Turtle in Paradise

by Jennifer L. Holm

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Idjit,” Beans says.

  Mr. Edgit frowns at Beans and says to Aunt Minnie, “I’m a friend of Archie’s.”

  “Who’s Archie?” Aunt Minnie asks.

  I’m starting to get that bad feeling I always get right before one of Mama’s fellas stops coming around and breaks her heart.

  “The fella Mama’s dating,” I say.

  Aunt Minnie looks at me in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why are you here without your mother?”

  “Didn’t you get her letter?” I ask.

  “What letter? Did something happen to her?”

  “Say, Mr. Idjit,” Beans says loudly, “you been using that hair tonic on your arms, ’cause it’s sure coming in thick there!”

  It’s the final straw for Mr. Edgit. He drops my bag on the porch. The dog leaps back with a startled yelp.

  “I’ll leave you to your happy reunion, Turtle,” Mr. Edgit says with a huff, and marches down the lane to his automobile. He gets in, guns the engine, and screeches away.

  “So long, Mr. Idjit!” Beans calls, laughing.

  “Mama wrote you a letter,” I say. “She got a new job as a housekeeper, and Mrs. Budnick doesn’t like children.”

  “So she sent you to me?”

  “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  She looks shocked. “For how long?”

  “Until we can get a place of our own, I guess,” I say. “Or until she gets a new job where I can live with her.”

  But Aunt Minnie isn’t listening to me. “This is just like Sadiebelle. She never thinks. As if I don’t have enough already with three kids and a husband who’s never home.” She looks at Smokey. “And you brought a cat?”

  “Smokey’s a good mouser,” I say.

  “She’s good at being ugly, is what she is,” Beans says.

  From inside, a young voice calls: “Ma! I had an accident!”

  Aunt Minnie closes her eyes and rubs her forehead.

  “Ma!” the voice cries again.

  She turns on her heel, walking through the door without a backward glance.

  “Beans, help your cousin with her bag,” she calls over her shoulder.

  Then it’s just Beans and me and the animals.

  “Here,” Beans says with a mean smile, picking up my suitcase. “Let me help you with your bag, Tortoise.”

  He flips it over in one smooth movement, dumping my belongings onto the wooden porch in a heap and sending my paper dolls flying everywhere. Beans walks into the house, the dog running after him, and slams the door so hard it nearly falls off its hinges.

  3

  Lucky as an Orphan

  Folks like to feel sorry for orphans, but I think they’ve got it pretty good. Little Orphan Annie gets adopted by Daddy Warbucks, who’s a millionaire. That’s just about as lucky as it gets in my book.

  I bet she doesn’t have to worry about being sent to a house that’s tiny and dark and smells like sour milk. Daddy Warbucks probably has a nice big plump sofa for her to sit on, and a Persian rug for her to sink her toes into. Not a wicker couch that’s got a broken leg propped up with a bunch of rags and a worn braided wool rug that looks like something bad got spilled on it.

  Aunt Minnie is standing in the kitchen, scrubbing a pair of soiled pants. There’s a big basket in the corner, overflowing with laundry.

  “Where should I put my suitcase?” I ask.

  She glances at me, a harried look on her face. “The boys will have to share, I suppose. You can stay in Beans’s room. Upstairs and to the left.”

  I climb the set of narrow wooden stairs to what looks to be more of an attic than a proper second floor. There are two rooms at the top of the landing. The door to the right one is shut. I open the one on the left and peer inside.

  It’s a tiny room, with an odd-looking shuttered window, like a hatch, set deep in the sloping roof. There’s an iron bed and a small chest of drawers. One of the walls is covered with funny pages from newspapers—there’s Krazy Kat, Terry and the Pirates, Flash Gordon, and even some of my favorite, Little Orphan Annie.

  Smokey leaps out of my arms and starts sniffing at the floor. When we worked for the Talbots, our room was right next to the pantry. Mama and I would lie in bed in the dark and listen to the rats running around, searching for food. One night I woke up and there was one perched on my pillow, nibbling on my hair. I screamed so loud, Mama thought I was being murdered. After that, Mama got us Smokey, and she’s slept with me ever since.

