Lost Goat Lane

by Rosa Jordan

  He hadn’t always been like that. When he was little he acted like he could do anything, and Kate, two years younger, really believed he could. But after Mom gave them the news that Dad was never coming back, the confidence seemed to drain right out of Justin.

  “I think I can catch up the payments,” Mom said, continuing to write down numbers. “But there’s going to be very little money for other things. That’s why we want to raise as much of our own food as much as we can.” She smiled around the table at all of them. “Sugar and the ducks give us food. Next spring we can sell the calves and use that money to buy things we need. In the meantime …” Mom gave Kate and Justin a hard look. “.I’m counting on you to stay home and take good care of each other and your little brother.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Kate said, looking down at the numbers on the page, which started out with $1000 and ended up with a big fat zero.

  Kate never got around to telling Chip and Justin that Mom had said they shouldn’t visit the Wilsons anymore. And actually Mom hadn’t said they shouldn’t ever go there. All she’d said was, “I don’t want you going down there every day.”

  Well, Kate didn’t go there every day. She never had. And Chip didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to, so he kept on walking home with Luther after school. On weekends they all went to the Wilsons, sometimes in the morning, before Mom got home from the dairy, and sometimes in the afternoon, after she’d gone back for the evening milking. They never stayed long. And Kate made sure that they always got home before Mom did, so there wouldn’t be any questions about where they’d been.

  Kate had learned long ago that once Chip knew something was a secret, he had a hard time keeping it. In fact, if he got mad, he might tell on purpose. The best thing was to not say anything and hope he wouldn’t either.

  For a while that had worked well. Although Chip often said “Luther this” or “Luther that,” he went a whole month without saying anything about the rest of the Wilson family.

  The day before Booker was supposed to come, just before Thanksgiving, Chip was so excited about Booker coming that as he climbed up on his step stool to dry the dishes, he started babbling. “Luther says Booker can hit a ball one mile and he can—”

  “Oh, Chip,” Justin said, rinsing a handful of soapy silverware and tossing it in the dish drainer. “Nobody can hit a ball one mile.”

  “You’ll see,” Chip argued. “You’ll see when we go over there tomorrow—”

  Kate was sweeping the floor. She had just opened her mouth to say, “Hush, Chip!” when Mom walked through the kitchen.

  “There’s no need for you kids to go over there tomorrow,” Mom said.

  Justin stopped washing dishes. Chip stopped drying. Kate stopped sweeping.

  “But Mom, we have to,” Chip explained. “Booker’s coming tomorrow.”

  “He’s coming to spend time with his family, and they won’t be wanting you kids hanging around.” Mom headed for the living room. Over her shoulder she said, “We’ll have our own Thanksgiving dinner day after tomorrow, a nice roast chicken. And Kate, I got the ingredients for pumpkin pie. That’ll keep you plenty busy. So don’t be looking for excuses to go over to the Wilsons’ this weekend, you hear me?”

  Justin looked as if he had been hit in the face. He threw the dishcloth in the sink and walked out the back door.

  “Hey!” Chip yelled. “You’re not finished.” Then his eyes filled with tears.

  “Shhhh,” Kate whispered. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way.”

  She put her hands in the warm soapy water and started washing dishes, not so much to help out as to have a few minutes to think what to do.

  They could just wait till Mom had gone to work, then go to the Wilsons’ like they always did. But it was not a good idea to do something Mom had told them not to do. They’d learned that much when they hung out at the big canal after she had forbidden it. It would be better to explain the situation with the Wilsons and get permission. But when Mom had told them to stay home this weekend she’d sounded like she wasn’t in a mood to discuss it.

  Kate was all the way through the pots and pans when it suddenly hit her that if Mom didn’t change her mind, something really bad might happen. The real problem was Justin. He was still having trouble at school. He hardly ever spoke to anybody, and he told Kate he didn’t need friends. Half the time he didn’t bother to do his homework. He usually just sat around in the afternoon reading books about far-off places. Kate knew what was on his mind. Not getting to meet Booker would be the last straw. Justin might really run away from home.

