Love, Ruby Lavender

by Deborah Wiles

  * * *

  August 1

  Dear Ruby Darlin',

  I got off the bus from Jackson, and there wasn't a soul in town—they were all at the operetta! So I bustled myself over there and watched from the shadows. I saw what you did for Melba. Ruby, I am proud to know you.

  If you have missed me half as much as I've missed you, I hope you'll come straight to the Pink Palace when you get this note. I am parching some peanuts and laying out 732 photographs to be put in photo albums. Isn't THAT a lucky number. It's the luckiest number yet.

  I have stories to tell! Bring Dove. Tell Melba to bring me my hat, and I'll trade her a pair of flip-flops. I got flip-flops for everybody! Miss Mattie is going to get a shipment of 400 pairs of flip-flops next week! Won't she be thrilled! I know I'm thrilled to be home. Hurry and come see me!

  Love,

  your (still) favorite grandmother,

  Miss Eula

  * * *

  27

  Ruby sat down with a thud. Suddenly her heart felt too large for her chest, like someone had pulled a plug and whoosh!—her heart had expanded, filled with ... something. The feeling rose up her neck and stung the back of her throat—tears! She slapped her hand to her chest and tried a calm breath, but it didn't work—her feelings swept over her like a wave, and one sob turned into two, and three, and then the dam broke and Ruby just let it come.

  Tears made puddles all over the pink note, and Ruby cried until she had no tears left. Rosebud squatted a few inches away from Ruby and eyed her. Ruby wiped her nose with her shirtsleeve and reached for Rosebud to hug her. The chicken squawked and freed herself. She strutted a few feet away, settled again, and clucked, watching Ruby. "Silly chicken." Ruby hiccuped. "You follow me everywhere! I told you I was coming back." She laughed at her own joke, and her laughter hitched in her throat.

  She wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands. She shuddered all over and took a deep breath. She folded the note and shoved it into her front overalls pocket. "Miss Eula's home." A sweet feeling spread warmly from Ruby's heart, down her arms, into her fingertips.

  "Life does go on, Rosebud," she whispered. She brushed her wild red hair out of her face. "I mean, look at you. I rescued your mother and now here you are, watching me cry." She giggled at a new thought. "You're a pretty good friend ... for a chicken."

  She scooped up her friend and squeezed her tight. Rosebud screeched and Ruby laughed and re-leased her. "Let's go, girl!" she shouted. Then she ran, Rosebud scrabbling behind her. She ran along the lane, over the bridge, up the hill, and on toward the Pink Palace.

  A Reading Group Guide

  (Especially for grandmothers and granddaughters inspired by Ruby and Miss Eula, Chicken Liberators of the Highest Order)

  Questions to Cluck About

  Grandpa Garnet told Ruby that people are like lemon drops, "sour and sweet together." What did he mean? What is sour and sweet about Ruby? Miss Eula? Melba Jane?

  Miss Eula is known for the motto Life does go on. What do you think she means?

  Ruby and Melba Jane each experience the loss of a loved one, but each of them deals with that loss differently. How does Ruby handle it? Melba Jane? In what ways could they have helped each other? Who helps you when you are sad?

  Miss Mattie comforts Ruby by telling her, "This family is full of strong women who know how to laugh." Explain how humor helps Ruby and Miss Eula deal with their sadness. How have you used humor to help you get through tough times?

  "We're all different and we're all the same." Or at least, that's what Dove says. How are Ruby and Melba Jane different from each other? How are they alike? What can they learn from each other? In what ways did the attack on the chickens Change Ruby and Melba Jane?

  Both Ruby and Melba Jane become friends with Dove. How can differences in interests and personalities strengthen friendships? In what ways can new friends affect old friendships? Do any of the friendships in Love, Ruby Lavender make you see your own friendships differently?

  Both Melba Jane and Ruby hold grudges against each other. What are the dangers of grudges? Have you ever had a conflict with a friend? What did you do in that situation? Would you handle it differently now?

  Ruby looks to Miss Eula for comfort, security, and love. Why does Ruby send her grandmother chicken updates even though she thinks Miss Eula has abandoned her for some new (smelly!) baby? Has Miss Eula really abandoned Ruby?

