Halfway to Harmony

by Barbara O'Connor

  “And?” Walter said.

  “And…” Posey held up a finger. “Number one: Evalina thinks your mama needs to have a hobby to take her mind off Tank.” Then she blushed a little and hurriedly added, “Sorry.”

  Walter nodded. “That’s okay.”

  “And she has convinced your mama to let her teach her how to quilt,” Posey said. “Evalina is an award-winning quilter. She has blue ribbons from the county fair in Tennessee.”

  “To toss some words back to you that you so gleefully toss to me,” Banjo said, “will you get to the point?”

  Posey whipped a folded-up postcard from her pocket. “This came in the mail this morning.” She held the postcard for Walter and Banjo to see.

  Fabric Sale

  Up to 50% Off

  One Day Only

  Gail’s Fabrics Galore

  Banjo grinned. “Perfect! They’ll wanna go there, for sure.” He slapped his cards down in front of him and hollered, “Rummy!”

  Walter tossed his cards down, too. “I don’t know,” he said. “Do you really think we can get them to go in to town today?”

  Posey shook her head. “Not today.” She pointed to a date on the postcard. “The sale is tomorrow. I will have Evalina so excited about taking your mama to buy fabric that she will be jibber-jabbering about it all night.”

  “But still,” Walter said. “Mama never wants to go anywhere anymore. I doubt if she’ll go.”

  Banjo sat back and looped his thumbs through the straps of his overalls and shook his head slowly. “Young Walter Tipple,” he said. “Have you forgotten that I, Jubilation T. Fairweather, possess the charm of a gallant prince, the smooth tongue of a poet, and the uncanny ability to convince a snake that it has legs?”

  He gathered up all the cards and began to shuffle. As he was dealing a hand to each of them for another pretend game, he looked up through his bushy eyebrows and said with a smile, “Your mama will be going to town with Evalina tomorrow. Trust me.”

  Walter and Posey looked at each other and high-fived.

  They had plowed around that stump.

  But what about the others?

  TWENTY-SIX

  “Okay,” Posey said. “That’s settled. Now what about the other problems?” She glanced at Banjo. “I mean, stumps.”

  “Um, what are those?” Walter asked.

  “Okay, we’ll start with the obvious,” Posey said. “Do you know how to drive that truck?”

  Walter tried to look cool and confident when he said yes, but he had a feeling that he probably didn’t.

  Banjo poked him in the arm. “If you are to have us believe that you are an honorable man, then you must abide by the laws of honorable men,” he said.

  “What laws?”

  “Oh, there are many,” Banjo said. “But one of them is this: When an honorable man says yes, an honorable man means yes.” He leaned toward Walter. “Are you an honorable man?”

  “Um, sure.” Walter was sorry to feel his face heat up with a blush that must have made him look less than honorable.

  But he did know how to drive Tank’s truck.

  Hadn’t he done it a bunch of times?

  Or at least three or four times?

  What was so hard about it, anyway? You push on the gas to go and step on the brake to stop, right?

  “How are we going to plow around this stump,” Posey said. “A ten-year-old kid driving on the highway? Everybody in Harmony’ll be calling the cops.” She shook her head. “Sorry. Bad idea.”

  Walter almost pointed out to her that he was practically eleven, but he decided to get right to the nitty-gritty.

  “I know how to get to the river without driving on the main roads,” he said.

  Banjo lifted his eyebrows.

  “The logging roads,” Walter said.

  “Oh yeah!” Posey said. “Tell Banjo about the logging roads.”

  “They’re all through these woods,” Walter said. “My daddy’s taken me on a bunch of them. Some of them are kind of overgrown with weeds and stuff, but I bet you can still drive on them.” He leaned forward and whispered. “I know there’s a road that leads to the Chattahoochee bridge close to where Starcatcher is.” He paused for a little dramatic effect. “I’m pretty sure we can get close enough to get that balloon into the truck.”

  “But how will you get the truck from the barn to the logging roads?” Posey asked.

