Pixie Pushes On

by Tamara Bundy

  Finally, right by that smelly old outhouse, he stopped, with Grandma’s sheet resting on top of him. I grabbed that sheet lickety-split and saw a big dirt stain that Grandma was sure to notice.

  “Should we take it back to your grandma to wash again?” Ricky asked.

  “I would,” I said, “but I had my heart set on living another day.”

  “Can’t be that bad!” Ricky laughed.

  But I knew what a chore washing laundry with the wringer machine was. Grandma had to feed the wet clothes through the wringer after pulling them from the boiling water with a broom handle, and I wasn’t gonna be the one to tell her she had to go and do it all over again on account of my lamb.

  Instead, I went over to the water pump. With Ricky pumping the water, and Betsy holding up the half that was still clean, I could rub the ends of the sheet together enough to make that dirt spot almost disappear. As soon as it looked pretty near gone, we all carried it over to the line and hung it back up.

  “Stay away from the laundry this time, Buster,” I scolded, fixing the last clothespin onto the line.

  “He’s not listening,” Betsy said. “He’s eating something over there.”

  I followed her pointing finger to see him nibbling clover in front of the henhouse.

  And that gave me a great idea.

  I ran to the door and opened it wide.

  There was someone Buster needed to meet.

  “Come on in, Buster!”

  And this time, he listened.

  He ran to one hen after the other, making them fly off their roosts. Baa! he hollered at ’em as if they weren’t already scattering to the rafters, fearing for their lives, clucking and squawking all the way. Last off her roost, of course, was Teacher, who tried to peck Buster on his nose, but he answered her peck with a bellowing Baa! making her fly away faster than I’d ever seen her move.

  I was laughing so hard I almost forgot to get the eggs while I had the chance. “Hurry,” I yelled to Ricky and Betsy. “Grab as many eggs as you can while they’re flying around!”

  By the time Buster had lost interest in the hens and they began to settle back in their nesting boxes, I had a basket full of more eggs than I’d ever collected before.

  Once we got outside, I put the basket down by the water pump. We were still laughing when I started pumping, letting the water flow, while Ricky, Betsy, and I dipped our hands in it to scoop up a drink, splashing each other. Truth be told, we got more water all over ourselves than in our mouths.

  And right then, I couldn’t help but notice how good it felt hearing the sound of laughter ringing out once again on the farm.

  CHAPTER 32

  The next day, after church, Grandma asked Ricky and me to pick the early lettuce leaves. She showed us how to only take the bigger leaves that wrapped around the lettuce head, by pulling them down and cutting them off, giving the rest of the plant another few weeks to keep growing.

  Cutting my last leaf off and stacking it with the others in the basket, I was surprised how pretty the loose lettuce looked—crisp and wavy and green.

  We sat down on the grass to rest a minute from all that bending over. I could hear Betsy chasing after Buster, calling him somewhere near the barn.

  Ricky picked up a piece of lettuce and took a bite, so I did the same. Through the crunch of my chewing, I heard him ask, “Is your pa visiting Charlotte today?”

  I swallowed and nodded.

  Ricky must’ve understood I didn’t want to talk too much about not being able to visit again, so he changed the subject. “Guess what?”

  I shrugged. “What?”

  “My ma’s getting better—a lot better.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh. And . . . there’s something else—got me a letter!”

  I gasped. “From your brother?”

  “No,” he answered in all seriousness. “From the president of the United States of America.”

  My eyes grew bigger.

  “Of course it’s from my brother, nitwit!”

  “Are you gonna read it to me, or do I get to read it myself?”

  He wiped his hands off and put them both over his pocket. “Maybe neither.”

  As much as that frustrated me, I was happy figuring his joking and his mama feeling better probably meant the letter didn’t have bad news in it. “You’re the nitwit! Now give me that letter!”

