Halfway to Harmony

by Barbara O'Connor

  The Chattahoochee River, where Tank had showed Walter the best fishing spots.

  And all those narrow country roads where Tank had driven his beloved truck.

  Walter was seeing Tank’s world there below him, drifting closer and closer.

  He closed his eyes.

  And heard Tank.

  Talking to him.

  Clear as anything.

  “Ain’t this something, little man? You and me seeing my world.”

  Walter opened his eyes and of course Tank wasn’t really there.

  At least, not so Walter could see or touch him.

  But he could feel him.

  Right there beside him as Harmony drifted along below.

  FORTY

  Walter’s happy thoughts were interrupted by Banjo hollering, “That gol-dern, no-good Kudzu!”

  He was frantically pushing the lever but no flames were shooting up into the balloon.

  “What’s wrong?” Posey asked.

  “The tank must be empty and Kudzu didn’t put the spare one in the basket.” Banjo surveyed the landscape below them.

  Walter and Posey gripped the basket and peered out over the edge.

  Banjo yelled, “Hold on for dear life! We’re going down!”

  They all grabbed the metal frame of the basket and held on for dear life.

  They were dropping quickly and headed straight for the highway.

  As they got closer, cars began to stop, some of them even pulling onto the side of the road.

  Banjo’s balloon, the newly named Evalina, dropped lower and lower until it hit the road with a hard thump and bounced a couple of times before coming to a stop and tipping over on its side, sending them tumbling on top of one another.

  Porkchop let out a little yelp and Posey scooped him up. “Nice landing, Jubilation,” she said, scowling at Banjo, who was huffing and puffing trying to stand up.

  Walter scrambled out of the basket, shook his head, and caught his breath.

  Banjo pulled a cord that opened a vent at the top of the balloon, releasing the air inside and sending the colorful fabric fluttering down until it lay in a wrinkled heap in the road.

  “It’s all right, folks!” Banjo said, waving off the crowd that had begun to gather around them. “Nothing to see here. Move along.”

  Then car horns began to honk and some of the drivers shook their fists and yelled for Banjo to get that contraption out of the road.

  Suddenly Kudzu’s truck came roaring up the side of the road and stopped with a screech beside them.

  “What in blue blazes is wrong with you, Banjo?” Kudzu asked. “Why didn’t you land at the fairgrounds?”

  By now, Banjo was out of the basket and standing in the road, red-faced. He called Kudzu every name in the book and then snapped, “Help me move this thing.”

  Along with a couple of other folks who had been watching from their cars, they managed to get the balloon onto the side of the road.

  * * *

  It was a very long and very quiet ride back to Oakley with the balloon in the back of Kudzu’s truck.

  When they got there, Evalina was fighting mad at Banjo and let him have it up one side and down the other.

  She was also mad at herself for letting Posey and Walter ride in the balloon.

  “What was I thinking?” she kept saying on the way back to her car.

  “Y’all could’ve died,” she reminded them over and over.

  Posey couldn’t seem to stop herself from grinning and kept giving Walter a thumbs-up and whispering about how awesome it had been to go up in that balloon.

  Now, as Walter sat in silence in the car, watching farms and neighborhoods and gas stations whiz by, he could only think about one thing.

  He had seen Tank’s world.

  Just like Tank had said he would.

  * * *

  That night, Walter sat in Tank’s truck, holding the envelope with his name and address scrawled in Tank’s messy handwriting.

  He thought about being up there in Banjo’s balloon and seeing Harmony below.

  Hearing Tank say, “Ain’t this something, little man? You and me seeing my world?”

  Of course, he hadn’t really heard Tank’s voice.

  That was impossible.

  Still, Walter had this feeling that he couldn’t shake.

  This feeling that maybe he’d been wrong to think that Tank hadn’t cared about Harmony.

  He looked down at the envelope.

  With shaky hands, he tore it open.

  With a pounding heart, he took out the yellow lined paper and unfolded it.

  Dear Walter,

  I bet you’re mad as anything at your chickenhearted brother for not coming home to say goodbye before I went overseas.

  I sure wouldn’t blame you if you are.

  Not one little bit.

  But now I’m going to confess to you the truth, even if it takes me down a few pegs in your eyes.

  I got on the bus in Fort Benning with my duffel bag and a heavy heart. And the closer I got to home, the heavier my heart felt just thinking about saying goodbye to Mama and Daddy, but most of all to you.

  When that bus got halfway to Harmony, I told the driver to stop and let me off.

  That’s right. Your sorry ol’ brother, Tank, was too chickenhearted to come home. I was afraid if I got back to Harmony, I might not ever want to leave again.

  Ain’t that a sorry thing to admit?

  But no matter what, I want you to know that you and Harmony are my world.

  So there you have it.

  I hope you ain’t too mad at me, little man.

  Your chickenhearted brother,

  Tank

  FORTY-ONE

  “Okay, what’s rule number two?” Posey asked.

  Walter sighed. They had been going over Caesar Romanoff’s rules for making friends all morning, and frankly, he was bored.

  But Posey was relentless.

  “Rule number two?” she repeated a little testily.

