Aleca Zamm Is a Wonder

by Ginger Rue

  Dylan was in the back, where I always sat, instead of up front as usual.

  In Dylan’s seat up front was an old lady with orange hair. Not red. Orange, like she had dipped her head in melted orange sherbet. I wondered if she’d had an accident or if she wanted to look that way.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said when I got into the car.

  “Hello, sweetie,” she replied. “Aleca, I’d like you to meet Aunt Zephyr.”

  “Hello,” I told the lady. “Aunt Zephyr?” My mom had a couple of sisters, so I had two aunts on her side of the family, but my dad was an only child. So who was this person?

  “Hallo, olá, alo,” said Aunt Zephyr. “Selamat tengah hari.”

  I looked at Dylan. “Does she speak English?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I speak English,” muttered Aunt Zephyr.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said.

  “Aunt Zephyr is extremely well traveled,” Mom explained. “She was saying hello like they do in other countries.”

  “Iceland, Portugal, Romania, and Malaysia, to be precise,” Aunt Zephyr announced.

  “Good to know.” Dylan rolled her eyes.

  “Neither irony nor sarcasm is argument,” Aunt Zephyr said to Dylan.

  “Huh?” Dylan asked.

  “That’s a quote from Samuel Butler,” she replied. “He’s my favorite Victorian-era satirist. Who’s yours?”

  Dylan looked at me as if to say, What is up with the old lady? I shrugged.

  “So, how are we related, exactly?” I asked.

  “Aunt Zephyr is your great-aunt,” Mom told us. “She’s your father’s father’s sister.”

  “I didn’t know Dad had any aunts or uncles,” Dylan said.

  “Well, your father’s family was spread out, you might say,” clarified Mom. “Aunt Zephyr has lived all over the world.”

  All this was very interesting, I supposed, but I couldn’t figure out why Dad had never mentioned an aunt or an uncle. He barely spoke of his own parents. They’d died before he and Mom had gotten married, so I’d never even met them. And why, if his aunt was never so much as mentioned in my whole life before now, was she suddenly riding in our car?

  I tried to think of how to ask that question without sounding rude.

  “What brings you to town, Aunt Zephyr?” I inquired. That sounded grown-up and not rude.

  Aunt Zephyr turned around and looked me dead in the eye. “Oh, I bet you could guess what brought me to town if you think hard enough.”

  Aunt Zephyr turned back around. Dylan looked at me again with the there’s-a-lunatic-in-our-car face.

  “Aunt Zephyr flew in unexpectedly,” Mom said brightly. “We’ll talk about it more when your father gets home.”

  Mom sounded nervous. Which made me nervous. Which made me wonder, with all the weird things that had already happened to me over the past two days, could things possibly get any weirder?

  11

  Aunt Zephyr Doesn’t Fool Around

  When we got home, Dad’s car was already in the driveway. That was definitely unusual. Dad always got home a little after six, just in time for dinner.

  He was standing at the front door, looking kind of sweaty. He wasn’t breathing hard, so I figured he must be nervous-sweaty instead of running-laps-sweaty.

  “Aunt Zephyr! Are you all right? Was the travel difficult on you?” He grabbed her suitcase, which was sitting by the door, and we followed him into the living room.

  Aunt Zephyr patted Dad’s cheek, then squeezed it as though he were a little boy. “Skippy, you haven’t changed a bit.”

  Skippy? For the third time in less than an hour, Dylan and I exchanged looks.

  “I’m lying, of course,” Aunt Zephyr continued. “Your temples are graying, you’ve put on a few pounds, and you’re developing jowls. But of course these things can’t be helped. Age is a cruel fact of life.”

  Dad laughed nervously. “Well, you certainly haven’t lost your . . . candor.”

  “That’s the trade-off for getting old,” she replied. “The older you get, the more candid you can become. Old folks are allowed a certain degree of eccentricity.”

  “What does that mean?” I wondered.

  “It means that the older you get, the more likely people are to put up with your weirdness,” Aunt Zephyr replied.

  “I am never going to be weird,” Dylan announced.

  “You’re so right, my dear,” Aunt Zephyr agreed. “My condolences.”

