by White, Ruth
“What you need now is a pair of attractive glasses,” said Mama, the fashion expert. “And we’ll go buy you some as soon as your eyes clear up.”
“Then he’ll have to beat the girls off with a stick,” Doc Dot said as he went to the phone to report to Dr. Bridges in Baltimore.
21
It was the sweetest spring in anybody’s memory. The apple blossoms and azaleas brightened our world with even more pink and white than in the previous spring when Woodrow had first come to us. It was hard to believe that a whole year had passed.
On a Sunday evening in April, when the breeze was sprinkling apple blossoms over the green lawn, and the frogs were croaking themselves hoarse down in Slag Creek, Woodrow’s daddy, Everett, called to tell him he now had a job and a place to live in Roanoke. He invited Woodrow to come visit him and his fiancée, but he didn’t say when. That prob’ly meant it wouldn’t happen.
For the next two days Woodrow was very quiet, and I figured he was in the mullygrubs again, but then on the third day he perked up. For weeks we had been studying serious poetry in Mr. Collins’s class. It was not Woodrow’s best subject, but on that day he asked permission to recite a poem, which he said was his favorite. Mr. Collins gave him the floor. The poem went like this:
Old Granny Blair, what’cha doin’ there?
Settin’ in the cotton patch, lookin’ fer a bear.
Bear didn’t come, but a rabbit passed.
Picked me up a rock and hit ’im in the ankle.
It was a hit with the class. They laughed and repeated Woodrow’s poem for the rest of the day.
As for Mr. Collins, he said simply, “Hmm … mm, interesting rhyme scheme.”
That spring Woodrow and I spent a lot of time in the orchard, and in the wonderful tree house my father had built for me. It was our favorite place for sharing secrets and dreams. Sometimes Cassie came over to visit, and we three talked about important stuff like juvenile delinquency, segregation, and whether or not President Eisenhower was doing a good job. Cassie told us about important events from the history of our country. Woodrow often had letters from Joseph, which he shared with us. They wrote to each other about every week.
In the cool spring nights I slept with my window open so I could hear the mellow voice of Blind Benny. He often sang me to sleep.
“In the sweet by and by,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore …”
Then grade school was over. There was a graduation ceremony the last week of May, and we, the graduating seventh graders, stood in a receiving line all dressed up in our formal clothes, while people shook hands with us and treated us like adults. Next year we would be moving on to the eighth grade, which was considered the first year of high school.
But for now, school was out, and we would not worry about it again until the day after Labor Day. Another golden summer lay before us with its promise of blackberries and debutante celebrations, sunburns, birthday dinners at Granny’s house, wienie roasts, romping with Dawg, wading in the creek, afternoon movies during summer rains.
One Friday me and Granny and Mama had gone to the Family Shoppe to look at their new line of sundresses, Porter was in his office, and Grandpa was gone to the barbershop. He had urged Woodrow to go with him and get his hair cut, too, but Woodrow didn’t want to bother with it that day. That’s how it happened that Woodrow was all alone when the most important phone call of his life came.
But it was not long before everybody in Coal Station knew about it. Here came Woodrow down the street looking for us and hollerin’, “Mama called me! Mama called! She’s okay! She’s fine! Hey, Gypsy, Mama finally called!”
He was collecting quite a crowd of people. Grandpa came out of the barbershop and found Woodrow spilling the news to me and Granny and Mama, and everybody else who happened to be on Main Street that day. Then here came Porter the Reporter, with a pad and pen, ready to tell all in the newspaper.
“We talked for a long time,” Woodrow gushed. “She sounds real good. In fact, she seems happier’n a pig in slop. Grandpa, the circus is opening in Bluefield on Sunday—day after tomorrow—and Mama wants you to bring me to meet her under the big top! We can go, can’t we?”
Grandpa laughed and slapped Woodrow on the back. “What do you think?”
Later at dinner Woodrow tried to recall and repeat the whole conversation between him and his mama.
“She says she was nearabout crazy when she left Crooked Ridge. Says she came to herself wandering around the streets of Johnson City, Tennessee, dressed in my clothes and shoes. She couldn’t remember much of anything. Some hobos were kind to her and took her to their camp by the railroad tracks and gave her something to eat. She stayed with them for more’n a week. Then they hopped a train and went south, but Mama stayed in Johnson City.
