by Linda Byler
“Not so much!” Emma said loudly.
“That’s not much.”
“Stop it, Lizzie. I’m going to tell Mam.”
“I didn’t even spray much on the rag.” Lizzie went on spraying till Emma grabbed the can of polish.
“You just do that to make me angry!” Emma shouted.
“I do not.”
“You do!”
So Lizzie was quiet, moving the dust rag around the doilies.
“You have to take the stuff off the dresser, Lizzie! Put everything on the bed—don’t just dust around the doilies.”
So Lizzie obediently dumped everything on the bed and sprayed more furniture polish on the dresser top.
“Not so much!” Emma yelled.
Lizzie stopped spraying, wiping halfheartedly while she looked at herself in the mirror. Her brown hair was a mess, because Mam didn’t have time to comb it back in neat rolls this morning. Her eyes were blue—well, not really, Lizzie thought. Kind of gray. Her nostrils were way too long and slanted, which was the only thing Lizzie didn’t like. She wondered why—if her nose was not big, or had a bump like Marvin’s—it had such oddly shaped nostrils. She pushed on the end of her nose, but it only made her nostrils look worse. If she lowered her head, she could hardly see them, so she thought she’d practice keeping her head down so no one could see them very well.
“Come on, Lizzie. Hurry up!” Emma said.
Lizzie looked in the mirror and could see only Emma’s backside sticking up beside the bed, because she was on her knees, sweeping out from under it, making loud, clapping sounds with the broom. Lizzie examined her nostrils again, wondering vaguely how Emma could tell if she was getting the dusting finished if she had her head under the bed.
Emma is so strange, Lizzie thought. Always sweeping or worrying if the toys are scattered over the living room floor.
· · · · ·
On Saturday morning, after a very good breakfast of pancakes with syrup and scrambled eggs and toast, they all piled into the buggy. Dat rolled up the gray canvas part in the back, so the girls could see out the window and the breeze would blow through the buggy.
The girls wore short-sleeved everyday dresses, although they picked out the best ones, being careful all the buttons were on and no rips or patches could be seen. They pinned on their black belt aprons, but they didn’t need to wear shoes, because bare feet were a lot more comfortable.
Emma’s dress was dark green, Lizzie’s was royal blue, and Mandy wore a lavender one. Mam had baked molasses cookies, and they were tucked under the front seat, along with the horse’s halter and neck rope.
Red was as ambitious as always, starting off at a brisk trot. Dat had to hold back with both arms, because if he didn’t, Red just ran at a speed that was actually dangerous. Mam always worried about Red being too tired, or the sun being too warm, or that he would become thirsty before they reached Grandpa Glick’s farm.
But Red was still trotting briskly as they turned in the drive. “This still seems different,” Mam commented.
“It sure does,” Dat agreed.
They said that because Doddy Glicks had moved from the dairy farm not too long ago. This was a farm, too, except they didn’t milk cows. Lizzie liked this farm almost better because of the hills and the pond where they were going fishing.
Marvin and Elsie were thrilled to see them, as were the aunts and Doddy and Mommy Glick. Lizzie always felt so welcome and everything seemed cozy, and, well, she thought very hard how she felt in Doddys’ kettle house, but she didn’t really have a word for it. It just seemed good.
Their kettle house was the first room you walked into when you went in the front door. It was attached to the kitchen, so one wall was brick like the exterior of the whole house. The brick wall was painted with glossy blue paint, so they could wash it off when they spring cleaned. The floor was concrete, but that, too, was painted with shiny gray paint. There were hooks for clothes, racks for shoes, chests where buggy blankets were kept, the wringer washing machine with double steel tubs, a sink and stove, and even a little sink with a mirror above it to wash your hands. The windows were lined with pots of violets and ivys, all dark green and shades of purple, because Mommy Glick loved houseplants and always kept them healthy.