  “Look ’em in the eye and say their name,” Walter said.

  Posey nodded. “Perfect. Now here’s one we haven’t practiced yet. Rule number seven. Show sympathy. That’s important. You don’t have to actually cry or anything. Just look sad.”

  “Okay.”

  “Try it,” Posey said. “Look sad.”

  Walter tried really hard to look sad, but he could tell that Posey wasn’t satisfied.

  Luckily, the unmistakable sound of Banjo’s truck interrupted them.

  Porkchop let out a snarl and barked.

  “Banjo!” Walter called, racing out to Posey’s mailbox, where Banjo’s truck sputtered and rattled and coughed until it finally came to a stop.

  They hadn’t seen Banjo since the Macon County Key Grab four days ago. Walter’s last glimpse of Banjo had been of him hobbling after Evalina’s car, calling, “Wait! Evalina! Forgive me!”

  And they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him until now.

  When Banjo stepped out of the truck, Walter got the shock of his life.

  The man who had stepped out of that truck sure didn’t look like Banjo.

  Instead of the greasy, dirt-stained overalls he usually wore, this new Banjo was wearing a suit.

  But not just any suit.

  A white suit.

  And a vest.

  A green velvet vest.

  And a bow tie.

  A green-and-white-striped bow tie.

  And instead of his usual scraggly, too-long hair, this Banjo’s hair was newly cut and neatly combed with a perfect part right down the middle.

  That big twirly mustache was still there, but now it was trimmed and twirled to perfection.

  Porkchop walked around and around Banjo, sniffing suspiciously and growling.

  “Greetings and salutations,” Banjo said, sweeping his arms out wide. “Feast your eyes upon the new and improved and highly repentant Jubilation T. Fairweather.”

  “Whoa!” Walter and Posey said at the exact
same time.

  “I trust my two young friends are faring well,” he said. “I come bearing gifts.”

  He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out two candy bars, presenting them with a flourish to Walter and Posey.

  Posey made a face. “Really?” she said.

  The candy bars looked more than a little old, their wrappers faded and dusty. Melted chocolate oozed out the sides.

  “Um, thanks,” Walter said, taking the candy bars and handing one to Posey.

  Banjo reached behind him into the truck and pulled out the biggest bouquet of flowers Walter had ever seen.

  “I have returned to win back the affections of the fair Evalina, my one and only true love,” Banjo said. “For I find that I cannot bear to live another day on God’s green earth without doing so.”

  “Oh, puh-leese,” Posey said, wiping melted chocolate on the seat of her shorts.

  “Out of my way, Miss Posey,” Banjo said as he hobbled toward the porch steps.

  Before he reached the top step, Evalina burst out of the screen door and said, “Don’t bother, Banjo!”

  “But I—” Banjo held the flowers with both hands and gazed up at Evalina.

  “You nearly killed my one and only child and now you’ve got the gumption to show your face on my front porch?” Evalina let the screen door slam behind her and glared down at Banjo.

  Walter could only stare in sheer amazement as Banjo began to work his magic on Evalina.

  He proclaimed himself the biggest fool who had ever walked the face of the earth.

  He exclaimed how he was lower than the lowly worms that slither in the mud and sorrier than the sorriest of the sorry.

  He explained how he had let his curse of a temper take over his body and soul and cause pain and misery to the one and only person he had ever truly loved.

  “That person is you, dear Evalina,” he said. “You and only you.”

  Then he announced that he had seen the light.

  He most assuredly realized the magnitude of his previously ignoble ways.

  And last of all, he promised that standing here before them was a brand-new Jubilation T. Fairweather.

  “I will remain your humble servant until my dying day,” he said.

  With that, he grew silent, holding those flowers and looking at Evalina with the most repentant eyes Walter had ever seen.

  While Evalina stood there silently, eyes narrowed and toe tapping, Posey poked Walter. “Here’s your chance to practice rule number seven,” she whispered. “Pretend to show sympathy.”

  But Walter didn’t have to pretend. He really did feel sympathy for Banjo. He hadn’t won that shiny new truck he had been so sure he was going to win. His bodacious adventure had turned out to be anything but bodacious. And now Evalina was whopping mad at him.

  The four of them stood there, still and quiet, until Evalina snatched the flowers out of Banjo’s hand and yanked the screen door open.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said. “Come inside by the fan before you have a heatstroke in that ridiculous suit.”

  Banjo looked back at Walter and Posey and winked before following Evalina inside.

  FORTY-TWO

  Walter turned to Posey and said, “Tell me about some of the other books you had to leave behind in Tennessee.”

  They were sitting in Tank’s truck, listening to country music on the radio, with Porkchop snoozing between them.

  Posey didn’t hesitate. She went on and on about those books.

  “There was this one about how to plant a rainbow garden,” she said. “Like purple beans and blue potatoes and things like that.”

  “Wow!” Walter said.

  “There was another one that had about a million science experiments for kids. Like making a cannon with a cork and a soda bottle. And cool things with burning candles and magnets and stuff.”

  “No way!” Walter said.

  “Yes way. I should’ve kept that one,” she said.

