I shook my head. Leave it to Ruby to make her own luck. “Okay, ‘Miss Bossy Britches,’ how does Curtis know Drucker was gonna ask me?”
“Well, it’s like this: The boys on the football team have been practicing together for about a month now. It’s taking a while, but they’re finally becoming friends. Drucker told Curtis at practice how he was gonna ask you, but when you ran off, ol’ Drucker lost his nerve.”
“Ah, Ruby! I want to go with Drucker, and now I’ve really messed up.”
“Don’t you worry,” she said. “I can fix it. I’ll have a talk with Curtis and tell him you’ll say yes. Then Curtis will talk to Drucker, and before you know it, you’ll have a date for the dance.”
I loved the excitement in Ruby’s eyes. I hoped none of the grown-ups would get all worked up about integration and ruin our first school dance.
When I opened the door to Robin’s hospital room, Mama looked up from her sewing. “Did you have a nice visit with Ruby Lee?”
“Yeah, it was good.” I didn’t tell Mama how Ruby and me were gonna be school friends. I didn’t want to hear about the fine line. Just for today, I wanted to be happy that Ruby was my best friend again.
Mama put her sewing down and stretched her arms over her head. “My fingers could use a break. Let’s take a peek at Robin’s physical therapy.”
We walked past the nurses’ station to a group of elevators. I hated the way the hospital smelled. It reminded me of the alcohol nurses used to swab my arm, just before a shot.
Mama nodded and smiled to several people on the elevator and on the physical therapy floor. We passed by people in wheelchairs and others pushing IV poles. Mama stopped before a door midway down the hall. A sign beside it said P.T. Mama opened the door just wide enough for me to look inside.
Robin held on to two parallel bars. A woman in a white uniform stood ready to catch her if she fell. Robin hopped on her left leg, with her right leg bent at the knee.
“The doctors are trying to get her strong enough to use crutches,” Mama said.
Robin didn’t look up. She used all her concentration on the bars.
Mama strained forward, as if she were trying to help Robin move along. “Physical therapy is hard work,” she said. “Robin is exhausted when her session’s over.”
Every muscle in Robin’s body looked rigid. Her teeth were clenched.
“She’s the one who is brave,” I said.
Mama peeked over my shoulder. “Robin is scared and brave at the same time. She’s scared because she can’t walk yet, but she’s brave enough to work hard so someday she’ll be able to.”
I finally understood. Courage is doing hard things when you’re most afraid, like saying you’re sorry, or being friends with a colored girl. I kept watching Robin struggle, and thought how lucky I was to still have a little sister. All that love filled my chest, rising like a perfect pan of biscuits.
Robin looked up and saw us peeking in the door. She stuck her tongue out and made a funny face.
I laughed and made one right back. I thought of what Ruby had said. “I’m not much good at apologizing.” I wasn’t much good at it either, but I owed my sister a big one.
In Robin’s hospital room, Gunsmoke played on the television suspended from the ceiling.
“Sarah, stop pacing,” Mama said.
I forced myself to sit down. I curled and uncurled my fists.
Robin watched the show as if she’d been hypnotized. When it came to an end, she looked sad. “What if I walk with a limp?” she asked. “Can I still be a cowgirl?”
Mama continued hemming a pair of pants. “In the very old episodes of Gunsmoke, there’s a character called Chester, and he walked with a limp.”
“That’s good to know,” Robin said. “Maybe I’ll walk like Chester.”
Mama finished hemming one leg and started on the other. “That’s right. You can still be a cowgirl whether you have a limp or not.”
I didn’t want Robin to have a limp. I just wanted my sister back exactly the way she used to be, but that was impossible. It was like Ruby said: “Some stuff can’t be fixed.”
Dad stuck his head in the door of Robin’s room. “I’m going to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee.” He looked over at Mama. “Can I bring you back one?”
“No!” I said. “Please don’t go for coffee. I have something important to tell you, and it can’t wait.”
Mama stopped sewing and folded the pants in her lap.
Dad frowned, and his eyebrows drew close together. He walked in and closed the door. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Just let me think for a minute.” I started pacing again, then stopped and closed my eyes. I decided the best way was to get it over with. To jump right in like at the town pool when the water was too cold. I mustered up all my courage. “Robin’s accident was my fault,” I blurted out.
Mama shook her head. “No, don’t be silly. Absolutely not.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “This is so hard. Please, please don’t interrupt. Just let me finish.”
Mama and Dad stared at each other. Both of them nodded for me to go ahead.
“On the day of the accident, I was reading a library book. When I looked up, Robin was gone. If I had paid more attention, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”
Mama’s eyes were brimming with tears.
Dad stared at the floor.
Robin’s mouth flew open in surprise.
Nobody said a single word.
I spun around and jerked open the door.