Lizzie asked Elsie why they had double rinse tubs at their washing machine, and Elsie said they rinsed their laundry twice. Lizzie just said, “Oh,” because she wasn’t going to tell Elsie they only rinsed theirs once. That was why Mam said Mommy Glick was very clean and particular about her work. Mam always shook her head, saying she didn’t know how Mommy did it, raising fourteen children and being so meticulous about everything. But then, Mam helped Lizzie cut out her paper dolls or colored a picture in her coloring book, and she couldn’t imagine Mommy Glick doing that. Lizzie did secretly wish Mam would rinse her laundry twice, so she wouldn’t have to say just, “Oh.”
The grownups were soon settled around the long kitchen table, having cups of tea and coffee, along with Mam’s molasses cookies and a pan of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. They smelled so warm and cinnamon-y that Lizzie’s mouth watered. She eyed the one panfull and wondered if that was the only pan Mommy had baked, because it looked like a very small pan of cinnamon rolls, according to all the people taking one. Just when Lizzie was sure she would not get one, Mommy went to the pantry and brought out two more pans. One of them was covered with caramel icing, Lizzie’s favorite. Then she poured tall glasses of ice-cold tea, made from tea leaves she grew in her garden, for the children.
Lizzie took a long, cold drink of tea and bit into a soft cinnamon roll covered with caramel icing and smiled at Marvin and Elsie, thinking this was one of the best days of her life.
Mommy passed a bowl of stick pretzels, saying they were to take the sweet taste out of their mouth. Lizzie put a handful in her lap and couldn’t decide which was more delicious, cinnamon rolls with tea, or stick pretzels with tea.
“Lizzie, you better not get up before you eat all those pretzels,” Doddy Glick teased.
“I won’t,” Lizzie said, smiling back at him.
He asked Emma about Susie Beiler, if she had been in her grade, which turned the conversation to a very serious subject. Everyone was asking questions, with Dat and Mam answering them, relating in detail how it had all happened.
Marvin got up, saying it was time to get started if they were going to go fishing. “Did you bring your fishing poles?” he asked.
“We don’t have any,” Emma said matter-of-factly.
“Doesn’t your dad ever go fishing?” he asked.
“No, he doesn’t like to fish,” Lizzie replied.
“Well, we have a few extra. You can use my old one, Lizzie, ’cause you probably won’t catch any, anyhow,” he said.
“Boy!” Lizzie said, insulted.
“Well, you’re always talking and moving around. How are you going to fish with all those pretzels?” he asked, nodding toward the pretzels clutched in her fist.
“Don’t worry about it, Marvin. I’ll eat them on the way down to the pond,” Lizzie huffed.
“All right, then. Elsie, I’ll carry two poles and the can of worms, but you have to carry the other poles. And we really should have a jug of water, because we’re going to get thirsty,” he said, sizing up the length of the poles.
“I know. I’ll ask Mam for tea, and get a bread bag of pretzels,” Elsie said, opening the door to the kitchen.
With Marvin in the lead, they all started off, through the pasture gate, equipped with four fishing poles and a blue Maxwell House coffee can containing dirt and earthworms. Emma carried a metal Coleman jug of tea, while Lizzie clutched a plastic bag filled with stick pretzels.
Flies droned in the morning heat, sounding like quiet little airplanes. Small white butterflies hovered above the swampy spaces, darting and chasing each other above the grasses. The sun was already high in the sky, its warmth spreading across the pasture. They had to be careful where they walked, because the cow dung
was scattered everywhere, and Elsie said sometimes horseflies sat on it and they could bite almost as hard as a wasp.
“Wasps don’t bite, Elsie—they sting,” Marvin snorted.
“What’s the difference? They both hurt. You know how bad it hurts when a horsefly bites you,” Elsie retorted, bending low to swat at a mosquito on her leg.
“A wasp’s stinger comes from its backside. That’s a real sting. A horsefly just bites, like a dog, with its mouth,” Marvin said.
“How do you know? Did you ever see it?” Elsie asked.
“Of course.”
“You didn’t.”
“You can easily see it when they bite,” Marvin said, swatting at a horsefly with his straw hat.
Lizzie walked behind everyone else, thinking how Marvin always knew everything. He really did, too. Lizzie knew that he probably had seen a horsefly bite and a wasp sting. Marvin was like that, because he watched everything around him on the farm and in the woods. He also read a lot in books, like Lizzie did.