  “That,” Walter said, “is the easiest stump to plow around.” He glanced behind him to make sure they were alone. “When I was little, before my daddy started driving a truck, he worked in the sawmill way up yonder on the other side of the river. My daddy and some of his friends made a clearing through the woods behind the barn so he could get to the logging roads without having to go all the way to the highway to get to work and back.”

  Banjo slapped his knee and laughed a wheezy laugh. “Well, if that ain’t about the best news I ever heard, I don’t know what is. Walter, you are a brilliant and honorable man.”

  The three of them looked proudly at one another. They had done it! They had plowed around the stumps.

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, another stump jabbed at Walter and wiped that proud look right off his face.

  “Uh-oh,” he said.

  Posey and Banjo waited.

  “When we get Starcatcher in the truck, what do we do then?” Walter said. “We can’t bring that balloon back here or else Mama and Evalina will know what we did.” His stomach balled up in a knot of disappointment. Their plan wouldn’t work.

  Banjo tossed his cards down with a flourish and said, “Allow me to contribute my own stroke of genius to this most worthy and devious plan.”

  Walter leaned forward and Posey lifted her eyebrows.

  “I happen to know that one can get from the Chattahoochee bridge practically to my back door without driving on the highway,” Banjo said. “Right where the bridge ends, one can leave the highway by taking a sharp left into a very large field. If one drives a quarter of a mile across that field, one crosses the border into Pine Mountain. And if one continues approximately a quarter of a mile more, one will be on the property of the honorable Jubilation T. Fairweather.” He grinned at Walter and Posey.

  “How do you know there’s not fences or cows or something in that field?” Posey asked.

  “Because I am not ashamed to admit that I may have had a night or two of foolish revelry which necessitated a shortcut home.” He leaned forward and whispered: “I may have used a little sleight of hand in a poker game or two that seemed to create some ill feelings in a few unsavory half-wits who took it upon themselves to try to follow me home for reasons I never cared to find out. So a shortcut through that field has come in mighty handy for ol’ Banjo once or twice.”

  “You really think I could drive from the bridge to your property?” Walter asked.

  “You can take my word for it, Mr. Tipple. And the word of Jubilation T. Fairweather is as good as gold.”

  Suddenly a car roared up the road and stopped beside them, with the window rolled down.

  “Curtis?” Banjo said. “Don’t tell me. Kudzu’s got a board meeting with his stockholders today. Or maybe he needs to take his yacht down to Miami for the weekend.”

  Then he climbed out of the truck, muttering about his so-called friend Kudzu, got into Curtis’s car, and waved goodbye.

  Walter leaned back against the side of Banjo’s truck and smiled.

  They had plowed around every stump.

  Walter should’ve been feeling good about their plan, but a little flutter of doubt hovered over him.

  Could he really do this?

  * * *

  That night, Walter had the dream.

  Same people.

  Same cake.

  Same everything.

  Like always, he took a deep breath to blow out the candles and then woke up.

  He lay there in the dark, blinking up at the ceiling. A sliver of moonlight cast a soft glow across his bedroom.

&n
bsp; Walter tiptoed over to the window and looked up at the summer night sky.

  The twinkling stars.

  The occasional glow of heat lightning in the distance.

  The sound of crickets echoed across the yard.

  Walter closed his eyes and pictured his brother, Tank, grinning that chip-toothed grin of his.

  And then the strangest thing happened.

  He heard Tank’s voice plain as day.

  “I’ll show you my world.”

  Walter’s eyes flew open and he spun around, expecting Tank to be standing there in his fake leather jacket.

  But of course Tank was not standing there.

  Walter had only imagined it.

  He also imagined Tank poking him in the arm and saying, “You got this, little man. You can do it.”

  “Really?” Walter whispered into the dark room.

  He could swear he heard Tank say, “Sure! Do it!”

  Walter felt a sudden rush of calm settle over him and could practically see his worries drift right out the window and disappear into the starry sky.

  He could do this.

  He could drive Tank’s truck to the river to get Starcatcher.

