Posey narrowed her eyes and looked Banjo up and down, from his stringy hair to the cast on his foot. “You don’t look much better than you did yesterday,” she said.
Banjo leaned on his crutches and scowled at her. “Look,” he snapped. “Don’t you know better than to pick a fight with a one-footed man? I’m not feeling very sociable right now.” He looked forlornly down at his cast.
“What’d you come back here for?” Posey poked a finger at him. “And where do you live, anyway?”
Banjo lowered his bad foot to the ground and winced. “Gol-dern it, missy! Can’t you see—”
“My name is Posey.”
Banjo squinted at her. “That so?”
He looked over at Posey and Evalina’s house. “Where’s that angel lady?”
Posey rolled her eyes and let out a little puff of air that blew her thin hair off her forehead. “If you’re talking about Evalina, I can guarantee you she’s no angel.”
Just then Evalina came out onto her porch, raising her eyebrows. “What’s going on?” she asked.
Banjo stopped and stared dreamy-eyed up at her. He lifted one crutch off the ground and did a little half bow toward her.
“I am Jubilation T. Fairweather, otherwise known as Banjo, sending a most hearty greeting to you, the fairest angel these tired old eyes have ever had the good fortune to feast upon.”
Posey made a gagging sound and said, “Oh, puh-leeze!”
Banjo hobbled toward Evalina with Walter, Posey, and Porkchop following him.
When he got to the porch, he dropped onto the bottom step with a grunt and said, “Allow me to explain my presence.”
Posey cocked her head at Walter and said, “This oughta be good.”
NINE
Posey and Walter sat on the steps and Evalina lowered herself onto the porch swing.
Banjo cleared his throat. “I’ll give y’all the short version and save the long version for a starry night on that porch swing up yonder.”
He looked at Evalina and winked, making Posey shake her head.
Banjo gave his mustache a twirl. “I’ll begin the short version with the origin of my name, Banjo,” he said. “I have five older brothers who were mean as snakes and picked on me every minute of the day.” He stopped and ducked his head at Walter and Posey. “Picked on me,” he said. “Banjo? Get it?”
Walter grinned. “Oh yeah! I get it! Picking on a banjo!”
Banjo chuckled. “My dear departed mama named me that.” He put his hand over his heart. “May she rest in everlasting peace for all eternity.”
Posey stared at Banjo with a most unimpressed look, but Evalina nodded and placed her hand over her heart, too, while pushing the swing with her bare foot on the warped boards of the porch.
“Anyway,” Banjo continued, “them five mean brothers of mine stayed on the family farm over in Claxton. But me? I hightailed it outta there as soon as I was old enough to have a couple of nickels in my overalls, and have lived a life of blessed peace and solitude over in Pine Mountain ever since.” He paused to look at each of them with an expression of proud contentment. “In a humble dwelling made with these very hands,” he continued, waving his scratched-up hands in the air. “Not too far from this lovely abode, I might add.”
Evalina chuckled, but Posey said, “Are you getting to the point anytime soon?”
Banjo gave his mustache another twirl and continued. “To keep my mind sharp and my hands busy, I have been working on a project that I call Banjo’s Bodacious Adventure.”
Walter widened his eyes and looked at Posey, but she examined her fingernails and faked a yawn.
“What’s the bodacious adventure?” Walter asked.
“I’m glad you asked,” Banjo said. He took a deep breath. “I have spent many a day making and perfecting the world’s most beautiful and, I am certain, the world’s fastest hot-air balloon.”
Posey’s mouth dropped open and she whirled around to look at Walter, whose mouth had dropped open, too.
“Whoa!” Walter said. Hot-air balloon? He felt excitement zipping and zapping through him. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected that.
“You heard me right,” Banjo said. “The world’s fastest hot-air balloon.”
Posey lifted her eyebrows. “World’s fastest?” she said.