“Wait!” Robin called.
I ignored her and rushed down the hall.
“Sarah, stop!” Dad yelled.
His footsteps thundered behind me. I raced by the nurses’ station.
The woman at the desk called, “No running in the halls, please.”
I passed by doctors and patients roaming the hall. Tears blinded me as I turned a corner to the right.
Dad’s footsteps sounded closer.
I picked up speed, but he was gaining on me.
Closer, closer, closer.
My shirt stretched taut as he grabbed it from behind.
Dad turned me around to face him. “Sweet pea, you can’t run away from your problems. You’ve got to face ’em head-on.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for Robin to get hurt.”
Dad pulled me into his arms. “Sssh,” he said. He patted my back just like I was a baby. I cried against his chest until his shirt was sopping wet. Sorrow was overwhelming me, like in Ruby’s song.
When my sobs turned to sniffles, Dad wiped my face with his handkerchief. “Come with me. It’s high time we settled this.”
I trudged beside Dad back to Robin’s room. I hoped my parents would still love me as much as before, and Granny and Grandpa too. I hoped Robin could forgive me.
Dad opened the door and gave me a gentle push into the room.
Mama looked up, with tears shining on her cheeks. “Sarah, it was an accident. We’ve never blamed you.”
“B-b-b-but, I blame myself.”
Robin scooted over to make room for me. “Sit here,” she said.
I sat on the edge of the bed and took Robin’s hand. I looked down, too ashamed to meet her eyes. “I’m—I’m so sorry. I’ve been trying to make it up to you all summer, but I can’t find a way.”
Robin’s chubby hand reached out and wiped the tears off my face. “I ran away on purpose.”
“What?”
Dad moved closer to Robin. “Why?” he asked. “Why would you do such a thing?”
Robin squirmed and pulled on one of her curls. “Cause of Scruffy. He was outside at Cathy’s, and I wanted to play with him.” She quit messing with her hair and shook her finger at me. “Sarah always tells me NO. She says, ‘Wait until Mama gets home.’ I ran away when she wasn’t looking.”
Robin had raced full speed ahead without checking for danger, but that was no excuse. I shouldn’t have been reading. I had known better than tha
t.
“We make rules to keep you safe,” Dad said. “I need you to promise that you won’t ever run away again.” He didn’t quit staring until Robin promised.
Mama stood up and put her hand on my shoulder. “Sarah, the police report says the driver was going too fast for a residential neighborhood. If you insist on placing blame, there’s plenty of it to go around.”
Inside my head, the screaming siren played over and over like a scratched record. Maybe someday my flashbacks would fade. I hoped so.
“That young man made a terrible mistake,” Mama said, “but it won’t do any good to look back.” She reached for a Kleenex from Robin’s bedside table and wiped her eyes. “There are a lot of what-ifs here. If only I hadn’t been working in the garden. If only Sarah hadn’t been reading. If only Cathy hadn’t let Scruffy out of the house. Let’s put all the what-ifs behind us.”
I wanted to. I wanted to feel as shiny inside as a new penny.
Mama moved between Robin and me. She took each of us by the hand. Dad grabbed my other hand and Robin’s too.
“Sarah, look at me,” Mama said. “The accident is in the past. What’s important now?”
I needed to get this right. I remembered the rest of Ruby’s song.
Sorrow’s overwhelmin’ me
Lord, show me how to set it free.
I needed a gift from my family. I squeezed Mama and Dad’s hands, but looked straight into Robin’s eyes. “Forgiveness,” I whispered. “Forgiveness is what matters now.”
All alone with Scruffy, I sat on the steps, looking up at the full moon. I listened to the crickets chirping and the owls hooting. I didn’t think there was a more peaceful place on earth.
The screen door creaked open. “Don’t stay up too late,” Dad said. “We have to bring Robin home from the hospital tomorrow.”
Scruffy and I gazed at the stars. “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight.” I remembered my wishes. First, that Robin would be good as new. And then my second wish, that the accident would somehow not be my fault. My wishes hadn’t come true, at least not exactly.
The doctors said Robin would walk with crutches for a while. She would have to work hard at physical therapy. Mama had ordered a brace and special shoes. Even so, there were no guarantees.
I had wished with all my heart for the accident not to be my fault. But I had made a big mistake. I reached into my pocket and pulled out an assignment from Mrs. Smyre. I was supposed to write an essay on how I had spent my summer vacation. Most years this would have been easy enough. I would have written about swimming lessons, 4-H Camp, and our annual trip to the beach. But this was far from a typical summer. I felt older now, maybe even old. That’s what I would write my essay about.
I thought about each member of my family and how they loved me in a forever way. I remembered the wild ride with Granny to the hospital and finally telling the truth to my parents. I thought about Ruby Lee and how we were gonna be brave at school. I had found courage, just like the lion in The Wizard of Oz.