  Things To Do

  Ruby drew a map of Halleluia. She included the silver maple tree and the spot where she and Miss Eula saved Ivy, Bemmie, and Bess. Why has Ruby drawn these places on her map? Draw a map of your own town or neighborhood. What special landmarks would you include? Why?

  The responses Ruby writes on Mr. Ishee's questionnaire reveal a lot about her. On a piece of paper, write your own responses to the questionnaire, as if Mr. Ishee had sent it to you. Share your answers with the group. Discuss one new thing you learned about someone in your group.

  Ruby gives a lot of free advice. What advice would you offer someone about getting along with friends?

  Ruby and Miss Eula have their own secret mailbox, and they send letters between Hawaii and Halleluia instead of phoning each other. Why is letter writing so important to them? Send a letter to someone older than you—to a relative, a family friend, or a neighbor. What will you tell them? What will you ask that person? What might you send along with your letter?

  Imagine this was Melba Jane's story instead of Ruby's. How might Melba describe Ruby? What would she reveal about her own feelings? Write a letter that Melba Jane might send to her own grandmother.

  Mr. Ishee's Fourth Grade

  September Something (I forget, exactly)

  Author Interview: Deborah Wiles

  By: Ruby Garnet Lavender (against her will)

  Pee Ess to Mr. Ishee: I protest. Is the whole entire YEAR going to be like this? Project after project? Mama tells me I have to do this assignment. She says I will learn a lot. I think I will learn that chickens are more interesting than authors. Still, I think this author wrote a pretty good book, for a grown-up. So here is my project.

  Ruby Lavender (RGL): Hello, Deborah Wiles. I have chosen you for my author interview school project. The problem is, I can't find information about you in the library, so I am wondering if this means you are not too interesting, (you would fit right in, here in Halleluia, Mississippi.) Maybe I should have chosen someone else....

  Deborah Wiles (DW): Hi, Ruby! I'm glad you chose me. I'm sorry you haven't been able to find much information. That's because Love, Ruby Lavender is my first novel. I am a new author, but I have been writing and telling my story for many years. Rubu is part of my story.

  RGL: YOUR story? I thought it was My story!

  DW: It's your story, of course. But what happens to you and Miss Eula and Melba Jane and Dove is made up. The details are real-they come from my life and are part of my story.

  RGL: How is that? I mean, you don't live in the Pink Palace, and you don't have a chicken named Bemmie ... do you? If you do, check for blue feet. Bemmie is always running off—I'll bet you've got my chicken! Wait, let me go check the chicken house—

  DW: no, no, I don't have a chicken, but I had a wacky grandmother named Eula, and she lived in a little Mississippi town, and I visited her there every summer. There was a town store, owned by Mr. Jeff, who always gave me lemon drops. My aunt Mitt had a beautiful flower garden, and my great-grandmother, nanny, had the world's most fabulous vegetable garden. The postmistress realty was named Dot. And ... I had great-great aunts named Bess and Bemmie!

  RGL: you turned your AUNTS into CHICKENS?

  DW: yes! They were very old when I knew them and I thought they looked like chickens! you can take any detail of your life and put it into your stories.

  RGL: I wonder if Miss Mattie would make a good chicken. What other details of your life did you put into Love, Ruby Lavender? Did your Miss Eula really go to Hawaii?

  DW: yes, she did. I lived in Hawaii whe
n my dad. was stationed there in the Air Force, and my grandmother came to visit us when my baby sister was born. The sugar-sand beach and the volcano that Miss Eula talks about in her letters-l remember them well. I also remember laughing a lot with my grandmother, so I wrote about that, too.

  RGL: I love how Miss Eula and Ruby (that's me) laugh together and love each other so much.

  DW: Me, too. My grandmother loved me just like Miss Eula loves you, so I know what that love feels like. And I know what it feels like to love someone fiercely, and to be so angry you could hurt someone, to be sad, disappointed, forgiven ... I write about feelings a lot—they are important to me.

  RGL: I'd rather read about root beer floats! Mr. Ishee makes the best root beer floats-fizzy and smooth and cold-just right. I want one now!

  DW: Mmmmm ... me, too. Remember how hot it was the day Mr. Ishee made those floats? And remember the rainstorm that swirled the dust everywhere? I try to use all my senses when I write. I ask myself, What did my world sound like, smell like, feel like, look like, taste like? All the food in Love. Rubu Lavender is food I loved as a child, all the—

  RGL: Zucchini? you loved zucchini? Excuse me, but you were a strange child.

