Halfway to Harmony

by Barbara O'Connor

  Walter nodded. “Cool,” he said. But he didn’t want to get a science lesson from Posey. He wanted to get the balloon out of the river.

  “Let’s pull it out,” he said.

  He waded knee-deep into the water, his sneakers making sucking noises in the goopy mud as he walked. He grabbed some of the fabric and pulled. “It’s heavy. Come help me.”

  “No way!” Posey said. “There’s liable to be water moccasins in there.”

  Walter looked down at the water. Posey had a point. There definitely might be water moccasins. He had lived by the Chattahoochee River his whole life and had spent many summer days exploring the shallow waters or fishing along the riverbank. He had seen water moccasins a few times, slithering through the weeds or sunning on rotten logs.

  He dropped the balloon fabric and hurried out of the river, sending water and mud flying and making Posey yell, “Hey, watch it!”

  They stood on the riverbank and stared over at Banjo’s Bodacious Adventure, now a sad, torn, and muddy mess.

  “What do we do now?” Walter asked.

  Posey shook her head. “I think Jubilation T. Fairweather is the only one who can answer that.”

  Walter nodded. “I guess you’re right.”

  * * *

  Banjo was napping in the back of his pickup truck when Walter and Posey raced out of the woods calling, “We found it!”

  Banjo sat up with a jerk and clutched his heart. “Ain’t you two got anything better to do than give me a heart attack?”

  “We found Starcatcher!” Walter said, resting his hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath.

  Banjo sat up and grabbed the side of the truck. “My balloon? My life? My heart? My bodacious adventure?” He looked up at the sky. “My prayers have been answered. This is a glorious day!”

  Posey climbed onto the bumper of the truck. “Then I guess you’ve been praying that your balloon would be torn and muddy and halfway sunk into a river full of water moccasins,” she said.

  Banjo’s grin dropped instantly. “Why you wanna rain on my parade?” he said. “You like watching a pitiful, one-legged man suffer?”

  Posey shook her head. “No. Just preparing you for the truth is all. Right, Walter?”

  Walter nodded but he felt bad for Banjo. He had gone from a look of sheer joy to one of total dejection in a blink.

  Banjo wheezed and grunted as he struggled to climb out of the truck. Porkchop nipped at his ankle and made snarly noises. “Get this crazy mutt away from me,” he said.

  Posey motioned for Porkchop to come sit by her, which he did, although he still growled a little while keeping his eyes on Banjo.

  “Well, what’re we standing here for?” Banjo said. “We gotta go get my balloon. Two able-bodied young’uns ought to be able to get my precious Starcatcher out of the river under the guidance of yours truly, Mr. Jubilation T. Fairweather.”

  “Only a few things wrong with that suggestion,” Posey said.

  “Okay, Miss Rain Cloud,” Banjo said. “What might those things be?”

  “First of all,” Posey said, “you will never make it through those woods with that cast on your foot.”

  Walter nodded in agreement. “Also, that balloon is very wet and very heavy,” he said. “And that basket thing is filled with water and mud.”

  “Even if by some miracle we got it out of the water, then what?” Posey said. “No way can we carry that thing back here. Right, Walter?”

  Walter gave Banjo a sympathetic look. “Right.”

  Banjo leaned dejectedly against the truck. “Of course she’s right. But old Jubilation here will not be stopped by such minor obstacles. I will figure this conundrum out.”

  He closed his eyes and tapped his finger on his chin while Walter and Posey watched in silence.

  Walter glanced up at the sky. Thick, dark clouds had begun to gather.

  Uh-oh.

  Walter suddenly had a thought that might add to Banjo’s conundrum.

  Should he share that thought with Banjo?

  He took a deep breath and said, “There’s something that has occurred to me that I think I should share.”

  Banjo and Posey both looked at him in surprise.

  “Well?” Banjo said.