  “Is that your cat?” a voice asks, and Smokey hisses. A little boy with a tuft of bright blond hair is standing there wearing a short-sleeved shirt and no underpants.

  “That’s Smokey,” I say.

  “What happened to him?”

  “Some boys lit her tail on fire,” I say.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “You talk funny,” he says, and looks down at my feet. “And you’re wearing shoes.”

  A boy with a pair of crooked glasses walks into the room, saying, “Beans, did you take my shooter? If you fed another marble of mine to the seagulls, I’m gonna tell Ma.” He stops his tirade when he sees me.

  “Who’re you?” he asks. He seems like he might be nine or maybe ten, but he’s on the thin side, and so he looks younger.

  “I’m Turtle.”

  “You a relation or a thief?” he asks.

  “What’s there to steal?” I say.

  “I’m Buddy!” the little boy interjects. “You want to play marbles with me?”

  Before I can answer, Aunt Minnie appears. She catches sight of the boy with the glasses and frowns.

  “Kermit, you get back in bed right now, do you hear me?” Aunt Minnie says.

  “But, Ma—” Kermit whines.

  “Doc Parrish said you are supposed to take a nap every day!”

  “But, Ma—”

  “Do you want your heart to give out? Do you want to die? Is that what you want?”

  “But I’m not tired!” he says.

  “I don’t care if you’re tired or not! Now get in that room and go to sleep before I kill you myself!” she shouts.

  Kermit marches out, saying, “I’ll take a nap, but I’m still not tired.”

  “I don’t have to take a nap anymore!” Buddy declares. “I’m four years old!”

  “For Pete’s sake, Buddy, go put on some pants,” Aunt Minnie says in an exasperated voice. “What is the matter with you, child?”

  The little boy runs out and Beans storms in, his dog right on his heels. Termite sees Smokey and starts barking. I grab my cat up and hold her out of the way.

  “What’s the big idea?” he says. “Why can’t she stay with the little pests?”

  “Beans, get Termite out of here,” Aunt Minnie says.

  Kermit pokes his head back in. “Beans ain’t sleeping with us, Ma. No way, no how!”

  “Get in bed, Kermit!” Aunt Minnie says.

  Buddy comes flying back in. He’s got pants on now, but it looks like they’re on backward.

  “Why should Termite go?” Beans argues. “He was here first! Make her ugly cat take a hike!”

  “Smokey can sleep with me!” Buddy says, and snatches her out of my arms. Smokey hisses in fear, swiping at Buddy’s nose.

  “Ow!” the little boy cries, and drops Smokey.

  The next thing I know, Termite’s chasing Smokey around the tiny room, barking his head off, and Buddy’s wailing about his nose, and Beans is hollering at Termite to get Smokey, and Kermit is saying there’s no way he’s sharing a room with Beans again, considering what happened last time, and the whole while Aunt Minnie just stands there, her mouth growing tighter and tighter like a rubber band, until finally, she snaps and hollers: “That’s it! You kids get out of this house and take those animals with you before I smack every last one of you!”

  And that’s how I find myself sitting on the front porch with Beans, Kermit, Buddy, Smokey, a
nd Termite.

  “Don’t come back inside until I say so!” Aunt Minnie shouts. She slams the door after her, muttering, “Honestly, this is what I get for kissing a Curry.”

  Smokey darts to safety under the house, and Termite waddles over to the lane looking forlorn.

  Kermit is positively beaming at his good fortune. “Well, that’s one way to get out of a nap,” he says.

  “Aren’t you a little old for naps?”

  I ask. “I had rheumatic fever, and now I’ve got a weak heart,” Kermit says.

  “Kermit almost died!” Buddy exclaims.

  “Really?” I ask.

  “And guess what? He said I could have all his marbles when he was dead,” Buddy says, and then his face falls. “But then he went and lived.”

  “Sorry about that, Buddy,” Kermit says.

  “That’s okay,” Buddy says. “I’ll get your marbles the next time you die!”

  “Won’t be too soon for me,” Beans says.

  A boy with black hair and bare feet comes whizzing down the lane on a battered bike. I haven’t seen a pair of shoes on a single kid yet.

