Ruby Holler

by Sharon Creech

  “Heck, they hike up there all the time,” Dallas said.

  “But,” Florida urged, “this time, they probably ought to have somebody knowing where they are, right?”

  CHAPTER 20

  THROUGH THE HOLLER

  Tiller and Sairy had lived so long in Ruby Holler that they knew every twist and turn in it, every path, every foxhole and beehive. They knew where the stream was wide and where it was narrow, where shallow and where deep. They could have made their way through the holler blindfolded.

  They were familiar with every species of plant and tree, and although they might not have known the technical names for them, they had their own names for things. There was the picnic tree, with huge overhanging boughs, underneath which they’d often had picnics with their children. Nearby were the tickle-violets which used to make their youngest daughter laugh when she touched them. Near the stream was the bear bush, which had frightened their oldest son once, when he thought it was a bear crouching there.

  It was beyond the picnic tree that Sairy and Tiller split up, each heading to the other’s understone fund. It amused Sairy, as she made her way through the tickle-violets, that she and Tiller had managed to keep their hiding places secret from each other all these years. Only recently, on Tiller’s sixtieth birthday, had she given him a map to her understone fund, so that he could use it for whatever he wanted. And on her sixtieth birthday, Tiller had done the same, giving her a map to his fund, to use for whatever she wanted. She felt privileged now, knowing the way to her husband’s understone fund, and she leaped over a log. She felt as if someone had erased thirty years, and there she was with their children again.

  As Tiller made his way around the bear bush and across the stream, he, too, was thinking about how he and Sairy had kept the location of their understone funds secret from each other for so long. It was as if they’d had to keep one little secret from each other all those many years, but as to why they’d had to keep a secret, he didn’t know.

  Then he thought about what Sairy had said about the holler seeming empty after their kids left, and that seemed like another secret they’d kept from each other. He wondered why they hadn’t talked about it, why they’d both pretended that it hadn’t bothered them that their kids were gone.

  Florida and Dallas had only been in the holler a few weeks, and although they had run up and down its hills and shouted across its streams and thrown mud at each other and scrambled over bushes and up trees and spit in a hundred places and dug up worms near the damp creek bank, they did not have very good senses of direction once they were out of sight of the cabin.

  “I saw them go up this way,” Florida said, “but then they split. Did you see which way they went?”

  Dallas was imagining that they were tracking pirates who would lead them to buried treasure. He narrowed his eyes and surveyed the territory. “Vanished!” he said.

  “Shh. I’ll go down here—I’m pretty sure the old man went this way. You go up there and see if you can spot the old lady.”

  “They’ve got names, you know,” Dallas said.

  “What are you so grouchy about this morning?”

  “Nothing. Just don’t like losing their trail, that’s all.” He crouched low, examined the dirt, and headed up the hill.

  CHAPTER 21

  LOST AND FOUND

  “Dallas, Florida!” Tiller called.

  “They knew we’d be right back after we got our understone funds, didn’t they?” Sairy said. “Where do you suppose they went?”

  Tiller sat down on the porch steps, took out his whittling knife and a piece of wood from his pocket, and shaved slivers from the bark. “Maybe they went chasing after a squirrel or something.” He kicked at the shavings near his feet. “I’m not used to waiting around for people. Makes me itchy.”

  Sairy reached into her own pocket and withdrew her whittling knife and a block of wood. She turned the wood round and round in her hands, closing her eyes and feeling it with the tips of her fingers. As her knife moved nimbly over the wood, shavings drifted down the steps, mixing in with Tiller’s wood chips. “Tiller? Know what I was just thinking about? Buddy.”

  “Buddy?”

  “Our son Buddy.”

  “I know who the ding-dong Buddy is,” Tiller said. “I just meant what was it you were thinking about him?”

  “Remember when he was, oh, around twelve, and he decided he was an orphan? Remember? That summer, he just up and decided he had accidentally landed in this family and that really he was an orphan.”

  “And didn’t he go live in the barn for a while?” Tiller said.

  “Two whole months in the barn.”