  The minute the thought came into Kate’s mind, she dashed out the back door. For a moment she didn’t see Justin in the darkness and thought maybe he had already run away. Then she saw him in the front yard. He was standing with his hands hanging limp at his sides, watching cars go by on the highway. He didn’t even have a baseball in his hand.

  Kate went and stood beside him. He didn’t seem to notice her.

  “Please don’t run away,” Kate said.

  “Why run away?” he asked in a dull voice. “We’re going to get kicked out of here in a few months anyway.”

  “You don’t know that!” Kate cried. “Mom said—”

  “I know what she said,” he interrupted. “But why do you think she doesn’t want us to get friendly with the Wilsons? Because she knows we’ll be moving, that’s why. She doesn’t want to have to tell neighbors that our property’s getting repossessed.”

  Justin walked away into the darkness. When car headlights flashed by she saw him watching the calves lying down in a corner of their pen. Kate talked to Sugar while she milked her, telling her what a mess things were. She knew Chip talked to the ducks, using a soft quacky voice that was almost like theirs. But Justin didn’t talk to animals. He didn’t talk to anybody. Justin was just … alone.

  Kate went back into the house. She found Mom at the desk, her head bent over the bills. There couldn’t be a worse time to bother to her, but Kate knew she had to. She stood awhile before her mom looked up.

  “What is it, Katie?”

  “Mom, are we going to lose the farm?”

  “No.” Mom went back to writing checks. After a minute she looked up again and said in an impatient voice, “What is it, Katie?”

  “Booker Wilson’s the best ballplayer who ever lived in this town.”

  “I know that,” Mom said, continuing to write checks. Finally she looked up again. “So?”

  “Justin’s really scared.” Kate couldn’t tell Mom that he, and in fact all of them, were still scared of losing the farm—not after she told them it wouldn’t happen. “About … about not making the baseball team next spring.”

  “He’s certainly not going to make the team if he doesn’t get his grades up,” her mom said unsympathetically.

  “Getting to meet Booker Wilson would be, well, it would make Justin feel better. Maybe seeing somebody from our high school who actually played pro ball would inspire him to try harder.”

  Mom didn’t answer right away, but she did stop writing. She stared off into space with a little smile on her face, as if she was thinking about something that made her feel good.

  “Did you ever get to see him play ball?” Kate asked.

  Mom blinked and looked at Kate like she was just remembering she was there. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve seen Booker play ball.”

  “So can we go meet him? Mr. Wilson invited us.”

  “He invited you? You’re sure?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “All right,” Mom said. Her voice turned sharp. “But just long enough to say hello, you hear me? Then you kids come straight home.”

  “Thanks, Mom!”

  Kate dashed out of the room before her mom could change her mind again. As she raced through the kitchen, she gave Chip a thumbs-up sign to let him know it was okay. Then she went outside to look for Justin. He was standing right where he had been before, over by the calf pen, all by himself.

  “Ju
stin!” she called softly. “It’s okay! We can go!”

  Justin turned around. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Really.”

  He lifted his arms and with a huge smile, swung an imaginary bat at an imaginary ball.

  Kate knew what that meant: Home run!

  10

  Booker And Everybody

  Kate didn’t even think about going home when they got off the bus on Wednesday afternoon, but hurried along with Luther, Chip, and Justin to the Wilsons’ house. The quicker they got there the better chance they’d have of being there when Booker arrived—and the less chance that Mom would change her mind. When they arrived, Luther flung his book bag on the front porch and climbed onto the top of a tire swing. Chip gave the swing a push. Justin headed around the side of the house to Mr. Wilson’s shop, and Kate stepped up onto the porch to go inside.

  “Uncle Booker’s here!” Luther yelled. Chip grabbed the tire and Luther jumped off. Kate and Justin hurried to the front yard.

  A blue van sped along Lost Goat Lane. As it got closer, Kate could make out the driver, a man with big shoulders and the widest grin she had ever seen.

  By the time the van came to a complete stop, Luther, Ruby, and Mrs. Wilson were clustered at the driver’s door, each trying to be the first to hug Booker. Mr. Wilson unloaded Booker’s bags. Kate stood on the far side of the van with Justin and Chip, waiting to be introduced. When Booker finally got free of his family’s hugs and came around the van to where they were standing, Kate couldn’t believe what she saw.

