And Condors Danced

by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

  On Wednesday after dinner Aunt M. began to talk about Trixie’s puppies. Trixie had been a litter mate of Tiger’s, the only one of the litter that the Bufords had kept. And now Trixie had four little pups of her own. Of course, they were just newborn and too young to leave their mother, but Aunt M. wanted to know if Carly would like to go out and look at them and see if—

  But then Carly interrupted and said, “No. No I can’t. Not—yet.

  And Aunt M. said, “Of course, dear. I understand.”

  But that night in bed Carly found herself thinking about the Bufords’ new puppies and wondering what they would look like and if any of them would ever be as smart as Tiger. She went on thinking about them off and on for the rest of the week, and on that very Friday morning she thought about them again when she happened to see Clarence Buford driving his father’s team down Arnold Street.

  It was on that same Friday morning that Mama died.

  Chapter 33

  THEY WENT OUT to the ranch in Aunt M.’s surrey. It was gray and drizzly, and Woo Ying was wearing a slicker. Carly and Aunt M. sat in back under the canopy with the side curtains down. Aunt M. was wearing a black dress that had been up in the attic since Uncle Edward died, but Carly was still dressed in the blue gingham she’d worn to school that day, with a wide black ribbon tied around her arm.

  Almost all the way out to the ranch Aunt M. held both of Carly’s hands in hers and talked about Mama. Carly sat very still and tried to think only about what Aunt M. was saying and nothing more. Aunt M. spoke about how Dr. Dodge had told the family in August that Mama didn’t have long to live. It was heart failure, Aunt M. said. Congestive heart failure and not the weak lungs that Mama had always talked and worried about.

  “I didn’t know,” Carly said. “No one told me. I thought it was only…the same as before.”

  “That was what they wanted you to think. They didn’t want you to know she was dying. That was why Nellie asked if you could stay at Greenwood. She didn’t want you to know, and she felt she couldn’t keep it from you if you were there all the time.”

  Carly nodded. She understood that now. She understood how Nellie had thought that knowing that Mama was dying would have been too much for her to bear. Of course, that was what Nellie would have thought. Carly turned her face away and closed her eyes. She knew Aunt M. was watching her. Even with her eyes closed she could see Aunt M.’s face. Clenching her fists and gritting her teeth, she tried to shut herself away from the pity and worry in Aunt M.’s eyes.

  They were almost to the ranch when they met the hearse. Mr. Strickland, the undertaker, was driving the black horses, and as he drew near he raised his stovepipe hat and solemnly bowed his head. Aunt M. reached out for Carly. She let herself be pulled close so that her face was hidden, but not before she had seen it clearly.

  She had seen the hearse before in funeral processions in Santa Luisa and on its way to the cemetery. So even with her eyes closed and her face smothered against Aunt M.’s bosom, she could see the shiny black van with its gleaming brass fittings and glass walls through which a flower-strewn coffin could be seen, except when black velvet curtains were drawn across the glass, as they were now. She had always cried when she saw it. It had been easy to cry then, thinking about death and grief and the poor dead person, whom she usually had known at least a little. But now, when it was Mama who lay behind the black curtains, she buried her face in Aunt M.’s cape and would not allow herself that kind of tears.

  The ranch house was full of people. In the parlor with Father and Charles were Reverend Mapes and Mrs. Mapes and Mrs. Hamilton and all three of the Bufords. Everyone hugged Carly and kissed her, and some of them were crying.

  Father was wearing his Sunday suit, but somehow it didn’t look the same, and neither did he. The suit that had always seemed so grand looked worn and wrinkled now, and Father’s eyes, his fierce gray Hartwick eyes, were dull and uncertain. He seemed almost like a stranger, and when he took Carly’s shoulders in both his hands and looked down at her, she suddenly felt frightened. He said her name, and something else, but her heart was pounding so hard that it echoed in her ears and blotted out the words. As soon as she could, she pulled away and went looking for Nellie.

  In the kitchen Mrs. Purdy and Maggie Kelly were comforting Lila and Arthur, and no one noticed Carly, so she ducked back into the hall and went upstairs to Nellie’s room.

  Nellie was sitting on the edge of her bed, crouched over and shriveled down like an animal in pain. Her face was red and wet and her eyes were blank and swollen. She wasn’t making any sound, but Carly could almost hear the terrible noise that throbbed in her throat, fighting to get out. Hearing that silent sound made Carly begin to cry.

  She cried for a long time, and Nellie put her arms around her and rocked her to and fro. The tears, Carly’s tears, were real and painful, and it wasn’t until later that night, back home at Greenwood, that she realized that they really hadn’t made any difference—and why.

  The funeral was on Sunday afternoon, and after the ceremony at the church everyone went out to the cemetery. It was a warm day for February, and under the oak and eucalyptus trees the earth was rain-softened and carpeted with fresh new grass. The mourners left their surreys and buggies in the long avenue that led to the central knoll, and went on foot to the Carlton plot. Inside the plot the grass had been mowed to a smooth lawn, and the mourners in their black suits and dresses formed a dark, silent circle around the open grave.