  “Yep, I’m remembering that now. When I asked him what he was going to eat, he said he’d manage on worms and stuff.”

  “Worms!” Sairy said. “I’m still not entirely sure what he did eat. I think the other kids snuck him stuff.”

  “I snuck him some food now and then,” Tiller admitted.

  “Okay, I admit it, so did I. Left it in a bucket by the barn door.”

  “How was it he eventually gave up living in the barn?” Tiller asked. “You remember?”

  “We made those getting-over-being-an-orphan cookies. Those triple-chocolate things, you know, the ones your mom taught you to make.”

  “Oh, right. Buddy sure liked chocolate.”

  “Try calling them again,” Sairy said.

  “Dallas, Florida!”

  From the distance came a muffled call. Tiller and Sairy pocketed their knives and stood.

  “I know exactly where that’s coming from,” Tiller said. “Over by the bear bush.”

  They found Florida flailing in a patch of briars on the far side of the stream.

  “I’m stuck all to bits,” Florida grumbled. “Stupid, putrid bushes trapped me.”

  By the time they untangled her, they heard Dallas calling from the opposite hillside, beyond the tickleviolets and picnic tree.

  “Help! Bees! Help!”

  “Uh-oh,” Sairy said. “Guess we know where he is.”

  As they all headed back to the cabin, Tiller said, “What were you after?”

  “Nothing,” Florida said. “We were after nothing whatsoever.”

  “How come you didn’t wait for us?” Sairy said. “We said we’d be right back, didn’t we?”

  Dallas was still swatting at the air, waving away bees that had long since vanished.

  “We were just worried,” Florida said. “Weren’t we, Dallas? We were just worried maybe you’d get lost or hurt out there.”

  “Lost?” Tiller said. “Us? Not very likely. We know this place inside and out, backwards and forwards, up and down.”

  “But it was nice of you to think of us,” Sairy said. “We aren’t used to anybody worrying about what happens to us old codgers.”

  Tiller and Sairy sat on the porch swing. In the distance, Dallas and Florida were digging along the creek bank.

  “We shouldn’t have mentioned our understone funds in front of those kids,” Tiller said.

  “Why not?”

  Tiller rubbed at his jaw. “Just don’t think it’s a good idea, those kids knowing we’ve got money buried out there.”

  “You’re not saying they’d steal it, are you?”

  “Don’t exactly know what I’m saying. Just think it’s a little too much temptation for kids who have so little.”

  Dallas dug in the muddy creek bank. “You almost got us in a lot of trouble, Florida.”

  “I did not. What’re you talking about?”

  Dallas pulled a long red worm from the soil. “That idea of yours to follow them and find out where their money was.”

  “That wasn’t my idea. That was your idea,” Florida said.

  “Was not.”

  “Was too.” Florida tossed a muddy stone at Dallas. “I was just concerned about their safety, that’s all.”

  “Me too,” Dallas said, flinging his worm at her.

  “Cut that out.” Florida
cupped the worm and set it back in the mud. “How much money do you think they’ve got out there?”

  “No idea.”

  “Probably a zillion zillion bazillion dollars.” Florida waded out into the water, stepping from stone to stone across the creek. She thought about touching the Hoppers’ money and how mad Mr. Hopper had been, and how mad she got when Mr. Hopper pulled the jar of quarters away from Dallas and yelled at him. She thought about how she’d grabbed that jar and smashed it and all those quarters and bits of glass went shooting across the floor.

  Florida stepped across the stones in the creek and said, “Dallas, money is trouble. I don’t want to know where their money is. I never, never, ever want to know where it is.”

  “Hey!” Dallas said. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s bury our money.”

  “What? Like under stones, you mean?”

  “Yeah, it’d be so cool, like buried treasure. Our own buried treasure.”

  “But we’re leaving pretty soon, aren’t we?”

  “Sure,” Dallas said. “But meantime, let’s bury the money, okay?”

  “Whatever you say, bossy Dallas.”