“After the hobos left, she decided to be a girl again, and bought herself some dresses from a secondhand shop. Then she went to a church that was advertising for someone to play the piano for their services. Once they heard her play, she was hired on the spot. The minister and his wife offered her a room in the attic of the rectory, and food. That was all they could give her, but she was grateful to get it.
“So she lived in that little attic room in Johnson City all through the winter and spring. She said her mind was in turmoil the whole time. She knew she wanted to come home to me, but she could never return to Daddy and the house on Crooked Ridge. She would go crazy if she did. So she played her heart out on the piano. She never realized before how much she had missed making music. And it was a healing balm to her.”
Woodrow paused and stared thoughtfully at the wall, as if he saw Aunt Belle there.
“Finally, she missed me so much she knew she had to see me. So she left Johnson City and started working her way toward home. All the time she was trying to decide what to do about Daddy. When she hit Bluefield last summer, the circus was in town, so she got a job with them selling peanuts and popcorn, and dressed like a clown, just like Miz Lincoln said.
“So she’s been with the circus all this time. They went to Florida for the winter, and after the holidays they went to Mexico, like Miz Lincoln fingered. Can you imagine my mama in Mexico? She’s got so much to tell me!”
Woodrow’s eyes were bright with excitement.
“Wonder why she didn’t call before?” I said.
“The thing she was most afraid of was that Daddy would find her and make her go back to Crooked Ridge. She’s tickled to death that he’s moved away and talking about getting married again. Also, she said she wanted to accomplish something. She wanted to come home triumphant. Said she wanted to be somebody. I don’t know what she meant by that. Don’t she know she always was somebody?”
There was a pained expression in Woodrow’s new blue eyes when he said that.
“What about New Year’s Eve, Woodrow?” Porter asked. “Was that her on the phone?”
“Yeah, that was her,” Woodrow said. “See, Mama has found a good friend in the circus. Her name’s Yvonne, and she’s from Bluefield. So Mama rode up with her to spend the holidays with Yvonne’s family.
“She was even thinking about coming on to Coal Station for a visit, but she chickened out. She was too skeered of running into Daddy. Still, she was dying to wish me a happy birthday, so she called. But when she heard Porter say hello, she lost her nerve. Said she froze. Then she knew she still wadn’t quite ready. So she stayed quiet.
“And you know what?” he said. At this point I thought Woodrow would bust with joy. “She said she has saved up enough money for me to have my eye operation!”
We all screamed with glee.
“You didn’t tell her!” Mama squealed.
“No, I didn’t. I want to see the look on her face when she sees my new eyes,” Woodrow said.
“Well, one thing still troubles me considerable,” Granny said. “How in the world did she get out of Crooked Ridge that morning? How did she get over those steep mountains?”
Woodrow’s face to
ok on a troubled expression.
“That’s the part I don’t understand, either,” he said softly. “The explanation she gave … Well, it sounds crazy. She said she came to herself in Johnson City, and she couldn’t remember how she got there, but she said … she thought … she believes …”
He stumbled and stopped.
“What? What?” We all wanted to know.
“She flew,” Woodrow said.
22
When the circus opened in Bluefield that Sunday afternoon in June, a whole bunch of us were in a special section that had been reserved for us under the big top. I sat with Woodrow, Cassie, Joseph, and Doc Dotson’s twins, DeeDee and Dottie. Right behind us were Mama and Porter, Granny and Grandpa, Pap Caulborne, Mr. Collins, Miz Lincoln, Doc Dot, and Irene. All around us was about half the population of Coal Station, all there not just to see the circus but also hoping to catch a glimpse of Belle Prater.
Aunt Belle had told Woodrow that he was to stay put on the first row, and she would find him, but he was having a hard time sitting still. He kept looking around, behind, in front, to either side. There were clowns in the stands selling popcorn and peanuts, cigarettes and candy and pop, even cotton candy, but we couldn’t identify Aunt Belle as being one of them. They were all too short or too tall or too fat, or they were obviously men.
Then it was time for the show to start, and the ringmaster stood before us with a microphone in his hand.
“That’s my friend Roy,” Miz Lincoln whispered loudly.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Roy bellowed to the crowd. “Today for our opening act we have a once-in-a-lifetime show for you. Let your eyes follow the lights!”