Banjo cocked his head at her. “Why, is that doubt I see swirling around you?” He leaned forward and spoke softly. “Hear my story, Miss Posey, and you will shed your doubt like a snake sheds his skin.” Then he sat up straight and lifted a finger in the air. “First,” he continued, “I became a proud and valued member of the Macon County Hot-Air Balloon Society, where I learned everything there is to know about hot-air balloons. Then I made myself a balloon with a heavy-duty sewing machine I bought when a textile mill closed down near Atlanta. Every color of the rainbow with silver stars and golden moons. Assembled every piece of that balloon with love and care. I named my balloon Starcatcher.” He clutched his heart and sighed. “I’ve been ticking off the days on my calendar until the Macon County Key Grab over in Oakley.”
“What’s a key grab?” Walter asked.
“A key grab, young man, is a competition in which hot-air balloons race to a very tall pole,” Banjo explained. “On top of that pole are the keys to a shiny new pickup truck, which I, Jubilation T. Fairweather, am destined to win.” He nodded knowingly at Walter. “Unfortunately, I have run into a slight obstacle to my destiny,” he added, glancing down at the cast on his foot. “A most unfortunate accident occurred. I took my big, beautiful balloon out for a test ride. I drifted along up there in the Georgia sky and life was good, but in a blink the weather took a turn for the worse. A mighty gust of wind came out of nowhere and like to knocked me cross-eyed. And then that balloon began to drift toward the river.”
Walter and Posey leaned in a little closer. Evalina sat still on the swing with her hands in her lap.
“Closer and closer it got to the river,” Banjo said. “And then—” He stopped for a second or two and let the drama swirl around them a bit. “And then,” he continued, “something went awry and that precious balloon of mine began to drop. Down, down, down toward the river. I watched that water get closer and closer and, try as I might, I was unable to control my beloved Starcatcher.”
Banjo shook his head and let out a big sigh.
Walter waited.
Posey waited.
Evalina waited.
Porkchop thumped his tail against the porch steps.
“Now, I’m here to tell you that I am blessed with many fine talents, skills, and abilities,” Banjo continued, “but swimming ain’t one of them.” He nodded slowly. “You heard correctly. I, Jubilation T. Fairweather, cannot swim.”
Posey crossed her arms. “And?”
“I knew I had but two choices as that balloon drifted down toward the river,” Banjo said.
Walter took a breath and held it, his eyes wide.
Posey bounced up and down. “What two choices?” she said.
Banjo looked at Posey.
Then at Walter.
Then up at Evalina.
“Jump or die,” he said. “Jump or die.”
Walter let his breath out with a whoosh.
Banjo nodded. “You heard me right. Jump or die.”
“I don’t get it,” Posey said. “Seems to me like you’d die either way.”
“Wrong.” Banjo leaned closer to Posey. “I was quite certain I had a better chance of jumping into them woods and living to tell the tale than crashing into the river, where I would surely have perished, never to return to this blessed earth again.”
“So what happened?” Walter asked.
“That balloon continued to drop,” Banjo said. “Down, down, down.”
“Holy cow,” Walter said.
“Lordy May,” Evalina said.
“So you jumped,” Posey said.
Banjo winked at her. “That I did, Miss Posey. That I did.”
He picked up a stic
k by the porch steps and used it to scratch an itch somewhere inside that big blue cast on his foot.
He smiled at Evalina. “Ain’t it funny how things happen like that. One minute I’m preparing for the possibility of meeting Saint Peter at the pearly gates and the next thing I know an angel right here on earth is giving me liver-mush sandwiches.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Posey said. “You left out the best part of the story.”
“And what might that be?” Banjo asked.
“Where’s that balloon?”
Banjo jabbed a finger at Posey. “That, missy, is precisely why I have returned to this little slice of heaven.” He swept his arms out with a flourish. “To find my balloon.”
TEN
Banjo huffed and puffed and grunted and groaned as he and Walter and Posey made their way through the woods with Porkchop racing ahead on his three short legs. Every now and then they came to a fallen tree or a patch of brambles and Banjo let a few cusswords fly.