  “If we get a heavy rain, the current in the river is liable to pick up enough to untangle that balloon from the weeds. If that happens, it might get carried off down the river or sink completely.”

  And then the craziest thing happened.

  It began to rain.

  TWENTY

  It rained and rained and rained some more.

  A torrential rain that clattered thunderously on the metal roof of the garden shed in Walter’s yard and left the Queen Anne’s lace by the mailbox bowing clear down to the ground.

  Walter sat on Posey’s covered porch and listened to Banjo telling Evalina some highly unlikely tales.

  Like the time his aunt Becky chased the mailman with a tire iron for bringing her too many bills.

  “Served two months in the county jail for that one,” Banjo said. “I took her a bag of boiled peanuts every Sunday and when she died she left me $340 and a leaf blower.”

  Evalina laughed while Posey just doodled on her map.

  Walter, however, was only half listening. He watched the rain forming giant puddles of muddy orange water out in the yard and thought about the river. The more it rained, the more he worried. He knew how much a rain like this could change the river.

  The water would rise higher and higher, spilling onto the riverbanks and maybe even touching the bridges that passed over it.

  The current would get faster and faster, forming eddies of frothy water that swept up small trees and washed the moss clean off boulders at the river’s edge.

  So it didn’t really take a lot of imagination to picture the river churning around the cattails that held the balloon. It might swirl and swirl until it yanked the colorful fabric free.

  Maybe the balloon was riding the current down the river at this very minute. Farther and farther away.

  Or maybe the wicker basket attached to the fabric was taking on so much water that it was sinking.

  The thought of either one of those scenarios weighed heavy on Walter. He had wanted so badly to rescue that balloon and one day see it floating above him in the Georgia sky. What a grand sight that would be!

  But if it kept raining, that might not happen.

  “One time at a truck stop in Waco, Texas,” Banjo was telling Evalina, “I played poker for two days and two nights, living on beef jerky and warm beer. I won $438 and a riding lawn mower. I rode that lawn mower forty miles to the next town where I traded it for the very pickup truck that lies before you over there in Walter’s yard.”

  “You mean the one that doesn’t run?” Posey said.

  “That’s the one,” Banjo said. “But soon as that part comes in, I will fix that truck like the master mechanic that I am and it will be running.” He poked a finger at Posey. “I can guarantee you that.”

  Just then a very loud car came roaring up the road toward them, sending muddy rainwater shooting out in every direction. It stopped in front of Evalina’s house and the driver honked the horn and rolled down the window.

  Porkchop ran down to it, barking, until Posey called him back.

  Banjo squinted through the pouring rain.

  “Curtis?” he said. “Is that you? Where in blue blazes is Kudzu? I been trying to call him for three days.”

  “He got tied up over in Sandy Springs,” Curtis said. “Asked me to come instead.”

  Banjo muttered a few grumbly words under his breath and made his way through the pouring rain toward the car.

  “Never fear,” he called over his shoulder. “I shall return.”

  * * *

  That evening after dinner, Walter sat in Tank’s truck and told his brother about Banjo and the hot-air balloon.

  “Then me and Posey found that balloon and I wish you could’ve seen it,” he said.
“Silver stars and golden moons.”

  He sat back against the seat and listened to the rain on the roof of the barn. “I hope it’s still there after this rain.”

  He got out of the truck, wiped the door handle with a towel, and whispered good night to Tank.

  Then he went inside the house and climbed into bed. He said his prayers and closed his eyes and had that dream again.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Walter sat by the open window in the living room. The torrential rain had lasted more than two days, but had finally settled down to a soft drizzle. Outside, raindrops plunked from the tree branches into the muddy puddles in the yard and the air had that clean, rain-washed smell.

  Banjo had called Evalina to say the part that he needed to fix his truck still wasn’t at the auto parts store. In the meantime, that balloon was swirling around in the cattails at the edge of the Chattahoochee River.

  Or was it?

  Maybe it was drifting along the river on its way to Florida.