  CHAPTER 22

  A TRIP TO BOXTON

  Dallas and Florida had returned to Boxton several times with Tiller and Sairy, and each time the twins had made it clear that they did not want to go near the faded yellow Boxton Creek Home leaning toward the railroad tracks.

  “Don’t you want to visit your friends there?” Sairy asked.

  “The ones we know, they’re probably gone already,” Florida said.

  “Kids go in and out of there that fast?” Tiller asked.

  “Like a revolving door,” Dallas said.

  “And how long have you two been there?” Sairy asked. “Do you mind if I ask you that?”

  “What’s to mind?” Florida said. “We’ve been there longer than anybody. We’ve been there a zillion years.”

  “Our revolving door sweeps us right back in there,” Dallas said.

  “Oh,” Sairy said.

  “We’re trouble,” Florida said. “Double trouble.”

  “You know what our son Buddy used to call himself?” Sairy said. “Mr. Trouble. He wasn’t any more trouble than any of the other kids, but one summer, he got it in his head that he couldn’t do anything right.” As they drove out of the holler, Sairy told them the story of how Buddy had decided that he was an orphan and had lived in the barn one summer until Tiller and Sairy made the getting-over-being-an-orphan triple-chocolate cookies.

  “Why’d you tell us that story?” Florida said.

  “I don’t know,” Sairy said. “It just popped into my head. You know what? I just realized something. Me and Tiller are orphans, too.”

  “You’re not,” Dallas said.

  “Technically, yes, we are,” Sairy said. “Our parents are no longer living.”

  “It’s not the same thing,” Florida said.

  Sairy patted Florida’s hand. “You’re right, Florida. That was a stupid thing for me to say, and I’m sorry my brain popped it out of my mouth.”

  “Hey,” Florida said. “You know those triple-chocolate cookies you made yesterday? Were those by any chance getting-over-being-an-orphan cookies?”

  Sairy nudged Tiller. “Tiller? Is that the recipe you used?”

  “Can’t rightly say for sure,” Tiller said. “Enough of this chatter. Here’s Boxton. Let’s get our plans straight.”

  Sairy said, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but we really should make a stop to see Mr. and Mrs. Trep—”

  “Don’t say it,” Florida said. “Don’t you say their names. We’re not going. Don’t you go, neither.”

  “That’s right,” Dallas said. “If we set foot in there, they’ll throw us in those cobwebby rooms and lock the doors.”

  “Oh now,” Sairy said, “I do think you might be exaggerating a mite—”

  “No way,” Florida said. “I’ll jump out of this truck right now if you say we have to go there.”

  “Okay, okay,” Sairy said. “You don’t have to go. Don’t worry. We’ll all meet up at Grace’s Diner. How’s that?”

  While the others did their errands, Sairy slipped around the back of the courthouse and down the alley, which was bordered on one side by railroad tracks and on the other side by a sprawling field dotted with junk cars and shacks. She could see the tilting Boxton Creek Home ahead. The alley was littered with crumpled papers and dented hubcaps, with old rubber tires and empty pop cans, and Sairy quickened her pace, feeling uneasy in this unfamiliar place.

  Dallas and Florida were standing on the sidewalk outside Grace’s Diner when the door opened, and out shuffled Mr. Trepid.

  “Well, well, well,” he said. “Trouble twins.”

  Dallas and Florida backed away.

  Doughnut crumbs clung to the front of Mr. Trepid’s shimmery blue shirt. “Where are those people—that old couple? They’re not bringing you back, are they?”

  Florida took another two steps backward. “No, they’re not bringing us back. They’re getting stuff for our trips.”

  “Oh?” Mr. Trepid glanced across the street at the redbrick bank standing on the corner. “They in there? Getting piles of money?”

  “At that stupid bank?” Florida said. “No way. They don’t need banks.”

  “They don’t?” Mr. Trepid picked a crumb off his shirt and popped it into his mouth. “It was my distinct understanding that those two had piles of money. Piles of it. Collectors pay a lot of money for those little carvings they make.”

  “Well, they don’t need to keep their money in any stupid bank,” Florida said. “They’ve got understone funds.”