  She rattled on about some of the other books and didn’t seem to even notice that Walter was practicing Caesar Romanoff’s rules for making friends.

  Then, just like in rule number two, Walter looked Posey right in the eye and said, “Posey.”

  He was nervous about what he was going to say next. He was going to use rule number six about flattery.

  “I appreciate you helping me learn these rules for making friends,” he said. “I know you’re really good at ’em and I’m gonna watch you when we start school next week and do everything that you do.”

  Posey’s face suddenly grew pale.

  She looked down at her hands. “Well, um—” Her voice was quiet and a little trembly. “I might have a confession to make.”

  Walter was surprised at this new Posey, acting so timid and nervous. “What kind of confession?” he said.

  Posey kept her eyes on her fidgeting fingers. “Um, I’ve never actually used any of Caesar Romanoff’s rules for making friends,” she said.

  Walter’s eyebrows shot up. “You haven’t?”

  Posey shook her head.

  “Why not?” Walter asked.

  Posey shrugged. “Too scared, I guess.”

  Scared?

  Posey scared?

  Walter couldn’t even imagine that.

  “Scared of what?” he said.

  Posey lifted her head and looked at Walter.

  “Scared of being noticed more than I already am, I guess,” she said.

  “Oh.”

  “When you got a face like mine,” Posey said, “you get noticed plenty as it is. And not in a good way. I guess I always figured if I waltzed around looking kids in the eye and flattering them, well, I don’t know…” She looked down at her hands again. “I just never did.”

  “So then, what about making friends?” Walter said.

  “I never make any friends.”

  Walter didn’t know what to say.

  Was this really that same scabby-kneed girl who had hollered “Can’t you read?” at him that day on the porch when they first met?

  Was this that confident Posey, marching through the woods in rubber boots, spouting all those nuggets of knowledge?

  Was this that feisty girl with her feisty three-legged dog who had told Banjo to have fun at his pity party? That girl with grit and fortitude?

  Was this the girl who had had that bodacious adventure with him?

  “I have an idea,” Walter said.

  Posey fiddled with her fingers and waited.

  “When we get to school, let’s use Caesar Romanoff’s rules together,” he said.

  “Together?”

  “Yeah, you know, when we walk down the hall and stuff. Or in the cafeteria.”

  “I don’t know,” Posey said.

  Walter grabbed her by the shoulders, making Porkchop wake up and growl a little.

  “Rule number one,” Walter said. “Think positive.”

  Posey smiled.

  A very small smile, but still, a smile.

  “Okay. I’ll try,” she said.

  Walter let go of her shoulders and looked out the window of the truck. “Now I have a confession,” he said.

  Posey cocked her head.

  “Tank was up there in that balloon with me,” Walter said.

  Posey’s eyes grew wide.

  “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I must be nuts.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You’re not?”

  Posey shook her head. “I’m not.”

  “I know he wasn’t really there,” Walter went on. “I mean, not there like I could see him or touch him or anything. But he was there. And I saw his world, just like in my dream.”

  “You did?”

  Walter nodded. “And it was Harmony. Tank’s world was Harmony.”

  Walter took Tank’s letter out of the glove box and let Posey read it.

  When she was finished, she wiped at her teary eyes and said, “That’s so sweet.” She handed the letter b
ack to Walter. “Your brother was nice.”

  Walter nodded. “Yeah. And you wanna know what else?”

  “What?”

  “The last time I had that dream, I blew out all the candles.”

  “Really?”

  “I haven’t had that dream since then,” Walter said. “And I know I’m not going to have it again. I just know it.”

  Posey nodded. “Makes sense to me,” she said.

  “I’m thinking maybe that dream was just a little blip of feel-good like you said.”

  Posey looked at Walter with wide eyes. “No,” she said. “It was more than that. It was Tank sending you a message through that dream.”

  “A message?”

  Posey nodded.

  A message.

  Yes! A message. Tank had wanted Walter to know how much he loved Harmony.

  And then Banjo’s Bodacious Adventure had come along to help Walter understand.

  Who would’ve ever thought that would happen?

  Walter and Posey sat there not talking for a while.

  Just listening to Tank’s favorite country music station on the radio, with Porkchop snuggled on Posey’s lap.

  Walter leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

  School would be starting in two days.

  Usually his stomach would be churning with dread at the thought of it.

  But now the most amazing thing was happening.

  Walter’s stomach was fluttering with excitement.

  Not a big flutter.

  But still, a flutter.

  He could picture it now.

  Him and Posey strutting down the halls of Harmony Elementary School, kindred spirits practicing Caesar Romanoff’s rules for making friends.

  Tank sure would have been proud.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It takes a lot of people to bring a book into the world. I am grateful for each and every one of them.

  Many thanks to:

  My editors, Janine O’Malley and Melissa Warten, and the rest of my FSG team—Kelsey Marrujo, Melissa Zar, Jordin Streeter, Kristen Luby, Robby Brown, and Aurora Parlagreco—for all you did and continue to do to get this bodacious adventure out into the world and into the hands of young readers.

  Jennifer Bricking, for the gorgeous jacket art.

  My agent, Barbara Markowitz, and her husband, Harvey.