  By golly, tomorrow he would.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Yoo-hoo!”

  Walter looked up from the porch steps to see Evalina hurrying across her yard toward the garden, where Mama was picking squash. Right behind her came Posey and Porkchop.

  “This is the quilt pattern we should make first,” Evalina said, holding up a quilt with triangles of fabrics in colorful patterns.

  “That’s pretty, Evalina,” Mrs. Tipple said. “But I don’t know. I’ve never been much of a seamstress.”

  “Seamstress?” Evalina flapped a hand. “I’m telling you, this pattern is easy peasy. And guess what else?”

  “What?”

  Evalina whipped a postcard out of the pocket of her apron and said, “Gail’s Fabrics Galore! Half-off sale! You can’t beat that. Let’s go into town and I’ll help you pick out fabric.”

  Mrs. Tipple looked at the quilt. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not sure I’m up for that.”

  “It’ll be good for you,” Evalina said. “We can—”

  Suddenly Porkchop raced toward the road, barking like crazy.

  Who should be hobbling toward them but one very red-faced Banjo.

  “Kudzu couldn’t be bothered to drive me up here from the highway,” he said.

  Porkchop snapped at the air around Banjo. “Will you get that crazy mutt of yours away from me?” he said to Posey.

  Posey ran over and put a hand on Porkchop’s head. “Quiet, boy. He may look scary, but he’s okay,” she said.

  Suddenly Banjo’s face changed from red and angry to starry-eyed admiration.

  “Why, Evalina,” he said. “Do not tell me you made that exquisite quilt!”

  Evalina blushed. “Why, yes, actually, I did.”

  Banjo held out both arms and let them drop with a slap against his sides. Then he turned to Posey and said, “Is there nothing that mother of yours can’t do?”

  Posey opened her mouth to answer but Banjo held up a hand. “Stop!” he said. “You don’t even need to answer that.”

  He turned to Evalina and said, “Anyone who can make a quilt as glorious as that one already has a spot in heaven reserved just for them. Why, quilts such as that would keep the angels warm at night.”

  “Oh, good grief,” Posey said.

  Evalina chuckled. “You do have a way with words, Mr. Banjo.” She motioned toward Mrs. Tipple. “I’ve been trying to convince Cora here to go into town with me so we can buy fabric for her to make a quilt like this.”

  Banjo hobbled over to the garden.

  “Why, Mrs. Tipple, I have no doubt that you, too, could produce a quilt every bit as fine as this one,” he said.

  “Well, I don’t know,” Mrs. Tipple said. “I’m not very good at—”

  “Mrs. Tipple!” Banjo interrupted. “You can do anything you set your mind to. I mean, look at that garden that’s been providing an abundance of nourishment to your blessed family.” He paused to fling an arm out toward the chicken coop. “Look at those lucky chickens who appear to be about the most contented chickens I’ve ever seen.” He lowered his head and looked up through his bushy eyebrows. “And I have seen a lot of chickens in my day.”

  He slapped Walter on the back and said, “And anyone who can raise a fine young man such as this can surely make a quilt as lovely as that one.”

  Posey made a pfft sound and said, “I don’t get the connection between raising a kid and making a quilt.”

  Banjo shot her a look that said, Be quiet and let me handle this.

  Mrs. Tipple glanced up at the sky. “I don’t know,” she said. “It looks like it might rain. I’m not much in the mood to go into town, especially if it’s raining.”

  “Oh, Cora, don’t be silly,” Evalina said. “We won’t be long. I’ll help you pick out fabric. It’ll be fun.”

  Mrs. Tipple looked over at Walter. “I don’t like leaving Walter alone and—”

  “Never fear!” Banjo blurted. “If Theodore wasn’t my middle name, Responsible would be. As well as Dependable and Practical and Quick-Witted. You two fair ladies could not possibly leave your offspring in more capable hands.”

  Evalina looked at Mrs. Tipple and raised her eyebrows. “They’ll be fine, Cora.” Then she turned to Banjo. “Maybe you could fix those rotten porch railings like you said you would.”