  This was Booker Wilson, the most famous baseball player who ever lived in this town? The Booker Wilson who was now a coach in Atlanta? That was impossible! Booker Wilson was in a wheelchair!

  At least Kate kept her wits about her and remembered not to stare. Justin was so surprised his mouth fell open.

  Booker glared at him. “What you staring at, boy?”

  “You don’t—” Justin started to say, then remembered himself, and snapped his mouth shut.

  “What?” Booker yelled. “What are you meaning to say? I don’t have any feet?”

  Booker not only didn’t have feet, he didn’t have much in the way of legs either. What legs he did have ended at the knees, which stuck straight out in front of him. He wore blue jeans, like anybody might, but they were cut off short, like his legs, and sewed up at the bottom.

  Booker slipped his hand into the side pocket of his wheelchair and with a lightning movement, threw a baseball hard and fast, right at Justin. Justin was quick and got his hand up in time to catch the ball. But Kate could tell by the way Justin kept rubbing his hand on his pants afterward that it stung like crazy.

  “Guess you got a notion that a person with no feet can’t be involved in sports,” Booker said, still glaring at Justin. “Well, let me tell you something.” He looked from Justin to Kate to Chip. “It’s way smarter to mind what people do have than what they don’t!”

  Booker spun his wheelchair around and headed toward the back of the van. “Hey, Luther,” he yelled. “I got a bicycle in here, if somebody will help me lift it out.”

  Mr. Wilson opened the back door of the van and said, “Give us a hand here, Justin.”

  Justin reached in and lifted the bike out—if you could call it a bike. It looked like a piece of junk to Kate.

  “It’s got no pedals!” Luther exclaimed.

  “No chain either,” said Chip.

  “You going to fix it?” Kate asked doubtfully. “Frame’s pretty bent.”

  Booker stared at the bicycle as if he had never noticed its problems. He looked hurt.

  Justin looked at Booker’s down-turned mouth, then back at the bike. “Looks like it was in an accident,” Justin said. “The wheels are good, though. Practically new.”

  Booker rocked back in his wheelchair and grinned at Justin. “By golly, but you are a quick study, my man! No point in whining about what we don’t have. We’re going to do something with what we got. How about carrying this thing around to Papa’s shop?”

  Justin didn’t smile, but Kate could tell that he was pleased with Booker’s response. Her brother hefted the bicycle to his shoulder and carried it out to the shed Mr. Wilson used for a workshop.

  Booker followed in his wheelchair with Luther running along on one side, Chip on the other. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson and Ruby walked just behind them and Kate brought up the rear. Already Kate could tell there was something about Booker that made you want to stick close to him. He acted like something really interesting might happen any minute.

  The crate-like thing was still on Mr. Wilson’s workbench. Kate had never paid much attention to it. She now saw that it had an axle and two shafts: everything needed to make it a cart except wheels.

  Booker asked, “Did you find a harness, Papa?”

  Mr. Wilson lifted a leather harness off a hook on the wall and held it up. “Think this’ll do?”

  “Beautiful!” Booker grinned. “Luther, you and your friend bring old Billy over here and let’s see how he likes it.”

  He turned to Justin. “Want to give me a hand getting these wheels off?”

  Mr. Wilson handed Booker and Justin each a wrench.

  “Heaven’s sake, Sam!” Mrs. Wilson said to her husband. “Our boy’s not got the road dust off and you’ve set him to work!”

  “I was only—” Mr. Wilson tried to protest, but Mrs. Wilson didn’t give him a chance to finish. She patted Booker’s broad shoulder.

  “Aren’t you hungry, son?”

  “You better be.” Ruby put her hands on her hips. “Because we’ve been cooking for two days!”

  “Hungry?” Booker rolled his eyes. “Ladies, I’m so hungry I could eat old Billy without barbecue sauce. It’ll just take us a minute to see if this contraption works, then I’ll be right in.”