When they arrived at the pond, Elsie spread out an old blanket and they put the tea and pretzels in the middle. Elsie made sure the pretzel bag was closed securely, so the ants wouldn’t crawl inside. Marvin took the coffee can of worms and started baiting hooks.
Lizzie looked out over the glassy surface of the pond. There were little swirls of tiny flies in some areas, and in others huge dragonflies skated on the surface, as if the pond was a mirror. They were pretty, green and blue with silver-veined wings, but when Lizzie told Elsie they were pretty, Elsie looked shocked.
“They’re not, Lizzie,” she said.
“Why aren’t they?” Lizzie asked.
“Because they’re snake doctors. When a snake gets sick, they make it better, and besides, they’re poisonous, I think.”
Emma’s eyes opened wide. Lizzie watched the dragonflies uneasily. “Do they bite?” she asked.
“I think.”
“Marvin, do dragonflies bite?” Lizzie asked worriedly.
“No. They’re not dragonflies—they’re snake doctors.”
Lizzie shivered. That sounded so awful. Snakes gave her the creeps, and she could just imagine how awful a dragonfly could be. She wished she wouldn’t have come fishing because of the snake doctors.
“Here, Lizzie. Here’s a pole with a worm on the hook. Do you want to cast? I’ll show you how,” Marvin said.
So, with Marvin showing her which buttons to press and how to throw the line out, Lizzie soon felt like a real fisherman, even forgetting about the horrible snake doctors. She sat in the tall grass, her pole resting on the ground, her chin in her one hand, waiting. She thought surely the worm must be quite drowned, but she waited longer, not saying anything, and certainly not moving around, so she could prove to Marvin that she could hold still and not talk at all.
Marvin yelled and jerked on his fishing pole. He started winding the little handle on his reel furiously, being very careful not to let his fish get away. “I got one! It’s a big one, I can tell!” he shouted, bracing his feet and turning the reel handle. The tip of his fishing pole bent down in an arc, so Lizzie thought he must have a huge fish.
“Marvin, you have a huge fish! Look at your pole!” shouted Elsie.
“I know!” Marvin panted.
“Can I help you?” Emma asked, concerned that Marvin would get too tired with all that weight on the end of the line.
“No, I’ll get it,” he breathed, working anxiously with the reel. Lizzie watched carefully, to see what was on the end of Marvin’s line. A dark round head appeared, and at first Lizzie thought it was a snake. Elsie saw the head at the same moment, and she put her hands up to her mouth and screamed. She just kept screaming as Marvin pulled up a huge brown snapping turtle. The hook was imbedded firmly in its lower lip, and it was hissing grotesquely, its mouth wide open to reveal a huge pink abyss.
Marvin yelled hoarsely, clearly panicking at that huge face with the gaping mouth. Elsie went on screaming. Emma started to cry, and Lizzie was dumbfounded. She wanted to scream, but nothing came out of her mouth except dry little horrified gasps.
“Let it go!” screamed Elsie.
“I can’t. He’ll drag away my fishing pole!” shrieked Marvin hoarsely.
“Cut the line! Cut the line!” howled Emma.
“I don’t have a scissors!” Marvin was still pulling on the line, and the turtle was still hissing and resisting the pull of the hook. Marvin’s face looked white and terrified, but he was still resolutely pulling on the fishing line.
“Go get Samuel!” yelled Marvin.
“Lizzie, run and get Samuel,” Elsie said, running desperately toward her.
“By myself?”
“Yes, just go!”
So Lizzie took off as fast as her legs would carry her. She dodged cow dung, horseflies, bumblebees, and wasps, tripping over a clump of grass, but she got up and ran blindly on. Her breath came in painful little gasps, and her side hurt fiercely, yet she ran on. When she came to the pasture gate, she clambered up over the top, dropping to the ground on the other side. She was gasping for breath, but her legs churned determinedly up the gravel drive and across the well-kept lawn. She tore open the kettle house door and squawked hoarsely, “Somebody come!”
Instantly everyone got up from the table, Mam’s face a picture of horror.
“What happened?” they all cried, as if one voice.
“M-Marvin! He … he … he has a snapping turtle on his fishing line!” she gasped, clutching her aching side as she struggled for breath.