  Dylan turned to Mom. “What is that supposed to even mean?”

  Mom patted Dylan and told her to go start her homework. Dylan stormed out of the room.

  “Good,” Aunt Zephyr said. “Now that the Dud is gone, we can get down to business.” Then she looked at Mom and Dad. “No offense to you other Duds, of course.”

  “None taken,” said Dad.

  “What?” Mom asked. “ ‘Duds’?”

  “Please do not take the word pejoratively,” Aunt Zephyr said. “I meant no offense. That’s just the term we use.”

  Mom had always told me that one way to avoid an argument was to change the topic of conversation. I guessed that was why she said, “Not that we aren’t thrilled to see you, Aunt Zephyr, but what brings you to town so suddenly? We haven’t seen or heard a peep from you since Alec and I got married.”

  “Skippy, how much have you told the Mrs.?” Aunt Zephyr asked.

  “A little,” Dad answered. “Not much, really.”

  Aunt Zephyr raised an eyebrow, making her forehead wrinkles even deeper.

  Dad cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe I sort of didn’t really mention it at all.”

  “Mention what?” Mom asked.

  “I’ll just go start my homework too,” I offered.

  “Oh no, missy,” Aunt Zephyr protested. “You’re the whole reason I came here.”

  “Aleca?” Mom asked. “What does your visit have to do with Aleca?”

  “So it’s Aleca, then,” Dad said. “I wouldn’t have guessed it. I thought it was all over and done with.”

  “What’s Aleca?” I demanded. “What’s not over and done with?”

  “Oh, enough with the pretending,” Aunt Zephyr said. “One thing I’m not is immortal. I’m old, and when you’re as old as I am, you don’t have time to pussyfoot around. Now out with it.”

  She knew.

  I don’t know how I knew that she knew, but I knew. Aunt Zephyr knew, somehow, what I had been doing the past couple of days. But how could she?

  “Alec,” Mom said. “What’s going on?”

  “Let’s all have a seat,” Dad suggested. He nudged us over to the sofa. Aunt Zephyr took a seat in the recliner, where she removed her shoes and socks. She began wiggling her toes, which were crooked, but her toenails were painted the same shade of lavender that Dylan and her friends used. It seemed funny on such an old lady.

  Dad cleared his throat. “Aunt Zephyr, maybe you should start with some background.”

  “Good idea, Skippy,” Aunt Zephyr replied. She looked at me, and her eyes twinkled. “Little miss, there’s a lot about your family that you don’t know . . . but you’re about to find out. Hold on to your hat!”

  12

  My Grandfather, a Horse, and a Snake

  Here is the story as Aunt Zephyr told it:

  Once upon a time there were three babies. The Zamm triplets—my grandfather Alec; his brother, Zander; and their sister, Zephyr.

  Life started out for the Zamm triplets normally enough. They lived on a farm, helped their parents with the animals, tended the garden, went to school, and played and fought like regular brothers and sisters—pretty much all the stuff you see in those movies about kids growing up on farms in the olden days.

  It wasn’t until the triplets turned ten that everything changed.

  On the day of the triplets’ tenth birthday, my grandfather Alec was out in the barn, brushing one of the horses. Suddenly the horse spooked. A bull snake had fallen from one of the rafters. The horse be
gan bucking and kicking wildly. Alec was in trouble. He couldn’t get around the horse to escape from the stall. If something didn’t change fast, the powerful animal would kick him to death. Alec shouted at the horse, “Just be still! I’ll get the snake!”

  The horse replied, “Hurry up and get it, then! I’m scared of snakes!”

  Yes. The horse—as in those four-legged animals that are supposed to just neigh—replied, as in actually talked!

  But Alec didn’t have time to stop and think about that. Instead he rushed to where the snake was hissing. He reached for a loose piece of wood in the stall and pulled it free. When Alec raised the wood to strike the snake, the snake began talking. “Take it easy! I just lost my balance! I didn’t mean to scare anyone!” The horse stopped kicking. The snake stopped hissing. And Alec stood staring.

  It was then that Alec realized the snake was talking to him and that the horse had just done the same.