  DW: Probably! I was an observer, too, like Dove. I listened to people, and I paid attention to small details. The black-eyed Susans, the zucchini, the beans in Miss Mattie's store, the way the bees buzz around the honeysuckle ... I remember vividly all the details of growing up in a small Southern town, and I wanted to capture those details on paper. Details make your story special.

  RGL: Well, I don't think there is anything special about zucchini, or the dusty floor in Miss Mattie's store—the floor I have to sweep, by the way. I do like writing letters, though. There are lots of letters in Love. Rubu Lavender.

  DW: I think you can tell your story in letters, too. It's another way to let someone know about you. Ruby (that's you) reveals a lot about her world through her letters, don't you think?

  RGL: I sure do. I am not called a blabbermouth for nothin'.

  DW: I didn't know you were called a blabbermouth! That's news to me.

  RGL: I can also tell you the name of Bemmie's new chick, if you want to know it.

  DW: I would love to know! Tell me.

  RGL: The new chick is a HE. A rooster, named Elvis.

  DW: Elvis! What a great name!

  RGL: I have good naming skills. And good free advice. Like right now I can tell you that if I were you, I would have made sure that Ruby didn't have to do an author interview for a school project. I would have her go fishing instead.

  DW: Would you rather be fishing right now?

  RGL: I'd rather be doing just about anything else right now.

  DW: Well, I'm ready to go, if you've got all the information you need for your project. It's been fun visiting with you for a few minutes. I hope we can do it again sometime.

  RGL: Come to the Pink Palace after work—you can meet Elvis. He is red-feathered and musically talented. He screeches in all keys, day and night. He crows right through my dictionary reading. Rosebud runs in circles around him and swoons. Miss Eula says Elvis has got to stop "being so enthusiastic" or she's gonna have to think about eating chicken again.

  DIM: She's kidding, right?

  RGL: Right. But it's a good STORY, isn't it? Good garden of peas! Did you see that?

  DW: What?

  RGL: That was Bemmie! And Herman! Look at them, running off! I've got to go! Thanks for the interview!

  Each Little Bird That Sings

  Look for the next hilarious and heartfelt coming-of-age novel by Deborah Wiles:

  Ten-year-old Comfort Snowberger has attended 247 funerals. But that's not surprising, considering that her family runs the town funeral home. And even though Great-uncle Edisto keeled over with a heart attack and Great-great-aunt Florentine dropped dead—just like that—six months later, Comfort knows how to deal with loss, or so she thinks. She's more concerned with avoiding her crazy cousin Peach and trying to figure out why her best friend, Declaration, suddenly won't talk to her. Life is full of surprises. And the biggest one of all is learning what it takes to handle them.

  Turn the page to read the first chapter of this extraordinary new book!

  Chapter 1

  I come from a family with a lot of dead people.

  Great-uncle Edisto keeled over with a stroke on a Saturday morning after breakfast last March. Six months later, Great-great-aunt Florentine died—just like that—in the vegetable garden. And, of course, there are all the dead people who rest temporarily downstairs, until they go off to the Snapfinger Cemetery. I'm related to them, too. Uncle Edisto always told me, "Everybody's kin, Comfort."

  Downstairs at Snowberger's, my daddy deals with death by misadventure, illness, and natural causes galore. Sometimes I ask him how somebody died. He tells me, then he says, "It's not how you die that makes the important impression, Comfort; it's how you live. Now go live awhile, honey, and let me get back to work." But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me back up. I'll start with Great-uncle Edisto and last March, since that death involves me—I witnessed it.

  It was March 27, the first day of Easter vacation. I had just finished deviling eggs in the upstairs kitchen. Uncle Edisto and I were planning the first picnic of spring. My best friend, Declaration Johnson, would be joining us. I was sitting at the kitchen table, scarfing down my Chocolate Buzz Krispies. Uncle Edisto licked the end of his pencil and scribbled onto the crossword puzzle in the Aurora County News. Daddy and Mama were working. Great-great-aunt Florentine had just sneaked her ritual piece of bacon from the paper-toweled rack by the stove.