  I reached into his pocket to grab it but only got a piece of it. We both heard the sound of ripping paper. If any two people knew how important it was to take good care of letters, it was Ricky and me.

  I put my hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry! Did I rip it? I’m so sorry!”

  Reaching into his pocket, he held his breath as he pulled out the letter. The tightness in his face relaxed as he looked at it and exhaled. “Just the envelope ripped. The letter’s okay.”

  I exhaled, too, and I didn’t even know I’d been holding my breath. Then I waited.

  Ricky looked at the letter the same way I look at each of Charlotte’s letters. He held it tender in his hands, looking it up and down, like he was inspecting it. Then he handed it to me. “You can read it out loud if you want.”

  So I did.

  Dear Ricky,

  I’m sorry I got hurt. I promised you, Betsy, and especially Ma I wouldn’t, but I guess it wasn’t up to me. I don’t really remember what happened. All I know is I was in France and we were getting ready to charge—we had the target picked out, we were waiting for the command. And the next thing I know, I’m waking up in a hospital in New York City, back in the United States of America.

  I was shot in the back. Guess it didn’t look good for a while. They flew me to New York on an army jet. Wish I could remember that. I was on a plane in the sky! When they sent me to France, it was by boat, and it took a long time. But when I was unconscious, they flew me on a jet. Can’t believe that.

  Still can’t remember what happened when I got shot. The doctor here says that’s normal—says stress from trauma can make you forget. One of my army buddies wrote me that he’s okay today because of what I did that day. But I don’t remember it none, so I can’t be sure. I’m just glad he’s okay. He’s a good man—has a baby back home and a wife.

  I get a bit stronger each day. There’ve been a couple of setbacks with infections and stuff. My legs are a little messed up after being shot, but the doctor says I’ll be walking real soon, and if I keep getting better, I’ll be home by summer.

  I want to make sure I’m all better by then, and I’m working hard to make it happen.

  Please give Ma and Betsy a hug for me. And your teacher.

  I miss you all. I miss home. Thanks for taking care of everyone.

  Love,

  Bill

  I handed the letter back to him. “See, your brother is a hero!”

  Ricky nodded as he carefully put the letter back in his pocket.

  I was curious why Bill kept talking about Miss Beany, but just as I opened my mouth to ask, I heard a commotion in the barn, followed by Granddaddy’s voice bellowing, “Pixie! Come get your lamb!”

  We arrived in the barn to find Buster weaving in and out of Molly’s legs while Granddaddy, sitting on the milking stool, tried to shoo him. Betsy tried to help by clapping her hands and calling over and over, “Here, Buster!”

  The commotion made that old cow shift her weight back and forth so much, she knocked Granddaddy off the stool.

  “Pixie!” Granddaddy hollered like I’d made him fall.

  But I understood. “Come on, Buster,” I said. “Come here!”

  But right then, my lamb just plumb sat down in front of the cow.

  Granddaddy righted himself on the stool again and went back to milking Molly. “Job’s easier without an audience,” he declared. Buster looked at him. “Yeah—I’m talkin’ �
��bout you.” And to prove his point, he pointed Molly’s udder at Buster and squirted milk in his face. But if that was meant to scold him, Buster couldn’t tell. He jumped up and came to Granddaddy with his mouth wide open.

  Betsy squealed with laughter as Granddaddy chuckled and obliged Buster with a few well-aimed squirts of milk, right into his mouth. “That’s enough, now. Leave some for the rest of the family.”

  I put Buster back in his pen, smiling at him being called a part of the family.

  And looking around, I started to wonder if a family might also include more than just kin.

  CHAPTER 33

  “Easy now.” Granddaddy was showing Betsy how to milk Molly—and Ricky and I were having fun watching. When he asked us to go bring in Horse and the plow, I figured he was just tired of having us as an audience—till he added, “It’s fixin’ to rain.”

  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but I was learning not to doubt Granddaddy’s forecasts.

  Ricky wasn’t as sure. “How do ya know, Mr. Johnston?”