  “Well, what are you trying to do, get me killed?” Alec demanded.

  “It was an accident, really,” the snake said. “Look, you don’t want to kill me, do you? I mean, look at the benefits of having me around. I’m better than any old cat when it comes to rodent control, am I right?”

  Alec thought about this and had little choice but to agree with the snake. He looked at the horse. “He does have a point.”

  “I don’t care if he does!” the horse said. “Snakes are creepy! Now get him out of my stall!”

  “Consider me gone,” the snake said. “I’ll just ease through this crack right here, okay?” The snake slithered out where Alec had pulled away the piece of wood.

  “Whew! Glad he’s gone,” said the horse. The horse and Alec stared at each other for a moment. Then the horse asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I didn’t know horses could talk,” Alec said.

  “Don’t be silly,” the horse replied. “We talk all the time. In fact, we’re quite chatty. I just didn’t know that humans could understand us.”

  “Neither did I,” said Alec.

  “Well, what a relief, indeed,” said the horse. “Would you mind running that brush along my left hip, please? I have a terrible itch. Ah, yes. Up a little more, if you please. Yes. That’s the spot.”

  And so Alec spent the next hour in the stall, talking to the horse and wondering how in the world he was able to do it.

  When he went inside, he was convinced he’d fallen asleep in the barn and dreamed the whole thing. It was too ridiculous.

  But it was nothing compared to what had just happened to Zander.

  13

  Zander Zamm Makes a Deal

  While Alec had been in the barn talking to the animals, Zander had gone to the little market up the road from the Zamm farm. His mother had sent him to sell eggs. Their chickens laid quite a lot of eggs every day, and the Zamms had an arrangement with Mr. Newman. Mr. Newman sold the eggs in his store, and the Zamms received a credit each week based on the number of eggs delivered. No money was ever exchanged. The Zamms had thought Mr. Newman was kind to do them such a favor, as it helped them use the eggs to get what they needed.

  On this particular day Zander presented two baskets full of eggs to Mr. Newman. Zander expected the usual credit for them. “I’m afraid that we’re overstocked on eggs today and don’t need two full baskets,” Mr. Newman said.

  Zander was worried. He needed a new pair of shoes for school, and the credit for the eggs would be helpful in getting them. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Zander replied. Zander was in fact sorry. He was a straightforward young man who always said what he meant.

  “I suppose I could help you folks out,” Mr. Newman offered. “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you half the usual price for the second basket, just to take them off your hands. Better that you get half than nothing, even though I can’t use them.”

  Zander was just thinking that this was a good bargain. Then he heard Mr. Newman say, “Dumb kid’s going to fall for it. I’ll make twice what I usually make on these eggs when I sell them.”

  It was strange, because Zander had heard Mr. Newman say it, but Mr. Newman’s lips hadn’t moved.

  Zander stared at Mr. Newman, trying to understand what had happened.

  “What’s wrong with this kid? What’s he staring at me like that for?” Mr. Newman’s voice said. But again his lips didn’t move. “So, do we have a bargain?” Mr. Newman said. This time his lips moved.

  “You do need the eggs,” Zander said. “You’re not overstocked. You’re trying to cheat us.”

  “How could you say such a thing?” Mr. Newman said, a shocked look on his face. Then Zander heard, “How did he know?” But Mr. Newman’s lips didn’t move.

  “Serves him right, that old cheat.” Zander turned to see Mrs. Hatfield weighing some dried beans near the cash register where Zander stood talking to Mr. Newman. Then Zander heard her say, “About time somebody stood up to that scoundrel Newman.” Mrs. Hatfield’s lips weren’t moving either.

  “So, what’s it going to be?” Mr. Newman said with moving lips. “I hope he doesn’t tell his father about this,” he said without lips.

  Zander realized he was hearing Mr. Newman’s and Mrs. Hatfield’s thoughts. That was why their lips weren’t moving.

  “Twice what you usually credit our account,” Zander replied.

  “Twice?” Newman gasped.

  “Yes,” Zander said. “Or I’ll tell my father about this.”

  “Yikes. His father is big,” thought Newman.

  Zander said, “My father would be angry if he knew you’d tried to cheat us.”