  “Hey, Pork Chop,” Beans says.

  “Who’s she?” the boy asks, looking at me.

  “Aw, just some freeloading cousin from New Jersey,” Beans says.

  “Pork Chop?” I say.

  Kermit shrugs. “Pork Chop and Beans. They just go together.”

  Across the street, a wiry-looking older man with slicked-back graying hair walks out the front door of a house not much bigger than this one.

  “Well, if it ain’t the Diaper Gang,” the man drawls.

  “Hi, Jelly!” Buddy says. “You want to play marbles with me?”

  “Sorry, Buddy,” Jelly says, and reaches into his back pocket to pull out a beat-up-looking letter. He holds it out to Beans. I recognize the flowery handwriting at once. It’s the letter from Mama.

  “Mr. Gardner delivered it to me by mistake. Been delivering mail for twenty years now and he still can’t keep the Currys straight,” he says. He looks at me. “Got yourself a new member, I see.”

  Beans thumbs at me. “You mean her? She’s not in the gang. No girls allowed.”

  “You’ve got a club called the Diaper Gang?” I say. “What do you do? Change diapers?”

  All the boys turn to look at me as if I’m dumb as a post.

  “Course we change diapers,” Beans says. “That’s why we’re called the Diaper Gang.”

  I shake my head in disbelief.

  Kermit explains. “We watch babies. Bad ones.”

  “Bad babies?”

  “The crying kind,” Pork Chop says.

  “You get paid?” I ask.

  “In candy,” Beans says.

  “And we got rules,” Pork Chop says with authority.

  “Oooh! Oooh!” Buddy says. “I know the rules!” He squishes up his face, thinking hard. “Uh, uh, uh, uh, let me see. Number one is, it’s, uh, um, I think it’s, uh—”

  Beans cuts him off. “First rule of the Diaper Gang is you gotta know the rules, Buddy.”

  “But I’m only four!” Buddy cries in frustration. “My head can’t hold that many things!”

  “What are the rules?” I ask.

  Kermit ticks them off. “No girls allowed. Keep your rag clean. Always duck. And never tell anyone the secret formula.”

  “You got a secret formula?” I ask.

  Kermit says, “For diaper rash.”

  “Cures it like that,” Pork Chop says, snapping his fingers.

  “You know how many mothers on this island want our secret formula?” Beans asks.

  All three boys answer in unison: “Every last one.”

  Jelly scratches at his chin, where there’s a raw red patch of skin. “You think your formula will work on this? Nicked myself shaving.”

  “Works on everything, Jelly,” Beans says. “But it’ll cost you.”

  “I’m good for it, Beans.”

  “Cash only.”

  “But I’m your cousin!” Jelly says.

  “Who ain’t on this island?” Beans says, setting his cap low over his eyes. “Sorry, Jelly. Business is business.”

  “You’re pretty hard for an eleven-year-old, Beans,” Jelly says, shaking his head.

  “Gotta be hard to handle bad babies,” Beans says.

  “You ever take care of good babies?” I ask.

  “Ain’t no such thing,” he declares.

  Kermit grins. “That’s why we’re always in business.”

  4

  The Conch Telegraph

  Lots of folks go to bed hungry these days. I’ve heard of men fighting over scraps in garbage cans and about that lady who taught her kids to steal milk.

  Because Mama works in rich folks’ homes, we’ve had it better than most. But after looking at what Aunt Minnie sets in front of me for breakfast, I start thinking that going hungry might not be that bad after all.

  I stare at my plate. There’s a piece of thick toast with something green and slimy smeared on top of it.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Alligator pear on Cuban bread.” Aunt Minnie purses her lips. “I don’t cater to fussy children.”

  I pick it up and take a bite. It tastes a lot better than it looks.

  “I read the letter from your mother. She says she’s planning on marrying this Archie fella.” Aunt Minnie raises an eyebrow. “He planning on marrying her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s he do?” Aunt Minnie asks.

  “He’s a salesman,” I say.

  “Is he nice? Is he good to her?”

  “He bought me these shoes.”