The lights fell to the center of the circus tent, where we saw a raised platform serving as a stage. At the rear of the stage was a dark curtain, and standing in front of the curtain was a short, chubby man with a handlebar mustache and a goatee. He was dressed in a black tuxedo, complete with cape, top hat, and cane. In the spotlight he smiled broadly at the eager audience and spread his arms wide. The cape opened, revealing a shiny royal blue lining.
“Presenting the most unusual magic show on earth!” continued the ringmaster. “Blundering Bill!”
The magician walked to the front edge of the stage. He started to bow and tip his hat to the crowd, but his exaggerated bow toppled him over the edge of the stage, where he sprawled in a pile of sawdust. His top hat went flipping through the air until it landed on the head of a clown, who just “happened” to be walking by. The hat fell down over the clown’s eyes, and he took off running, bumping into things, falling and bouncing to his feet again, yelling, “I’m blind! I’m blind!”
When the laughter had died down, Blundering Bill sheepishly walked back up the steps to the stage, brushing sawdust from his snappy clothes as he went. When he had almost regained his composure, he slipped on a banana peel and his feet went flying all over again. Thus began a magic show that made us laugh so hard we almost forgot why we were there.
Instead of pulling rabbits out of a hat, Blundering Bill pulled mice out of his hair. Instead of pulling a long string of scarves from his sleeve, Blundering Bill pulled a long string of slimy boogers from his nose. Instead of plucking coins from his ears, Blundering Bill pulled a string of sausages right through his head, in one ear and out the other.
All this time we could hear the circus pianist playing a catchy popular tune called “Cherry Pink and Apple-Blossom White.”
Blundering Bill fell off the stage for the last time, and the spotlight left him to go back to the ringmaster.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, I am sure the fine piano playing that accompanied Blundering Bill’s act has not escaped your notice. Please allow me to introduce the lovely and lively BluBelle!”
With these words the spotlight left the ringmaster and fell once again on the stage, where the curtain had been lifted to reveal a petite woman sitting at a piano. All her concentration was on the keyboard in front of her. As the light made sparklers on her glittery blue dress, she began to play “The Bluebells of Scotland.” At the same time the clowns held up cue cards on which were printed the words to the song in large letters. The audience began to sing along:
“Oh where, tell me where is your highland laddie gone?
Oh where, tell me where is your highland laddie gone?
He’s gone with streaming banners where noble deeds are done.
And it’s oh! in my heart I wish him safe at home.
“Oh where, tell me where did your highland laddie dwell?
Oh where, tell me where did your highland laddie dwell?
He dwelt in bonnie Scotland where bloom the sweet bluebells
And it’s oh! in my heart I rue the laddie well.”
“They sing like this after each act,” Miz Lincoln was whispering to us. “It gives the next act a chance to set up.
At that moment the woman at the piano finished the last verse of the song. Then she turned to her audience, smiled, and began to blow kisses to us. And yes, it was a familiar face we saw. A gasp went up from our section of the bleachers, and Woodrow was on his feet immediately. But he did not call to her as I expected. He simply stood there grinning and staring at the figure he had missed so desperately for all these months.
We had to wait until the show was over to see Aunt Belle and talk to her up close, but we had been waiting for a long time, so what was another hour? Finally, she left the stage and walked straight to Woodrow and gathered him to her heart. With her face flushed with excitement, she seemed transformed, almost beautiful. Her gown was the same color as her eyes, which were as bright and blue as Woodrow’s.
ALSO BY RUTH WHITE
Buttermilk Hill
Tadpole
Memories of Summer
Belle Prater’s Boy
Weeping Willow
Sweet Creek Holler
Copyright © 2005 by Ruth White
All rights reserved
www.fsgkidsbooks.com
Designed by Robbin Gourley
eISBN 9781429934503
First eBook Edition : May 2011
First edition, 2005
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
White, Ruth, date.
The search for Belle Prater / Ruth White.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: In 1955, Woodrow and his cousin Gypsy befriend a new girl in their seventh-grade class in rural Virginia, and the three of them set off to find Woodrow’s missing mother, encountering unlikely and intriguing coincidences along the way.
ISBN-13: 978-0-374-30853-7
ISBN-10: 0-374-30853-5
1. Abandoned children—Fiction. 2. Cousins—Fiction. 3. Family life—Virginia—Fiction. 4. Virginia—History—20th century—Fiction. I. Title.
PZ7.W58446 Se 2005
[Fic]—dc22
2004050600