Everyone sat down weakly, and Grandpa Glick said, “Whew!” Grandma Glick took Lizzie’s hand and helped her to a chair, while Mam brought her a drink of water.
Samuel and Malinda raced out the door, chattering about those turtles that were going to take over the pond.
“I want to see what Samuel’s going to do!” Lizzie said, sliding off the chair, running into the kettle house, and banging the door behind her. She couldn’t catch up with Samuel and Malinda, but she kept running and walking fast until she reached the pond.
“Marvin, you must have used an awfully huge hook!” Samuel said.
“I did, I guess,” Marvin panted.
“Here, give me your pole.”
They all stood in a group, watching with wide eyes as Samuel hauled the angry turtle up on the grassy bank. Lizzie could see its yellow eyes, unblinking and angry, as the boys tried to cut the line.
“Why don’t you have a pocketknife?” Samuel asked, keeping a wary eye on the turtle.
“Oh, I do,” Marvin said, digging in his pocket. He pulled out a small red folding knife, which he promptly unfolded, handing it to Samuel who quickly cut the sturdy line, releasing the angry turtle. It lumbered off, sliding back into the swampy area where the bulrushes grew.
“Now it has that hook stuck in its mouth, Marvin,” Samuel said.
“You shouldn’t be fishing with such a big hook,” Malinda told Marvin.
“I don’t care if the turtle dies. I wish it would,” Marvin defended himself with false bravado.
“Well, you sure scared everyone who was sitting around the kitchen table,” Samuel said.
“Why?”
“Well, because. Lizzie, the poor thing, was all out of breath and terrified. We thought someone had drowned or something!”
“Aaah, it wasn’t that bad. It was just an old snapping turtle. They don’t even bite,” Marvin said selfconsciously, scratching his stomach with his pocketknife.
“Put a smaller hook on your line, Marvin. We’re going to go up now,” said Samuel, and he and Malinda walked off through the pasture. As soon as they were gone, Elsie told Marvin he was, too, scared of those horrible creatures.
“They don’t bite!” Marvin insisted.
“Then why were you jumping around on the bank, yelling and screaming?” Elsie wanted to know.
“Well, you would, too.”
“Let’s drink tea and eat pretzels,” Lizzie suggested, feeling thirsty aft
er her run across the pasture.
“All right,” everyone agreed.
So they sat on the old blanket, and Elsie passed cups of cold tea to everyone. They talked about snapping turtles, and Emma said that they could easily bite off a finger.
“How do you know?” Marvin asked, chomping on a pretzel, crumbs falling all over his legs.
“Swallow before you talk, Marvin,” Elsie said.
So Marvin swallowed obediently and wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve before taking huge gulps of cold tea.
“Hey! You know what?” he asked excitedly.
“What?” Lizzie asked.
“I just found out the other day that if you hold up a guinea pig by its tail, its eyes will fall out. That is true,” he said.
“Really?” Emma asked.
“Mm-hmm. When we’re done fishing, I’ll show you all Samuel’s guinea pigs, and I guarantee you if you try and hold it by its tail, the eyes fall right out of its head.”
“Must be they have really weak eyes,” Emma snorted.
“They do,” Marvin assured her.
Lizzie thought about snapping turtles, snake doctors, and guinea pigs. She watched Marvin with narrowed eyes, wondering if he actually knew as much as he claimed. She wasn’t too sure he hadn’t been terribly afraid of that old snapping turtle, and she believed every word Emma said about them snapping off a finger. Also, she wasn’t too sure about this snake doctor deal, either, because they were pretty insects; only now she would always eye them with suspicion, because Elsie said they were poisonous. She would ask Dat.
When they came to the barn that afternoon, the furry little guinea pigs were bustling around their pens, in clean sawdust, watching Lizzie with bright black eyes. They were so cute that she wanted to take one home in the buggy with them.
“Go ahead, pick one up by its tail,” Marvin told Lizzie. “Here.”
He caught one with a swift scoop of his hand, holding the little ball of fur out to her. Lizzie tried tentatively to find the tail, but no matter how hard she looked, there was none.
