Mama was just trying to make me feel better. I wasn’t cute and funny like Robin, or beautiful like Betsy, or musical like Ruby. I was just ordinary, and I wasn’t nearly brave enough.
We kept rocking until Robin yelled, “I have to potty!”
Mama stopped the swing with her foot and wearily stood up. “I’d better hurry, or else I’ll have to change the sheets too.”
I followed Mama into the house.
“I hate the bedpan,” Robin said. “My bottom feels dirty.”
“Just finish,” Mama said, “and then I’ll clean your bottom.”
Robin whimpered in frustration.
I said, “Hey, Rob, let’s sing the stinky song.”
Robin giggled and then sang along:
Diarrhea (sniff, sniff), diarrhea (sniff, sniff)
Some people think it’s funny
But it’s always black and runny
Diarrhea (sniff, sniff), diarrhea (sniff, sniff).
Mama finished cleaning Robin’s bottom and emptied the bedpan. “You girls have a warped sense of humor,” she said.
I thought a warped sense of humor was much better than an unhappy sister.
The next day, Robin threw her sketchbook on the den floor. “I’m tired of drawing.”
“Want me to turn on the television for you?” I asked.
Robin shook her head no.
“I could read to you.”
“I’m tired of listening.”
“Well, stop complaining!” I yelled.
My arms and legs started to itch again. Robin was having a boring summer, and no matter how hard I tried to be a perfect big sister, I couldn’t be one. Today wasn’t the first time I’d yelled at her. I offered to bake some brownies to make up for it.
Robin stuck her bottom lip out and scowled. “Don’t put any nuts in my brownies.” Since she knew pecans were my favorite, nutless brownies were my payback for yelling.
I went into the kitchen and added an egg and some oil to the brownie mix. Then I threw in a big handful of pecans. I dipped a spoon into the batter for a little taste. “Ummm.” I had a powerful urge to eat a whole spoonful. And then another one. I sat down on the kitchen floor with the bowl. I shoved spoonful after spoonful into my mouth. Even when I was full, I kept eating. I ate until it was all gone, and then I used my finger to clean every speck of icing from the empty bowl.
My stomach pooched out, and I felt like one of Grandpa’s hogs being fattened for slaughter. I washed the dishes and mixed up another batch of brownies for Robin. This time without nuts.
“Sarah Beth,” Mama called. “Something sure smells good.”
I bent over double with stomach cramps.
Mama hurried across the kitchen floor. “What’s wrong?”
“Stomachache.”
Mama reached into the cabinet and found the terrible-tasting pink medicine. I had known all along the batter would upset my stomach, but I hadn’t been able to stop eating it. In some strange way, punishing myself eased the guilt, at least a little.
Since Robin couldn’t sit up, she had to eat her meals in bed. While Mama fed her, I got into the habit of sitting cross-legged by Robin’s cot. Before long, the whole family was eating in the den.
One night after supper, Dad said, “We could all use a little cheering up. Mama and I have been talking about it, and we’re gonna buy a pony, just as soon as we can find a really gentle one.”
Robin clapped her hands together. Even her toes were twitching. “I wish we could get the pony right now!”
I had finally found a way to make Robin happy, but I still didn’t know what to do about Ruby. We’d never stayed mad this long before.
“Fencing comes first,” Mama said. “Starting tomorrow, Dad and Grandpa are gonna build a fence. That way the pony will have a place to run and play.”
“He needs a barn too,” Robin said.
Dad shook his head. “This winter the pony can stay at Grandpa’s. Maybe we can afford a barn next year.”
“I can’t wait to have a real pony!” Robin said.
I felt the knot in my stomach ease. If Robin got well AND got a pony, maybe that would be enough to make up for the accident.
“Do you think Ruby would come see my pony?” Robin asked. “She hasn’t been here all summer.”
I guess Robin missed her too.
Using a posthole digger, Dad tunneled into the red dirt, making holes two inches deep and about eight inches apart. Then Drucker, Hiram Fletcher’s grandson, filled the area around the post with dirt and tamped it down with a shovel. Sweat soaked through his light-blue shirt.