Some stuff still remained a mystery though. Like why my heart beat faster when Drucker smiled, or how faith worked, or why school integration had to be so hard. I didn’t think I’d ever understand those things, even if I lived to be as old as Granny.
Scruffy scooted closer to me and howled. “Aaiiee! Aaiiee!” It was that time of night again. He was missing Robin too.
“Don’t cry, Scruff. We’re gonna be all right. I even have a date.” I closed my eyes and thought of a new bedtime story for Robin. I grabbed my leather-bound journal to write.
In 1967, I started first grade. That was also the first year that the school system in Yadkin County, North Carolina, became integrated. Mrs. Pauline Porter was Fall Creek Elementary School’s first African American teacher. She taught first grade in the classroom beside mine.
Mrs. Porter had a special gift for working with reluctant readers. So every afternoon, she changed classrooms with my teacher and worked with those of us struggling to read. Mrs. Porter had a beautiful cadence to her voice, and it reminded me of poetry.
Several years ago, I heard that Mrs. Porter was in failing health. I went for a visit to let her know what an impact she had made on my life. During that visit, she reminded me that white children had been uneasy about having a black teacher. To ease our concerns, she had asked each of us to touch her face and hair. As Mrs. Porter spoke, my mind drifted back to that time. I remembered how soft her skin felt and how she loved all children regardless of color. As a writer, I wanted to tell a story I hoped would pay tribute to her gentle dignity.
When I sat down to write, Mrs. Porter’s story converged with another event from my childhood. In the summer of 1969, my younger sister was struck by a car. I was eight years old, but my childhood effectively ended that day. I had always known that bad things happened in the world, but after Robin’s accident, I knew they could happen to my family.
My primary memory of that time period is guilt. Unlike Sarah, I was not a middle schooler, nor was I babysitting, but I felt guilty that I could run, and jump, and play, while Robin was stuck in a body cast.
As I wove the story of Robin’s accident together with school integration, I was struck by the themes they have in common: courage and forgiveness.
Though inspired by actual events, this book is a work of fiction. I’ve created characters and changed what really happened in the interest of good storytelling. Most especially, the vandalism I wrote about did not take place in my hometown.
I also altered one tiny piece of history. My grandmother adored the soap opera All My Children, and so I included it even though the first episode didn’t actually run until 1970.
I’ve been asked if I’m Sarah Beth Willis. The truth is there’s a little bit of me in all the characters I create, but, no, I’m not Sarah Beth. At her age, I was neither aware of events outside my hometown, nor nearly as brave as she is. I’ve given Sarah the knowledge and courage I wish I’d had and that I wish for all my readers.
First and foremost I owe a hug and a thousand kisses to my husband, David. Without his encouragement and financial support, I would have never written a publishable word. Once I had the time to write, two novelists, Cynthia Chapman Willis and Joyce Sweeney, taught me the ropes. I found a cheering squad with critique mates Diana Sharp, Joni Klein-Higger, Eileen Goldenberg, and Nancy Stewart. Carolyn Coman’s sage advice sparked the revision that ultimately sold to Scholastic. She said, “Take out everything that doesn’t have your heart.” Good advice for writing and in life.
Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators Florida chapter provided the initial contact with my editor, Andrea Pinkney, at their Orlando Conference. Andrea pushed me to delve even deeper into topics that made me uncomfortable, topics that made me cry. My agent, Deborah Warren, sealed the deal.
The pictures in the back of Ruby Lee & Me would not have been possible without the help of my cousin Tracy Williams, who took the photo of my grandparents’ house, and Curtis Sponsler, who enhanced pictures from my childhood and reformatted them for publication.
Now it’s time for my book to make its way into the world. With a grateful heart, I thank each of you who helped Ruby Lee & Me along the journey.
Shannon Hitchcock is the author of the critically acclaimed The Ballad of Jessie Pearl, hailed for its immediacy and cadenced voice. This novel’s story is based on Shannon’s real-life experience and the teacher who inspired her as a child. Shannon’s picture book biography, Overgrown Jack, was nominated for the Sue Alexander Most Promising New Work Award. Her writing has been published in Cricket, Highlights for Children, and Children’s Writer. She lives in Tampa, Florida.
Photos (Here) courtesy of the author, except: aerial view of grandparents’ farm (Here) courtesy of Tracy Williams; Mrs. Porter (Here) courtesy of Mrs. Pauline Porter’s family
Laced linen frames of horse embroidery (Here): de-kay/istockphoto
Copyright © 2016 by Shannon Hitchcock
All r
ights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available
First edition, January 2016
Cover art © 2016 by Zdenko Basic
Cover design by Carol Ly
e-ISBN 978-0-545-78232-6
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
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