  “Well, it don’t rightly smell like rain yet, but it will. This morning, both Horse and Molly here was stretchin’ their necks up high and sniffin’ the air. They say when horses and cows do that, it’ll rain. And I can’t think of a time when it wasn’t proved true.”

  * * *

  * * *

  ’Course in no time at all, it rained. With the animals safe in the barn, and Betsy and Ricky likewise safe back home, I sat on the porch listening to the rain ping-ping-pinging on the tin roof over my head. The animals weren’t the only ones who could smell the rain now. I breathed it into my lungs as I shut my eyes.

  The hum of the music coming from the radio competed with the sound of rain. I shut my eyes to the sweet sound till I heard the music stop, interrupted by a voice. I couldn’t hear what the voice had said, but I plain as day heard Granddaddy holler, “Thelma!”

  Even though he didn’t call me, I went running just the same.

  The voice on the radio continued to speak. “The Press Association has just announced that President Roosevelt is dead. The president died of a cerebral hemorrhage. All we know so far is that the president died in Warm Springs, in Georgia.”

  “Oh my,” Grandma gasped, with her hand clutching her chest.

  Granddaddy shook his head. “A good man. A real good man . . . It’s a pity . . . what with the end of the war in sight.”

  The voice on the radio kept talking, but I wasn’t really hearing. I stood there feeling bad that my first thought when I heard my president died was that he had the same polio that my sissy had.

  That’s when I heard Daddy’s car coming down the lane.

  More than ever, I needed to know Charlotte was okay. I ran to the front door, but before I put my hand around the doorknob, Grandma stopped me. “Don’t even think about going out in this pouring rain.”

  Daddy stepped onto the porch and shook the rain off himself like a dog. I tried to be patient, but that was never easy for me. Especially when it had to do with my sister. “How is she?” I said. “Did she read my letter? Did she give you one for me?”

  Daddy brushed the rain off his shirt. “Well, hello to you too, Pru.”

  “Sorry. Hi, Daddy. How is she?”

  “Let your daddy get fully out of the rain before you start raining your questions on him.” Grandma shook her head.

  Daddy winked at me. “Let’s go sit in the living room by the stove, and I’ll dry off and tell y’all about it.”

  Once Daddy got comfortable, kneeling by the woodstove, and Granddaddy filled him in on the president’s passing, I sat down on Granddaddy’s lap to wait for Daddy to speak. Grandma sat down too.

  “Well, that’s a shame about President Roosevelt.” Daddy spoke in a sad voice.

  I meant no disrespect for our dead president, but I had to ask again. “Daddy, how is Charlotte?”

  “Charlotte is definitely improvin’,” he told us. “She’s walkin’—with help—up to five steps at a time now. That’s good. That’s real good.”

  Daddy was saying a lot of good things, but something still worried me. “Daddy, do you think Charlotte might die now, since the president died with polio?”

  “Oh, honey—no,” Daddy was quick to answer. “And it sounds like the president died due to something else. I’m not thinking that at all—and you shouldn’t either.”

  But I wasn’t convinced. So when Daddy finally gave me Charlotte’s letter and I went to my usual spot in our room, I couldn’t open it right away. I sat there for a spell, trying to get the thought out of my mind that somebody had just died who had the exact same disease as my sissy.

  Dear Pixie,

  How’s Buster? I can’t wait to meet him. I’m doing better and really hope I’ll be home soon. Can’t believe I missed almost an entire school year. Thank goodness Miss Beany keeps sending work for me so I don’t forget everything.

  Little Nancy went home. I’m happy for her but miss having her here. Since I got polio, each day feels like I’m losing a little bit more of my life.

  I miss you and Daddy and Grandma and Granddaddy, on top of missing Mama all the time. I miss her so much. I’ve written her lots of poems lately. Found out the hospital was named after a famous poet—so maybe that’s inspiring me. But mostly I suspect missing people is what’s inspiring me the most to write all my poems. That’s what inspired this one:

  How can I miss you

  when you’re in all that I do?