  “Yeah,” Dallas said. “They’ve got their own private banks out in the holler, buried under stones.”

  “Is that right?” Mr. Trepid said. “How clever.”

  “And me and Dallas have our own understone funds,” Florida said.

  “How charming,” Mr. Trepid said, glancing at his watch. “And when is it you’re all heading out on your trips?”

  “Right soon,” Florida said.

  Mr. Trepid looked up at the sky. “Very good indeed. I wish you all well.” Then, flicking at the rest of the crumbs on his shirt, he said, “Must be off,” and on down the sidewalk he scurried.

  “What’s he so happy about?” Dallas asked.

  “He got rid of us, that’s what,” Florida said.

  Sairy made her way through the littered alley and approached the Boxton Creek Home from the back. As she was rounding the side, she heard Mrs. Trepid’s voice.

  “Stop that this instant,” Mrs. Trepid commanded. “Hush.”

  Sairy heard a baby cry and saw Mrs. Trepid leaning over a baby carriage, her face bent down close to the crying occupant. “Stop that,” Mrs. Trepid repeated.

  “Is that a baby you’re scolding?” Sairy said.

  Mrs. Trepid straightened quickly and turned to Sairy. “This baby is so fussy,” she said. “Just like those twins were.”

  Sairy nodded. “Babies can be that way.”

  Mrs. Trepid looked annoyed. “You make it sound normal. Doesn’t feel normal to me. Drives me crazy!” Mrs. Trepid glanced around the side of the house. “Are you bringing the twins back?”

  “No,” Sairy said. “Not yet. Your husband asked me to pick up Dallas’s passport here.”

  “Oh,” Mrs. Trepid said. “Well, then, go inside. Morgan will find it for you. Mr. T. isn’t here.” She jiggled the buggy. “Aren’t you supposed to leave some money?”

  “Am I?” Sairy said.

  “Yes, for the passport and all the trouble he went to.”

  “Was it so very much trouble?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Trepid said. “I believe you owe him three hundred dollars.”

  “Three hundred dollars? Really? My passport was much, much, much less than that.”

  “The rest is for all the trouble,” Mrs. Trepid said, “and for transportation and documents and such.”

  As Sai
ry turned to go inside, Mrs. Trepid said, “The twins? How are they?”

  “They’re fine,” Sairy said. “No trouble at all.”

  CHAPTER 23

  READY

  Florida ran her hand over the edge of the boat. She couldn’t believe that she and Tiller had fixed this boat, and she almost wished there were something else to build. Maybe this is one thing I’m not too awful at, she thought. Maybe my mother or father were builders-of-things. She glanced around the barn and up at the old stained rafters, feeling a little sad that this was the end of it and the old man didn’t even know it.

  Inside the cabin, she found Dallas in the loft trying on his new hiking boots.

  “Boat’s done,” Florida said. “Want to see it?”

  “It’s done? All completely done?”

  “Yep. Where’s the old lady?”

  “Her name is Sairy,” Dallas said. “Quit calling her ‘the old lady.’”

  “I’ll call her whatever I want to call her,” Florida said. “Quit telling me what to do. You’re not my boss. Who said you were my boss?”

  That afternoon, they retrieved their buried money, and that night in the loft, they stashed some in their shoes, some in their pockets, and some in their backpacks.

  “I’m leaving enough money to pay for these backpacks they bought us,” Dallas said. “And for this flashlight and these boots. They’ll come in handy. And I’ll leave some money for these whittling knives, too.”

  “And I’ll leave some for these sleeping bags,” Florida said. “We could sure use these sleeping bags. If we leave the money, that’s fair, isn’t it? It’s not like we’re taking anything then, right?”

  “Right,” Dallas said. “Now we’ll just wait until they’re asleep.”

  “And then we’re out of here,” Florida said. “Night train, here we come!”

  Dallas and Florida were quiet, facing the windows, waiting for the owl. They were each feeling jittery and mournful, and neither of them could figure out why that was so, since they’d been waiting for this night for a long, long time.

  “Tiller?” Sairy said. “You asleep yet?”