  Or maybe it was resting in the mud way down on the dark, murky bottom of the river.

  Walter sighed and pressed his face against the window screen. He thought about that day he had said goodbye to Tank at the bus station downtown. Tank kept hugging Mama and ruffling Walter’s hair and looking at his reflection in the window. His uniform so clean and starched. Daddy gave him a couple of $20 bills and then Tank waved one last time, grinning like it was the happiest day of his life. After he climbed on that bus and disappeared, everything had been so quiet and empty and boring.

  Until now.

  Now there was Posey and Banjo and a hot-air balloon.

  Who would’ve ever guessed that?

  If only Tank were here.

  Walter knew exactly how things would be.

  Tank wouldn’t need Posey telling him about Caesar Romanoff’s Rules for Making Friends. Shoot, Tank could’ve written that book.

  And if Tank had found Banjo’s balloon, he wouldn’t’ve cared one little bit if there were water moccasins in that river. He’d’ve jumped right on in there and pulled that balloon out all by himself.

  If only Tank were here.

  But he wasn’t.

  So Walter decided right then and there that he was going to do what Tank would’ve done. He was going to do everything in his power to get Banjo’s balloon out of the river, and someday everyone in Harmony would look up in the sky and there it would be, floating lazily over the dirt roads and farms. The gas stations and diners. The post office and the auto parts store and the water tower with HARMONY painted on it in red.

  * * *

  When the rain finally stopped, Walter checked his backpack one more time. Some nylon rope. Garden clippers. His mother’s old rusty loppers with wooden handles. Things they might need to get the balloon out of the river and secure it so it wouldn’t get washed away by the current.

  When he got outside, Posey was waiting by the mailbox wearing her dirty rain boots. Porkchop wandered around the yard, lapping up water from the puddles and making the chickens squawk.

  “You brought that stuff we talked about, right?” Posey asked.

  Walter nodded. “That’s why this backpack weighs about a hundred pounds.”

  “I bet you don’t know why lb is the abbreviation for the word pound,” Posey said, leading the way toward the woods. She didn’t wait for Walter to answer. “’Cause lb is short for libra, which is the Latin word for pound.”

  “Nuggets of Knowledge, right?” Walter asked.

  “Yep.”

  As they made their way toward the river, Posey updated Walter on Banjo.

  “I swear, he calls that auto parts store every five minutes and then calls Evalina to tell her those guys who work there are a bunch of baby imbeciles,” she said. “And he’s getting that guy Curtis to drop him off here today, supposedly so he can check on his truck but I think he just wants to see Evalina.”

  Eventually they came to two paths branching out in opposite directions.

  “This way,” Walter said, leading Posey and Porkchop farther into the woods until they finally came to the river. But when they got to the place where the balloon had been, they stopped.

  The balloon was gone.

  TWENTY-TWO

  There was not even one little sign that the balloon had been there.

  Not a broken cattail.

  Not a piece of fabric with silver stars and golden moons.

  Nothing.

  Walter watched the water flowing swiftly along and let out a big heaving sigh. “Shoot,” he said. “We’re never going to find that balloon now.”

  Posey marched over and grabbed him by the shoulders.

  “Don’t you remember Caesar Romanoff’s rule number one?”

  “I know, I know,” Walter said. “Think positive. Then I hope that balloon is floating down the river and not laying at the bottom of it.”

  Walter knew the Chattahoochee River flowed for miles and miles. That balloon could be way farther than he and Posey could walk, but he guessed it was worth a try.

  * * *

  They trudged along the rain-soaked riverbank while the hot Georgia sun beat down, making the air thick and steamy. Walter’s backpack seemed to get heavier with every step.

  As they walked, Posey jibber-jabbered like usual.

  “When we lived in Tennessee, Evalina decided to have a day care right there in our living room. Talk about a bad idea!”

  “How come?”