I pulled the curtain back and watched them work. Mostly I watched Drucker. He was really cute.
“Why do you keep looking out the window?” Robin asked.
“No special reason.” I combed my hair and put on some Pink Passion lip gloss. “I’m gonna carry a pitcher of sweet tea outside. They’re taking a break.”
The muscles in Drucker’s arms bulged. He was at least a head taller than me and had wavy brown hair.
“That tea hits the spot,” Dad said. “How about a refill? Hellooo, Earth to Sarah.”
“What? Oh … tea … sure.”
“One of these days, I’m planning to build a barn,” Dad told Drucker. “I’d love to work on it now, but I need to wait because of Robin’s medical bills.”
Drucker held out his glass for a refill. I noticed his eyes were blue like the ocean. “If you need extra help, I’m good with a hammer,” he said. “I’m saving to buy a minibike.”
Dad wiped his face with a red bandana and sized up Drucker. “You’re a hard worker, and you’ll be even stronger by next year.” He stuck out his hand. “Young man, you’ve got a deal.”
Drucker shook Dad’s hand and grinned. His teeth were white enough to be in a Colgate commercial.
I thought life in the country was looking up, until I noticed Drucker staring at my legs. I had hives again. Why couldn’t I just be a normal girl with a normal crush? Instead, I had a sister in a body cast, an ex–best friend, and a bad case of hives. It was turning out to be the worst summer of my life.
The next morning I took the newspaper and went to see Grandpa. I wanted to ask him about a horse sale at the Tucker Stockyards.
“He’s still doing up the morning chores,” Granny said. “He’ll be in directly. Why don’t I make you some cinnamon toast while you wait on him?”
“Sounds good.” Granny’s cinnamon toast always filled the kitchen with a spicy, buttery scent. Just thinking about it made my mouth water.
“Why do you want to go to a smelly old livestock sale?” Granny asked.
“It’s a horse sale, but it’s held at the stockyard. Maybe we could find a pony there.”
Granny added cinnamon, brown sugar, and a splash of vanilla flavoring to some softened butter. “I didn’t think of that. Usually Grandpa buys cows when he goes to the stockyard.”
I poured myself half a cup of coffee and filled the other half of the cup up with milk. “If we buy Robin a pony, it’ll help her get well. Then I can forget all about the accident.”
Granny spread the softened butter mixture onto the bread. “Pumpkin, that’s not how it works. You can move past the accident, but you’ll never forget it.”
That was not the answer I wanted to hear. Like Ruby’s song, I needed to find a way to let all the bad stuff go. “Granny, have you seen Ruby lately?”
“A few times. She’s been busy practicing with the church choir.”
“I had an argument with her, but I really miss her.”
“About what?”
“Telling secrets and school integration.”
Granny put the cinnamon toast in the oven. “Sarah Beth, there’s a fine line between blacks and whites. School will be easier for you and Ruby if you don’t try to cross over it.”
I sat down at the table with my coffee. “I know it would be easier, but you’ve always told me just because something’s easy don’t make it right.”
I reckoned I was safe enough, but I sure wasn’t happy.
While the cinnamon toast baked, Grandpa made his way into the kitchen and washed up. He sat down beside me at the table. “What you got there?” he asked, picking up the newspaper ad.
“A horse sale. Do you think they might have ponies?”
Grandpa took a closer look. “They just might. Let me talk to your dad about it. I’ve got twenty-five dollars just burning a hole in my pocket.”
I bit into my cinnamon toast, but I didn’t enjoy it as much as I usually did. I was thinking too much, about Ruby, and how Granny said I could never forget the accident. I needed to start over, like when I shook my Etch A Sketch and got a nice clean slate.
On the day of the horse sale, Dad hitched a trailer to Mama’s car, and the two of us made the drive to Tucker.
