mirrors lined the walls, multiplying the shop's bustle.

In the center of the shop stood the brightly painted turnstyle, surrounded by a line of customers waiting a turn. Scraps caught a glimpse of Jenny's latest elegant coiffure in the middle of the crowd. Jenny was busy guiding one after another of her customers through the magic turnstyle. Each emerged in elegant evening dress, some clad in knife-edged creases, others dripping with jewels, and all with proper accessories.

Scraps approached Jenny, side-stepping a shoebox with legs whose shoes kept hopping out in an attempt to lodge themselves onto her feet. Reaching through the crowd, Scraps tapped Jenny on the shoulder.

Without turning, Jenny asked loudly, "Do you have an appointment?"

"Er, no," said Scraps.

"I'm very busy today," said Jenny. "Without an appointment, I can't help you." Jenny bent to a row of control buttons on an arm of the turnstyle and motioned a woman through. "I think pink is your color, Mrs. Van Dylrymple . . ."

"Just look at me," said Scraps. "My beautiful patches are in ruin and my stitches are dropping! I'm worn, torn, ripped, and fading!"

The line of customers dwindled as those who had been served left the shop. Jenny turned around. "Oh, it's you, Scraps," she sighed. "You're too late. I'm closing in thirty seconds which will give me just enough time to get myself ready. I'm due at the palace to put the finishing touches to Ozma's gown before she greets her guests. I can't be late. I'm sorry about your sorry state, but if I take time to help you, I'll be in a state myself -- of confusion." Jenny turned to usher her last customer through the turnstyle.

"But I can't go to the banquet like this!" wailed Scraps.

"You should have made an appointment weeks ago when I still had an opening or two," said Jenny as she shut the front door behind a woman newly clad in giant puffs of lime green fabric. "If it were just a question of a new outfit, I could do something, but as it is you need several hours worth of stitching alone and there's just not time. Come back tomorrow." In the front window Jenny hung up a sign that read:

SHOP CLOSED

Scraps fell to her knees and shuffled after Jenny who strode gracefully through the turnstyle, pushing buttons with practiced ease. "Please, Jenny," begged Scraps as Jenny emerged wearing a delicate saffron gown that fell in soft folds from her shoulders to the floor.

"I'm sorry, the shop is closed," said Jenny, tossing a fleecy veil about her shoulders. "And don't roll about on the floor, you'll only get dirtier."

Scraps sprang to her feet. She shook her balled cotton fist beneath Jenny's pert nose. "For the last time, you must help me, do you hear? Now you listen to me -- or I'll -- "

"Do anything you please, but I haven't the time to stay around and watch," said Jenny calmly. She waltzed out of the front door. Scraps followed, dancing with rage. Jenny shut the door and turned the key.

"OPEN THAT SHOP!" cried Scraps, swinging her head about so that her yarn hair flew wildly.

"Don't act so crazy," said Jenny.

"I've got a perfect right to act crazy, talk crazy, and be crazy," sputtered the Patchwork Girl. "I was made from a crazy quilt."

Jenny stepped lightly down the walk toward the street. "It's of no interest to me if you were made from a mahogany bedpost. I'm not going to be bothered with you any more today."

"You're mean, mean, MEAN!" squalled Scraps, “just like everyone else in this stupid town. I'm leaving! I'll run away!"

"Go ahead," said Jenny. "Please do run away and stay as long as you like. No one wants to be bothered with your tantrums. Good-bye!" The styl-ist stepped into the street and joined the last stragglers hurrying toward the palace.

Scraps stood trembling with anger. In a moment she was left all alone. "All right," she said, "I will run away. I can't stand this place any longer. I'll run away and never come back." She turned to drag her spoolicle across the lawn and into the street. Mumbling, she mounted the spoolicle, humped her cotton-stuffed body over the handlebars, and pumped her flimsy legs as fast as she could. In a moment the spoolicle flashed through the main gate of the city, heading east, away from the Emerald City, toward the Country of the Munchkins.

Continued in The Runaway in Oz
Copyright © 1995 Natalie Mather, Annrea Neill, Joan Farnsworth, and Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.