  “You ever heard a room full of babies crying all day? And Evalina’s never exactly been the Princess of Patience. She’d change diapers and mash up bananas but those babies wouldn’t never hush up.” She pushed a strand of sweaty hair out of her eyes. “I figured maybe they took one look at my ugly mug and all the bananas in the world wouldn’t make them stop their squalling.”

  Walter wondered if his lazy eye would make babies cry.

  “One time Ernest and Nadine, you know, those grandparents I never met?” Posey went on. “They sent me a whole box of clothes. Whoo-ee. You should’ve heard Evalina going on and on about how her parents never did nothing for her and now here was a box of charity. She taped that box up and scribbled Return to Sender on it. Then she made a beeline to the post office and sent it right back.”

  Suddenly Walter stopped.

  “Look!” He pointed toward the river ahead of them.

  Posey’s mouth dropped open. Then she let out a whoop.

  They raced along the edge of the water, Walter’s backpack thunking heavily against his back, Posey’s rain boots clomping on the hard-packed clay of the riverbank, and Porkchop running in that hopping way of his.

  When they stopped, Walter and Posey grinned at each other and high-fived.

  There, in front of them, was the balloon, torn and muddy, floating in the shallow part of the river. The wicker basket attached to it was wedged against a cypress tree that leaned over the water.

  Walter’s heart raced as he examined the balloon. He felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for an adventure like this to come along and now it had. He looked up at the sky and imagined that balloon drifting by, floating over the river and gliding through the clouds.

  Suddenly Posey interrupted his happy daydream.

  “Okay, so now we have to get it out,” she said.

  “Right.” Walter waded into the murky water and tugged on the balloon, determined not to think about water moccasins. To be brave like Tank would’ve been. Porkchop trotted back and forth on the riverbank, barking.

  “It’s not tangled up like last time,” Walter said. “I think we can do it.”

  “What about water moccasins?” Posey said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Walter said. “You’ve got boots on.”

  He looked down at his bare legs and soaked sneakers standing in that water and a little niggle of fear began to tap at him. But he closed his eyes briefly and pictured Tank. Heard him say, You got this, little man.

  “I don’t know,” Posey said. “What if a wat
er moccasin swims right down inside my boot?”

  Then Walter did a very un-Walter-like thing. He waded farther into the water and said to Posey, “Remember Caesar Romanoff’s rules about thinking positive and quit your griping. Help me pull this thing out.”

  A flicker of surprise flashed across Posey’s face, but she grabbed the edges of the balloon and began to pull.

  The soaked fabric was heavier than Walter had imagined it would be.

  He and Posey tugged and tugged.

  Before long, they were both soaked and muddy and out of breath, but the balloon was finally completely out of the water.

  “Okay, now we tie the basket to that tree so it can’t get washed away again,” Walter said.

  He took the nylon rope out of his backpack and he and Posey worked together to secure the wicker basket to the tree. Then they rolled up the colorful fabric and tied it to smaller trees and shrubs along the riverbank.

  When they were done, Posey glanced at the bridge over the river just ahead. “What if somebody sees it?” she said. “People driving over that bridge might see it.”

  As usual, Posey was right. The balloon would be easy to see from the bridge. And if someone saw it, they might come down here and take it.

  “I have an idea,” Walter said. “Let’s cut a bunch of branches and lay them over the balloon to camouflage it.”

  So that’s what they did. Used the loppers and clippers from Walter’s backpack to cut sprigs of graybeard shrubs, chokeberry, and wild dogwood and laid them over the balloon until it was almost completely covered.

  Finally they stepped back and examined their work.

  “Perfect,” Posey said.

  “Perfect,” Walter said.

  “Now what?”

  “Now as soon as Banjo’s truck is fixed, he can come get his balloon,” Walter said.

  Posey looked around her at the scrub bushes and clusters of trees. “How’s he supposed to get a truck down here?”

  Walter grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “I happen to know where there’s a logging road that comes right to the riverbank up yonder near the bridge.”