The stockyard was full of trucks and livestock trailers. The people headed into the auction wore Old Hickory overalls like Grandpa’s, or jeans like Dad and me. The building had high ceilings and concrete floors. I wrinkled my nose at the smells of hay, leather, and manure.
We sat side by side on the bleachers, with a good view of the corral. On my left side sat a real cowboy. I kept sneaking glances at his hat, shiny belt buckle, and boots. He’d make a good character in a bedtime story for Robin.
The auctioneer talked at a fast clip. I didn’t see how anybody could understand him.
The quarter horses were for sale first. “They’re my favorite kind of riding horse,” Dad said.
The cowboy agreed with him. “You can’t beat a good quarter horse,” he said. “I’m hoping to buy one today.”
I looked at the program but didn’t know what some of the words meant. “What’s a Haflinger?”
“Haflingers are chestnut colored with a white mane and tail,” Dad said. “Lot of people use them to pull wagons. Wouldn’t mind owning one myself.”
Since it would be a long time before the ponies, I went to the concession stand for a hot dog. I got in line behind two girls who looked about my age.
The tallest one said, “I wanted to cry when that man in the parking lot hit his pony with a whip.”
The shorter girl shuddered. “No wonder the pony was afraid to leave the trailer.”
I forgot all about buying a hot dog. I stepped in front of the girls. “Do you remember what that pony looked like?”
The tall girl had friendly green eyes, like me. “Yeah, the pony’s chestnut with a white mane and tail. He has the same coloring as a Haflinger.”
“The owner’s name is Granger,” the other girl said. “His wife said, ‘Granger, stop it. If you hurt that pony, he won’t bring a fair price.’ ”
“Thanks. It sounds like that pony needs a good home.”
I hurried back to my seat and scanned the program until I found the pony for sale by Granger Stevens. I pointed to the listing. “We should buy this one,” I told Dad, and then I told him all the reasons why.
When we got our first glimpse of Mr. Stevens’s pony, it broke my heart nearly in two. He had sad eyes and was way too skinny.
Dad frowned. “Looks like that pony has been nearly starved.” He sighed. “Sarah Beth, maybe we should bid on a healthier one.”
I used my pitiful face on him. “Please. He needs rescuing.”
Dad started the bidding at twenty-five dollars.
“Got twenty-five dollars, twenty-five. Anybody give me thirty?” the auctioneer asked.
A woman in a Western shirt raised her hand.
“Please don’t let her outbid us,” I whispered. “Please, Dad.”
“Got thirty dollars, thirty dollars. Anybody give me thirty-five?”
Dad nodded.
The bidding went back and forth between the woman and Dad. Thirty-five dollars, forty dollars, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five.
“Got fifty-five, fifty-five, fifty-five,” the auctioneer chanted.
The woman in the Western shirt shook her head.
“Fifty-five going once! Fifty-five going twice!”
I bounced in my seat like a jumping bean.
“Sold to the man in the R. J. Reynolds cap,” shouted the auctioneer.
I celebrated by throwing my program into the air!
Dad tipped his cap and grinned.
Dad led the chestnut-colored pony on a halter rope to our trailer, but the little pony balked and wouldn’t walk onto the ramp.
“He’s afraid because they whipped him.”
Dad eyed the pony. “He sure likes you, Sarah. Turns his head every time you speak.”
“He’s about the same size as a large dog,” I said. “Maybe we could put him in the back of the car, and I could talk to him all the way home.”
“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard of,” Dad said, but he was already opening the car’s back door. Dad climbed in the front seat, knelt down facing the back, and pulled on the halter rope.
I talked to the no-name pony in a soft voice. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re going home with us now.” I petted him until he trusted me enough to scramble into the back, just the way I wanted him to.
The pony was calm on the way home. He rode with his head stuck out the window. I told him all about the farm. How he’d have plenty of grass, oats, and hay to eat, and a big pasture to explore. He snuffled like he understood me.
Dad kept looking in the rearview mirror. “I’d hate to hear your mama if we end up with a load of manure in the backseat of her car.”