  Mr. Newman smiled. “Now, Zander, would I do something like that?”

  “Ha! You certainly would,” thought Mrs. Hatfield. “You do it all the time.”

  “Twice as much for the eggs,” Zander insisted, his face as hard as stone.

  Mr. Newman swallowed with effort. He pretended to consult his ledger. “I’ve made a mistake. We’re not overstocked on eggs. We’re under stocked. Twice the value it is.”

  Mr. Newman signed the credit memo for Zander. “Say hello to your parents for me,” he said as Zander turned to leave. Then Mr. Newman thought, “I hope he doesn’t tell them about this.”

  “I will tell them hello from you,” Zander said. “And that’s all I’ll tell them.”

  Zander kept his word. He never told his parents that Mr. Newman was crooked. And from that day on the Zamms got twice the price for their eggs at Newman’s market.

  14

  Wondering

  “Your brother Zander could read people’s minds?” I asked Aunt Zephyr. “How?”

  “Same way that my other brother, Alec, could talk to animals,” she replied.

  I repeated, “How?”

  “Exactly,” she said.

  That did not answer my question.

  “Alec, this doesn’t make any sense,” my mother said. “Is this a story to entertain Aleca, or is your aunt actually suggesting—”

  “His aunt is sitting right here, Harmony,” said Aunt Zephyr sharply. “You needn’t talk as though I’m not in the room.”

  “I’m sorry,” my mother said. She never liked to upset anyone. “I didn’t mean—”

  “No apologies necessary,” interrupted Aunt Zephyr. “It is quite a bit to take in. But I believe it’s best that we speak plainly. I’ve always been a believer in speaking plainly. Sit up straight, Skippy.”

  My father straightened his posture.

  “I still don’t understand how your brothers did such things,” I said.

  “Neither did we,” said Aunt Zephyr. “We wondered about it for a long time—wondered how it had happened, wondered why it had happened, wondered how to make it stop happening, wondered why it had happened to us and not to other people.”

  “Us?” my mother asked. “You talk to animals and read minds too?”

  “Heavens, no!” cried Aunt Zephyr. She laughed. “Imagine me, reading minds and talking to animals! How silly!”
/>   My mom looked confused but laughed along with her. “Oh,” my mother said. “For a minute there I thought that you were . . . you know . . . not ordinary.”

  Aunt Zephyr stopped laughing. “I assure you that I am far from ordinary. I didn’t read minds or talk to animals, but I had my own reasons to wonder.”

  Then Aunt Zephyr told us what had happened to her on that same day so many years before.

  15

  Aunt Zephyr Wanders and Wonders

  While her brothers, Alec and Zander, were having their own strange experiences, Aunt Zephyr was visiting her widowed aunt a few towns away. It was canning season, and young Zephyr was supposed to help Aunt Jessica put up pickles, jellies, and preserves. It was hot, tiring work—picking vegetables from the garden, slicing mounds of cucumbers, washing fruits, and boiling all those syrupy sweets all day with no air-conditioning, and sealing jar after jar of pickles. But the worst part was that, according to Aunt Jessica, Zephyr never did anything right. The spices were supposed to be in cheesecloth bags, not free-floating. The stove was too hot, and Aunt Jessica was certain the bottom of the pot would scorch. The jars hadn’t been boiled long enough to sanitize them properly. Whatever the task was, according to Aunt Jessica, Zephyr did it wrong. “You’re not worth your salt,” Aunt Jessica told her. It was an old expression that meant you were useless.

  That evening all Zephyr wanted to do was crawl under the covers and cry herself to sleep. But Aunt Jessica made her stay up and piece a quilt. Of course Zephyr did that wrong too. “Your stitches are too big!” Aunt Jessica railed. “Smaller! Smaller!”

  Finally Zephyr had a thought. A very strong thought. The thought was, I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.

  Zephyr suddenly felt a strange sensation, something like a very forceful tug, but a quick one. So quick that she didn’t have time to stop and think what this strange feeling even felt like.

  The next thing Zephyr knew, she was home.

  “Hi, Mama,” Zephyr said. Her family was sitting in one room, reading together before bedtime.