Walter walked slowly so as not to leave Banjo behind, but Posey charged ahead, following the narrow path they had used when they had come upon Banjo by the sweet gum tree. If they could find that exact spot, then maybe they could figure out which direction the balloon had continued in and how far it might have gone before it landed.
“Slow down, missy!” Banjo hollered.
“No!” Posey hollered back.
Banjo gave Walter a sympathetic look. “You sure got yourself one bossy girlfriend,” he said, wiping sweat off the back of his neck with a dirty handkerchief.
“Um, she’s not my girlfriend.”
“That a fact?”
“Yessir.”
“What in tarnation happened to that yappy little dog of hers? I ain’t seen a three-legged dog since I used to hunt rabbits with my uncle Tater.”
Before Walter could answer, Posey yelled from the woods, “Here it is!”
Walter raced ahead, with Banjo hobbling and wheezing behind him.
When Walter reached Posey, she nodded toward Porkchop, who was sniffing like crazy in the leaves and pine needles. “That’s where Banjo landed.” Then she pointed and said, “Pine Mountain is that way.” She pointed in the opposite direction. “And the river is that way.”
Walter squinted in the direction she pointed. “Are you sure? I thought Pine Mountain was that way.”
Banjo suddenly arrived in the clearing, panting and grumbling.
Porkchop stopped sniffing and let out a deep-throated growl.
“Now hold on a gol-dern minute, you two,” Banjo said. “Let me get my bearings. And keep that angry mutt away from me.”
Posey crossed her arms. “Porkchop only bites when I tell him to,” she said. “And geography happens to be one of my specialties.”
Walter raised his eyebrows, and Banjo went, “Ha!”
“Do either one of y’all know what the geographical center of the United States is?” Posey asked.
Banjo looked at Walter. “Don’t answer that,” he said. “It’s liable to be a trick question.”
Posey put her arms straight down by her sides, lifted her chin, and said, “Lots of people think the geographical center of the United States is in the eastern part of Smith County, Kansas. Latitude 39 degrees, 50 minutes. Longitude 98 degrees, 35 minutes. Because there’s a sign there that says it is.” She looked smugly from Walter to Banjo. “But after Alaska became a state in 1959, the center is actually in South Dakota.”
“Oh, good grief and grits,” Banjo mumbled.
“Nuggets of Knowledge?” Walter asked.
Posey nodded. “Yep.”
Banjo dropped his crutches and lowered himself to the ground with a grunt, his now-dirty cast stretched out in front of him. “I hate to say it, son,” he said to Walter, “but I think your friend is right. Pine Mountain is thata way. The river is thata way. So if y’all go on through them woods down yonder in that direction, I figure you should arrive at the area where my balloon oughta be in about a half hour or so.”
Posey’s face turned red and that heart-shaped birthmark grew deep dark purple. “You’re out of your ever-loving mind if you think Walter and me are gonna traipse through those woods for half an hour to find your balloon,” she said. “Right, Walter?”
Walter didn’t want to be rude to Banjo, but he had to agree with Posey. Even though he wanted to find that balloon more than anything, leaving the path and traipsing through those thick woods to the river didn’t sound like much fun. He nodded at Posey and gave Banjo an apologetic look.
“Besides,” Walter said, “if that balloon landed in the river, it’s liable to be halfway to Florida by now.”
Banjo shook his head. “Then I don’t know what this world is coming to when two able-bodied young folks can’t help an injured and hobbling gentleman find his most treasured possession. His dream of a lifetime. The product of his blood, sweat, and tears for nigh on two years.” He shook his head and looked sadly up at the sky. “Just when I thought I’d found two kind souls to help me fulfill my dream, reality comes crashing down around me. There is no goodness in this world. Just pain and misery.”
A wave of guilt washed over Walter, but Posey gave the biggest eye roll he had ever seen. “Oh, give me a break,” she said.
“Naw, now.” Banjo flapped a hand at them. “I’ll figure this out by myself. You two run along, and by the way, thanks for nothing.”
“I never saw a grown man be such a big baby,” Posey said. “I’ve got an idea how to find that balloon. Have fun at your pity party.”