  Banjo twirled his mustache. “I can fix anything your heart desires.”

  Mrs. Tipple pointed a finger at Walter. “You are to stay put,” she said. “Don’t go up there near the highway and don’t go traipsing through the woods.”

  Walter nodded solemnly and tried hard to keep the look of guilt off his face. He never had been very good at disobeying grown-ups.

  But actually, he wasn’t going to go up there near the highway.

  And he wasn’t really traipsing through the woods.

  Right?

  He concentrated on trying to look normal instead of overflowing with guilt and excitement as Evalina and his mother got their purses and climbed into Evalina’s car.

  Walter, Posey, and Banjo stood motionless as the sound of Evalina’s car grew fainter and fainter.

  Then Banjo’s loud whoop cut through the silence and Posey skipped gleefully in circles with Porkchop nipping playfully at her heels.

  “Come on, y’all!” she hollered. “Let’s go get Starcatcher!”

  The three of them headed for the barn. Walter took a deep breath and opened both barn doors. There sat Tank’s truck, gleaming like new in the morning sun.

  Not a smudge.

  Not a fingerprint.

  Not one little speck of dust.

  He ran his hand lightly over the fender.

  Over the orange flames on the side.

  Across the lightning bolt on the tailgate.

  “You gonna drive this thing or pet it like a dang dog?” Banjo said, but then added, “Nice truck, by the way.”

  Walter opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “You sure you don’t want me to drive?” Banjo asked.

  Walter nodded. “I’m sure.”

  He was certain that this was what Tank would’ve wanted.

  For him to be brave.

  For him to not let anyone else drive his truck.

  Posey got in the passenger side and motioned for Porkchop to sit on her lap. Then Banjo climbed in, wheezing and grunting as he lifted his dirty blue cast into the truck.

  Walter took the keys out of the glove compartment, put them in the ignition, and started the engine. The country music Tank had loved so much blasted out of the radio.

  Banjo reached over and turned it off. “You want everybody in Harmony to hear us coming?” he said.

  Walter pushed himself closer to the steering wheel. If he sat way up on the edge of the seat, he could reach the gas p
edal with his toes. Then he checked to make sure he could also reach the brake.

  He carefully put the gear in reverse.

  He lightly pressed on the gas.

  The truck began to move.

  Back, back, back.

  Until it was completely out of the barn.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  Then he opened his eyes, turned to Posey and Banjo, and said, “Let’s do this!”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Will you close the barn doors, Banjo?” Walter said.

  “Naw, just go.” Banjo waved a hand at him.

  “Look,” Walter said. “If we’re not back before Mama and Evalina get home, at least the barn doors will be closed and they won’t catch on right away.” He glanced anxiously at the barn. “But,” he added. “We’ve got to be back before them.”

  Posey nudged Banjo with her elbow. “He’s right. Go close the doors.”

  Banjo struggled out of the truck, mumbling under his breath, and closed the barn doors.

  When he got back into the truck, Posey started singing, with Porkchop wiggling excitedly on her lap. “Off we go, into the wild blue yonder!”

  “Be quiet!” Walter snapped. “I need to concentrate.”

  Posey clamped her mouth shut and shot him a glare.

  “Sorry,” Walter said. He craned his neck to see out the rearview mirror as he backed up more. He put the gear in drive and drove around to the back of the barn. Sure enough, there was a clearing in the woods wide enough for the truck to get through.

  Walter drove slowly through the woods, every now and then bumping over a fallen branch or driving over clusters of scrawny bushes. As the truck bounced along, that horseshoe necklace on the rearview mirror swung back and forth.

  They hadn’t gone far when they reached a logging road.

  “I’m pretty sure we go left here,” Walter said. “There should be another road that heads toward the river.”

  The three of them sat silently in the truck as they made their way along the narrow, overgrown dirt roads.

  Walter strained to see over the steering wheel and reach the gas pedal and brakes, his heart pounding with fear and his stomach churning with excitement.