I didn’t know how to keep that from happening, but I kept a watch on the pony’s hind end, just in case. We were lucky, and he minded his manners.
Dad tooted on the horn as we headed up the driveway.
Mama, Granny, and Grandpa hurried out to the front porch to see what all the ruckus was about. “You’re pulling a perfectly good trailer behind that car,” Mama yelled. “What in the world is a pony doing in the back?”
Grandpa chuckled. “A better question might be how are we gonna get him out?”
“That’s easy,” Dad said. “All I need is a bucket of oats. It’s been so long since this pony had enough to eat that he’d follow a bucket of oats about anywhere.”
I couldn’t wait for Robin to see her pony. I tugged on Dad’s arm. “Can we move Robin’s cot onto the porch?”
“That sounds like a good idea,” he said. “Robin would probably enjoy a little fresh air.”
Grandpa and Mama moved Robin onto the porch. Dad rattled the oats bucket, while I coaxed the pony toward the house. He stopped and eyed the steps.
“Come on, little fella,” I said. “Only two steps.” And with a final rattle of the oats bucket, the pony climbed up. His hooves clomped across the porch.
Robin’s smile was big and wide, the way it used to be before the accident. I wished I could tell Ruby about it. She’d understand how good I felt, like when her mama sent a letter from Chicago.
Robin made a clicking sound by putting her tongue behind her teeth. “Come here, boy,” she called. “Click, click, click.”
The pony’s ears perked up, and he stopped beside Robin’s bed and nuzzled her hand.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I love him,” Robin said. “He’s beautiful.”
The pony was much too skinny to be beautiful, but if Robin thought he was that was good enough for me.
“I want to take a ride,” she said.
Mama’s face scrunched up like she was trying hard not to cry. “I know you do, but you have to get the cast off first.”
Robin scowled at Mama. “How many days until I’m all better?”
“We don’t know for sure,” Mama admitted.
Robin’s face turned red.
This had been a good day so far. I didn’t want it to be ruined. “Your pony needs a name, Rob. What are you gonna call him?”
The pony stood very still while she petted
him. “His name is Surelick,” she said.
I walked over and petted the pony too. “That’s a funny name. Why are you calling him that?”
Robin pointed to the empty oats bucket in Dad’s hand. “Because my pony is a good eater. He sure licked the bucket clean.”
“I like it. It’s an unusual name.”
I kept watching Robin and Surelick. It was love at first sight, but would he really help her get well? I sure hoped so. I was running out of ideas.
After Dad turned Surelick out to pasture, Robin asked for her sketchbook.
Since Mama and Dad were both close by, I tucked my journal underneath my arm and went for a walk in the woods. Normally, I would’ve gone to Ruby’s house, but not anymore. Sunshine sifted through the leaves, warming my face. I wasn’t sure where the path led, but I wanted to find a private place to write a letter to Ruby.
I stepped over tangled vines, slid down a steep hill, and came to a clearing with a pond. I made my way closer to the boy sitting beside the water. His elbows rested on his bent knees, and his head drooped toward his chest.
“Drucker?”
I must have startled him. He jerked his head in my direction. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
My face felt like I had been sitting too close to a campfire. I held out my journal. “Sorry. I was looking for a private place to write. Our house is pretty tiny.”
Drucker patted the ground beside him. “Don’t let me scare you off. Have a seat.”
I sat down and wrapped my arms around my knees. “I’ve never been here before.”
“This is part of my grandpa’s land,” Drucker said. “That steep hill you just walked down is the boundary between your family’s property and ours.”
“Uh-oh, sounds like I’m trespassing.”
Drucker gave me a lopsided smile. “Nobody cares about that. I’m the only company you’ll ever meet out here, except for stray cows.”
I patted my journal. “I was planning to write. What do you do out here by yourself?”
Drucker picked up a rock and scrambled to his feet. “I usually come here to skip stones. It helps me think.” He held the rock between his thumb and fingers and threw it with an arcing motion, like a Frisbee.
Ruby Lee and Me Page 6