  Every tear that I cry

  I know you’re crying too.

  When I feel such sadness

  I know you feel it too.

  So how can I miss you?

  But, Mama, I do.

  Daddy’s coming soon, and I can’t wait to read your next letter. But what I really can’t wait for is getting home. And I will be home soon, the good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.

  Love,

  Charlotte

  More than ever, I missed having Charlotte home, and more than ever, I could tell she was hurting with all her missing too. I leaned against the wooden frame of her empty bed and cried and cried for us both.

  CHAPTER 34

  In spite of it only being early May, the sun beat down something fierce while Ricky and I walked the eggs to the grocer. Ricky was in the middle of telling me about the garden his mama and Betsy were home planting when we heard wild screams coming from the store. We ran toward the commotion, but before we even opened the door, I could pretty near tell the screams weren’t bad screams. These screams sounded like somebody had found gold.

  “Hallelujah!”

  “It’s true!”

  “Praise the Lord!”

  When we walked in, I saw Mr. Green, another man, a lady, and Berta all jumping up and down, hugging on each other.

  “Shh.” One of them hushed the others. “I want to hear President Truman’s speech.” A bunch of folks were facing the radio. We walked closer to them and listened.

  “Let us not forget, my fellow Americans, the sorrow and the heartache which today abide in the homes of so many of our neighbors—neighbors whose most priceless possession has been rendered as a sacrifice to redeem our liberty . . . If I could give you a single watchword for the coming months, that word is work, work, and more work. We must work to finish the war. Our victory is but half-won.”

  The woman cried. One of the men looked like he was about to do the same. For once, I wanted Berta to talk, but she was quieter than I’d ever thought she could be.

  I looked at Ricky, whose smile was about to crack his face before he spoke in a shaky voice. “Is it true? Is it over? Is the war over?”

  The grocer shook Ricky’s hand like he’d had something to do with it all. “Not officially, son. Not officially for us. But today there’s victory in Europe. It’s a matter of time for the rest.�
��

  I was happy the war was over, or almost over, and soon all the soldiers could come home, but I wanted an announcement to come on the radio telling me polio was over and Charlotte could come home.

  While they all patted each other on the back, I looked at a poster by the register. It had a picture of a woman with her sleeve rolled up and her arm bent like she was showing her muscle. The words We Can Do It! were written on top. Made me wish I had some of that confidence. I shook my head, not hearing someone sneak up beside me.

  “You just takin’ them eggs for a walk, or might ya want my daddy to buy ’em?” Berta stood next to me, laughing at her own joke. She was so dang confident all the time—I’ll bet she could have posed for that poster.

  I shook my head. “I didn’t want to bother your daddy, what with him celebrating and all.”

  She looked me up and down. “Aren’t you happy the war’s almost over? You don’t look happy.”

  At that moment, I was glad to see Ricky appear. ’Course, Berta was glad too. She smiled a smile that I thought was so big and forced it shouldn’t be called a smile. “Hi, Ricky!” she said as she put her hand on his shoulder, like she always did. “Isn’t that great news?”

  Ricky grinned back at her and nodded. “It is! It sure is.” They stood there smiling at each other for longer than seemed natural.

  But Berta couldn’t stay quiet for too long. “Maybe we should talk about this in our speech?”

  I’d been surprised that over the last month, the three of us had managed to get some good thoughts down about our heroes speech. I had to admit that Berta was pretty smart—but I also had to admit she sure liked letting us know it.

  Berta was talking in that voice of hers that’s always telling something, never asking. “I was practicing what we have—since I know I will be the one who presents it.” Ricky grinned at me while Berta kept right on talking. “But I’ve decided it seems a little slow . . . a little boring. I think we need to do something to make it different from everybody else’s speech.”