  The pallbearers came then, Father and Charles and Arthur, and Dan Kelly and Mr. Buford and Clarence, and lowered the coffin down into the earth between Uncle Edward’s granite monument and Petey’s tombstone. There was no wind in the trees, and after Reverend Mapes stopped speaking, it was very quiet except for the soft murmur of the creek and now and then the sound of crying.

  Nearly everyone was crying, and Carly could have too. Standing by the grave, dressed in the lumpy black dress with its high stiff collar that Father had picked out for her at the Emporium, it would have been easy to be the poor orphaned child, weeping over her mother’s tomb. It would have been easy to water the grave with bitter tears, as she had done so many times for Petey. But she didn’t let herself do it.

  Then everyone went home and Carly went back to Greenwood with Aunt M. and Woo Ying and life began again, almost the same as before. But not really the same. At least not for Carly.

  On Tuesday she went back to school, wearing the black mourning dress, and on that first day Mr. Alderson and Miss Pruitt and all the students came one by one to tell her how sorry they were. While they were talking she held her face very still and stiff, and when they had finished she nodded and said “Thank you” and nothing more. For several days after that everyone was solemn and quiet when she was around, even Emma Hawkins and Henry Quigley Babcock.

  She wore the black dress all that week, but on Friday when she got home from school Aunt M. came into the kitchen carrying a new dress. She held it up to Carly to see if it would fit. It was a beautiful dress with tiny pale green stripes, a braid-trimmed bolero, and big puffed sleeves.

  “Yes!” Aunt M. said. “I thought so. Suits you perfectly. Now go upstairs and try it on. And when you get out of the dreadful black thing, give it to Woo Ying to make mop rags.”

  “But Father said—”

  “Never mind that. Tell him I put my foot down. Foolish custom, mourning. Going around reminding yourself and everyone else to grieve. Particularly where children are concerned. Wear your ordinary dresses, child, and smile again. We miss that smile of yours, don’t we, Woo Ying?”

  So Carly stopped wearing black, and when Father saw her he hardly seemed to notice. And at school it wasn’t long before everyone began to treat her just as they had before—except for Henry Babcock, who was behaving strangely.

  It wasn’t that Henry had really reformed, because he was still tormenting everyone else as much as ever. But he didn’t pull Carly’s hair anymore, or push things off her desk, and he’d stopped ca
lling her Mehitabel in his normally nasty tone of voice. Carly knew there was something unnatural about Henry’s behavior but she didn’t know what was behind it, so she simply went on ignoring him as she always had.

  Sometimes Matt, on his way home on Rosemary, stopped to talk to Carly as she waited for Lila. Usually he talked about school things or about what had been happening at Grizzly Flats. But once he said his grandpa had been up in the Sespe again and had seen five condors in flight at one time.

  “I was thinking,” Matt said, “that if we went up to the spring pretty soon we might—”

  “No!” Carly interrupted. She hadn’t meant to say it so fiercely, but the thought of condors brought back that bright fall day when she had been so sure she would see them dancing. Looking at Matt’s startled face she said “No” in a more ordinary manner. Matt nodded, looking puzzled, and didn’t mention condors again for a long time.

  On Saturdays Carly still went to the ranch on Chloe and helped Nellie and Lila with housework and sewing. Sometimes she swept and dusted and sometimes she helped with the baking, and when Duchess had her new little heifer calf, she was the one who taught it to drink from a pail. Clarence Buford had started coming to the ranch every Saturday evening to sit in the parlor and talk to Father and Nellie, and sometimes just to Nellie alone. Lila had begun work on a beautiful white dress that was covered with tucks and ruffles and panels of lace, and sometimes Carly helped with the pinning and basting. Lila was still wearing black, but she said the dress was for high school graduation in June, and Father had agreed that she could be out of mourning by then.

  The days went by and everything was the same and yet not the same, and the changes began to seem more and more normal. Some of the differences were definite improvements if looked at from certain points of view—improvements like industry and diligence and self-control. Carly was working harder at school as well as at home, and spending less time chattering and playing and daydreaming. Particularly less time daydreaming.

  It wasn’t that she enjoyed scrubbing and ironing and dividing fractions any more than she had before, or even that working hard made her feel any better. It was just that work felt safer now, and dreams more risky.

  Chapter 34

  IT WAS ON a Friday early in March that Alfred Quigley came to Greenwood to talk to Aunt M. He came in the Quigleys’ fancy phaeton, and after he’d tied the grays to the hitching post, he and Henry Quigley Babcock came to the front door. Carly had seen them from the window, and she decided to go to her room and stay there. But in just a few minutes Woo Ying knocked and said that Aunt M. wanted her in the parlor. And there they were—Alfred and Henry.