  "I'm off to the garden, darlin's!" she said. "I feel a need to sing to the peas!" She kissed Great-uncle Edisto's head. He looked up from his crossword puzzle and sang—to the tune of "Oh! Susanna"—"Oh, Peas-Anna! Don't you cry for me..." I laughed with my mouth full of cereal. Aunt Florentine blew me a kiss, then she drifted out of the room, singing to herself: "For I come from Mississippi with a Moon Pie on my knee!"

  '"Moon Pie'!" said Uncle Edisto, poising his pencil over the crossword puzzle. "That's it! Twenty-four across!"

  The sky had been clouding up all morning, but I was ignoring all signs of rain. A grumble of thunder brought my dog, Dismay, to the kitchen, where he shoved himself at my feet under the table, pressed his shaggy black body against my legs, and shuddered.

  "Oh, now, doggie!" said Great-uncle Edisto, peering under the table at Dismay. "You don't have to worry about no thunder! It's a beautiful day, for a pic-a-nic!" Uncle Edisto was always optimistic. "Yessir," he said, smiling at me, "a pic-a-nic at Listening Rock should be just about perfect today!"

  Then—Craaaack! went the thunder. Sizzle! went the lightning. And Boom! ... The sky opened wide and rain sheared down like curtains.

  Dismay scrambled for my lap, bobbling the kitchen table on his back.

  "Whoa, doggie!" called Great-uncle Edisto. He steadied the table as Dismay yelped and tried to get out from under the table and onto me.

  "Down, Dismay!" I shouted. Milk sloshed out of my bowl, and I made a mighty push-back in my chair. Dismay's toenails clawed my legs and his thick coat crammed itself into my nose as my chair tipped sideways with me and Dismay in it. "Umpgh!" The air left my body. My Snowberger's baseball cap popped right off my head. And there I was, lying on the kitchen floor with a sixty-five-pound dog in my face. He stuck his shaggy snout into my neck and shivered. An obituary headline flashed into my mind: Local Girl, 10, Done In by Storm and Petrified Pet!

  Into the middle of all this commotion clomped my little sister, Merry, wearing Mama's high heels and a red slip that pooled around her feet. I peeked at her from under my dog blanket. As soon as she saw me, her eyebrows popped high and her mouth rounded into a tiny O of surprise.

  "Dead!" she said.

  "No," I said. I spit out dog hair. It was fine and silky and tasted like the cow pond.

  "You all right, Comfort?" Great-uncle Edisto towered over me. He w
ore fat blue suspenders, and I could smell his old-person-after-shaving smell.

  "I'm okay."

  My head hurt. My plans were ruined. My dog was overwrought. But other than that, I was fine.

  "Fumfort!" chirped Merry.

  "Move, Dismay!" I pushed at him, but Dismay was glued to me like Elmer's. He gave my face three quick licks with his wet tongue, as if to say, Yep, it's thunder! Yep, it's thunder!! Yep, it's thunder!!!

  Merry turned herself around and stomped out of the kitchen, singing, to the tune of "Jingle Bells": "Fumfort dead, Fumfort dead, Fumfort dead away!"

  Downstairs the front doors slammed, and my older brother, Tidings, who had been painting the fence by the front parking lot, yelled, "Attention, all personnel! Where are the big umbrellas! I need rain cover!"

  Dismay immediately detached himself from me and scuttled for the grand front staircase to find Tidings, who was bigger than I was and who offered more protection.

  I gazed at the ceiling and took stock of the situation. One: It was raining hard. There went my picnic. Two: Best friend or not, Declaration would not come over in the rain—she didn't like to get wet. There went my plans. Three: I didn't have a three, but if I thought about it long enough, I would.

  Great-uncle Edisto extended a knobby hand to me and winced as he pulled me to my feet. He gave me my baseball cap, and I used both hands to pull it back onto my head.

  "You're gettin' to be a big girl," he said. He picked up the newspaper, tucked his pencil behind his ear, and looked out at the downpour. His voice took on a thoughtful tone. "The rain serves us."

  Great-uncle Edisto always talked like that. Everything, even death, served us, according to him. Everything had a grand purpose, and there was nothing amiss in the universe; it was our job to adjust to whatever came our way. I didn't get it.

  "We can have us some deviled eggs and tuner-fish sandwiches right here in the kitchen, Comfort," he went on. "Or, we can try another day for that pic-a-nic."