Then she turned and disappeared through the woods with Porkchop hop-trotting along behind her, leaving Walter and Banjo staring in confusion.
Walter felt a sudden swell of admiration for Posey. She wasn’t going to let Banjo boss her around. He was pretty sure she was, indeed, a bully-thwarter. Walter made a promise to himself that by the time school started in mid-August, he was going to march right into Harmony Elementary School and be a bully-thwarter, too.
Maybe.
But for now, he was going to help Banjo up off the ground and see what in the world Posey had in mind.
ELEVEN
Banjo’s truck whirred and sputtered.
Whirred and sputtered.
It shook and squeaked and coughed thick black smoke out of the tailpipe.
Banjo cussed and called it names and banged the steering wheel with his fists.
But the truck wouldn’t start.
Walter and Posey sat beside Banjo in the front seat, with Porkchop curled contentedly on Posey’s lap.
“Well, that’s just great,” Posey said.
“How are we gonna look for the balloon now?” Walter asked.
Their plan had been to drive up Highway 14 along the river and keep an eye out for Banjo’s hot-air balloon.
Posey had drawn a map on a brown paper bag with a blue crayon showing where she calculated the balloon had most likely come down. And even though Banjo had shaken his head and said, “Color me highly skeptical of those calculations,” he had agreed to at least take a drive.
But then the truck wouldn’t start.
“Never fear, children,” Banjo said. “Jubilation T. Fairweather always has plan B.”
Posey lifted her eyebrows. “Which is?”
“Well, um…” Banjo’s eyes darted around and he snapped his fingers. “Evalina!” He looked from Posey to Walter and grinned.
“Evalina?” Posey said.
Banjo nodded. “Evalina. She has a car, does she not?”
“Your point?”
“And she can drive, can she not?”
“Your point?”
“My point, missy, is that I would wager all the grits in Georgia that Evalina would be delighted to help yours truly get one step closer to fulfilling the dream of his bodacious adventure by driving us to look for my balloon. Then after I fix my truck, I’ll scoop up my beloved Starcatcher.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Posey said. “I’ve lived with her my whole life, which is
ten years, six months, two weeks, and about four days, and I can tell you now she will want no part of your bodacious adventure.” Posey jerked a thumb toward her house. “That woman is no-nonsense with a capital N.”
“Nonsense?” Banjo snapped. “That what you think this is? Nonsense? Okay, then me and Walter will find a way to continue my bodacious adventure.” He poked Walter in the shoulder. “Right, son?”
“W-well, um, I—I—” Walter stuttered and stammered. He was fond of Banjo, of course. But he wasn’t too sure about getting involved in his bodacious adventure without Posey. After all, Posey was the adventurous type, while he, Walter Tipple, most definitely was not.
Posey yanked the truck door open, let Porkchop jump out, then shut it with a dramatic slam. “Have fun!” she said. Then she marched across the yard with her chin in the air and her arms pumping, stomped up the porch steps, and disappeared inside the house with Porkchop.
Walter and Banjo sat in silence.
A fly buzzed frantically against the windshield inside the truck.
Banjo frowned. “Well, this is a fine predicament,” he said.
Walter nodded. “Yessir.”
“Got any ideas?”
“No, sir.”
“Me neither.”
They watched the fly continue to buzz against the windshield and then finally zoom out the open window beside Walter.
The silence blended with the warm summer air and settled over them like a blanket.
Then, much to Walter’s surprise, Banjo’s head dropped back against the seat and he began to snore.
Deep, gurgly snores followed by puffs of air that moved his mustache ever so slightly.
Walter slowly opened the truck door, closed it with a soft push, and headed for home.
TWELVE
When Walter got home, he decided to go sit in Tank’s room for a while like he often did. Sometimes he could practically see Tank in there, tossing a baseball from hand to hand or talking to some girl on the phone.
But when he opened the door and stepped inside, he nearly died of shock and horror at the sight of the room that used to belong to his brother.
Halfway to Harmony Page 3