  Aunt Minnie crosses her arms. “I spent my whole childhood taking care of Sadiebelle, and here I am taking care of you now. I sure hope you have more sense than her.”

  I’m not sure how I feel about her saying Mama doesn’t have sense, so I change the subject. “May I have a glass of milk, please?” I ask, and she says, “Help yourself.”

  I get a glass down off a shelf and open the icebox. A scary, insectlike creature with a pointy tail scuttles out, waving mean little claws, and I jump back. Termite starts barking but keeps his distance.

  “Scorpion, Ma!” Beans says.

  Aunt Minnie picks up a rolling pin from the counter and brings it down hard on the scorpion.

  Kermit looks at me. “They like to hide in dark places.”

  “Like shoes,” Aunt Minnie says pointedly, staring at my feet.

  “I know,” I say. “Mama warned me to shake them out before I put them on.”

  “She must remember the time she didn’t shake hers out,” Aunt Minnie says. She takes a dustpan and sweeps up the dead scorpion, and then walks out of the room.

  “What’s an alligator pear, anyhow?” I ask.

  “Are all kids from New Jersey as dumb as you?” Beans asks.

  “That’s an alligator pear,” Kermit says, pointing to a bowl of avocados.

  “That’s an avocado,” I say. One of the rich ladies we worked for liked them in her salad.

  “What does this Archie sell, anyway?” Beans asks.

  “Encyclopedias,” I say.

  “Encyclopedias? To who?”

  “Dumb kids like you, who don’t know what an avocado is,” I say.

  The front door slams open, and Pork Chop comes walking down the hall into the kitchen.

  “Ready, pal?” Pork Chop asks.

  “Ready,” Beans replies, smoothing back his hair and slapping his cap on. Kermit stands up.

  “Can I come?” Buddy asks.

  “Course you can’t come, Buddy,” says Beans.

  Aunt Minnie walks back into the kitchen and groans at the overflowing basket of clothes in the corner. “Take Buddy with you. Turtle, too. I don’t want children underfoot. I need to finish all this laundry today or Mrs. Cardillo won’t pay me.”

  Beans frowns.

  “Hot dog!” Buddy says.

  Outside, the heat hits me
like a slap in the face. Kermit disappears around the side of the house and returns a moment later with a load of old quilts, then piles them in the wagon.

  We start walking down the sleepy lane. Kermit pulls the wagon and Buddy dawdles, stopping every few minutes to pick up stones.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “We got Pudding today,” Kermit says.

  We stop by a small house that has a tree with blooming red flowers in front of it. The sound of a baby crying rings out an open window. Beans knocks on the door. It opens and I see the source of the racket: a bald, fat, red-faced baby being held by his tired mother.

  “Morning, Mrs. Lowe,” Beans says.

  “Oh, Beans,” the woman says. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see someone!”

  “How’s he doing?” Beans asks.

  “I swear he didn’t sleep more than five minutes last night! He’s teething real bad.”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Lowe. We’ll take care of him,” Beans says.

  “I just fed him,” she says, and then practically tosses the crying baby into Beans’s hands. She gives Pork Chop a small stack of cloth diapers and goes back inside.

  Beans sticks the baby in the wagon on top of the quilts, and we start moving again. The baby’s crying his head off like he’s being tortured.

  “What’s wrong with him?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” Beans says. “Pudding’s the worst baby we’ve ever had.”

  “It’s his mother’s fault,” Pork Chop explains. “She spoils him. Picks him up every time he cries.”

  “You gotta let a baby be,” Kermit says.

  “That’s why we don’t let girls in the gang,” Beans says. “Girls always want to pick up babies.”

  “Not me,” I say. I don’t like babies. They’re like Shirley Temple: everyone thinks they’re cute, but the fact is they’re annoying. All they do is cry and make messy diapers.

  Pudding is crying furiously, kicking his little feet.

  “Time to wrap him up, fellas,” Beans announces with authority.

  If the Diaper Gang were an army, then Beans would be the general, and Pork Chop his lieutenant. Which means all the grunt work is left for poor Kermit.

  “Blanket!” Pork Chop orders, and Kermit lays a thin blanket on the ground.