  Mrs. Wilson laughed. “Come on, Ruby,” she said, heading for the house. “That’s one desperately hungry man. Let’s get dinner on the table.”

  Booker started taking one wheel off the bicycle. Justin watched him a minute, then went to work removing the other one. When they had both wheels off, Mr. Wilson fitted them onto the cart. Then he and Justin lifted the cart off the workbench and turned it right-side-up. Chip and Luther returned leading Billy. When they saw the waiting cart, they started laughing. They were finally figuring out what Kate had figured out fifteen minutes ago: the bicycle wasn’t meant to be a bicycle for Luther, but part of a goat cart. Even Billy must have sensed what was going on, because he started tossing his head and prancing like he was on parade. Kate held him while Mr. Wilson buckled him into the new harness. The boys pulled the cart up behind Billy and Mr. Wilson attached the harness to the shaft.

  “Kate,” said Mr. Wilson. “Go over there by the water faucet where I was washing vegetables from the garden and bring me some carrot tops. We might have to bribe Billy to behave himself till he gets used to his new responsibilities.”

  Kate ran to do as she was told. As she passed under the kitchen window she heard Ruby say, “Woman at the door. Some white woman.”

  Kate knew who the white woman was before she got to the side of the porch and the water faucet, because she could see her mom’s car parked out front. Kate knew she should have left for work by now, but she must have waited just to be sure they came straight home like they promised after saying hello to Booker. Which of course they hadn’t. Now she was standing at the screen door with a brown paper bag.

  “Why hello, Mrs. Martin.” Mrs. Wilson pushed open the screen door. “Won’t you come in?”

  “No, thank you,” Mom said. “I just came to get my children and—”

  Mrs. Wilson called over her shoulder, “Come out here, Ruby. It’s the children’s mama.” Mrs. Wilson came out onto the porch, Ruby behind her. “Mrs. Martin, you remember our daughter Ruby?”

  “Don’t believe I would have recognized you,” Mom said to Ruby. “Must be ten years since I saw you last.”

  Ruby barely nodded at Mom, without smiling or saying hi or anyth
ing like that.

  “The children are around back,” Mrs. Wilson explained. “Booker’s helping them rig up a goat cart.”

  “Kate said he was coming home for Thanksgiving. I didn’t want them to intrude on your family get-together, but Justin just had to meet Booker. I told them they could visit for a minute, but you know kids. They can’t tell a minute from an hour.” Mom hesitated, then shoved the paper bag into Mrs. Wilson’s hands. “And I wanted to give you this.”

  “What’s this?” Mrs. Wilson sounded uncertain about taking whatever Mom was handing her.

  “I get all the butter I want from the dairy,” Mom explained. “It being the holidays and all, I thought you could use some extra.”

  “Like the duck eggs, I guess,” Ruby said, in a kind of sarcastic voice.

  “I beg your pardon?” Mom sounded confused.

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Wilson said politely. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Martin.”

  “It’s not much.” Mom sounded apologetically. “I just found out recently how much time my children have been spending here. You’re bound to’ve fed them more than once.”

  “Oh, I’ve fed them now and then.” Mrs. Wilson chuckled. “That littlest of yours sure has an appetite!”

  Mom didn’t smile. “I may work seven days a week,” she said in a stiff voice, “but I never miss a night sitting down to dinner with my children.”

  Mrs. Wilson’s smile faded. In a voice just as stiff as Mom’s, she said, “Ruby, walk Mrs. Martin around back so she can get her children.”

  Kate scooped up the carrot tops and ran toward the goat pasture. She had heard every word, but she didn’t understand what was going on. Why had Mom been so upset with Mrs. Wilson just because she said Chip ate a lot? And why did Ruby … well, Ruby always had attitude. By now Kate had learned that it didn’t always mean she was angry; it was just the way she was. And anyway, if Mom didn’t want to deal with a person like Ruby, she shouldn’t have come there. After all, the Wilsons were their friends, not hers.

  Chip and Luther were in the cart, which Billy was pulling nicely toward the opposite side of the pasture. When they reached the fence, Luther flapped the reins. Billy turned back toward the goat shed and took off like a flash.