  It was a cold day, and Alfred Quigley was wearing a Prince Albert coat and a wide silk tie, and Henry was still in his school shoes and knickers instead of his after-school overalls. As soon as Carly came into the room, Henry looked at his grandfather and then stood up and began to talk, as if he were reciting at an entertainment.

  Afterward Carly couldn’t remember all of what Henry said, because she had known immediately what it was going to be about and she didn’t want to hear it. So she stood perfectly still in the doorway, and all the time Henry was talking she was silently saying Stop! Stop! I don’t want to hear you over and over again. And even though she didn’t say the words out loud, they echoed so loudly inside her head that she missed some of what Henry was saying about how sorry he was about Tiger, and also how sorry he was about the float and the firecrackers, and how he had asked God to forgive him and God had, and he hoped Carly did too.

  When he finally stopped talking, Carly nodded and turned to Aunt M. and asked, “May I go now?”

  She hadn’t meant to be rude, but she was so desperate to get away that she didn’t realize what was expected of her until Aunt M. said, “Of course, child. But you do forgive Henry, don’t you?”

  So she said quickly, “Yes. I do. I forgive him. I forgive you, Henry,” and then she turned and ran upstairs and back to her room. She was still lying on her bed thinking about God’s forgiveness and whether it was useless to ask for it if you didn’t deserve it, when Aunt M. called her to come to dinner.

  In the kitchen the table was set with the best china and silver, just as it had been when Woo Ying had made a celebration because Carly was coming back to live at Greenwood. As soon as she came into the room, Carly could see how excited Aunt M. and Woo Ying were and they both began to talk at once, telling her about what had happened. It seemed that one of the reasons Alfred Quigley had come was to say that he had removed his objections and Aunt M. was now a member of the water company.

  She knew how important it was. She knew perfectly well that it meant that now Famer could plant citrus on the Carlton lowland, and water the apricots and walnuts in dry years, and that the hard times would soon be over for the Hartwicks and Aunt M. too. It meant that the ranch house could have a new indoor toilet and all the other things it needed. And Arthur could go to college and Lila could also, if she wanted to, which she probably didn’t unless Johnny was going too. Listening to Aunt M. and Woo Ying, Carly kept reminding herself that she should be as excited as they were and as happy too.

  Later Aunt M. and Woo Ying began to talk about the funny things both of the Quigleys had said. They laughed about the way Henry had announced that God had forgiven him, as if his grandpa had sent God a telegram and got back an answer by return mail. And Woo Ying stood up and stuck out his chest and imitated the grand and lordly way Alfred Quigley had made his announcement about the water company. And Carly laughed as much and as hard as they did, or least she tried to, and for a while she thought she’d succeeded. But after Carly was in bed that night, Aunt M. came into her room, pulled a chair up beside the bed, and sat down.

  “Carly, child,” she said, “I’m worried about you. And Woo Ying is too. I wonder—”

  “I’m fine,” Carly interrupted. “I’m just the same as always.”

  Aunt M. shook her head. “No. You’re not. You’re not my high-stepping little colt anymore.”

  Carly giggled. “I’m not a colt. I’m a filly. And look. I can step as high as ever. Just watch.” And she jumped out of bed and pranced around the room in her nightgown, lifting her knees high and tossing her head.

  Aunt M. laughed, and when Carly stopped prancing, she tucked her back in bed and kissed her forehead. Then she straightened up with her hand on her back, as she always did, and said, “About those puppies, Carly. They must be just about old enough to leave their mother now, and—”

  “No!” Carly shouted. Burying her face in the pillow, she pounded her fists on the bed and tried to smother the sound of her own voice saying “No, no, no” over and over again.

  Then Aunt M. was sitting beside her and trying to lift her up, but she kept her head down and her arms up around her face, hiding it from sight.

  “What is it, child? Tell me. Please tell me,” Aunt M. said.

  She wanted to tell. She wanted to so badly and for a moment she thought she would, but it was too awful, and when she finally rolled over and let Aunt M. brush the hair out of her face and wipe away the tears, she only shook her head and said, “I can’t.”

  Chapter 35

  BEING A MEMBER of the water company began to change things at Greenwood, as well as at the ranch, almost immediately. Even when the pipes that would carry water to the Carlton land were still going in, the changes had already begun. Because there would now be water for her land, Aunt M. could get a loan at the bank, and out at the ranch two or three new hired men were soon at work getting the land ready for the first lemon trees. Arthur was still working at the Emporium but he was beginning to write letters to colleges, and Woo Ying was talking constantly about the new motorcar Aunt M. was going to buy before very long.

  There were other changes, too, now that Father and Aunt M. were going to the water-company meetings and talking with the Quigley-Babcocks in person instead of through lawyers in the courthouse. Aunt M. said that they’d ironed out some old misunderstandings
and that at the meetings Father and Alfred Quigley sometimes actually found themselves on the same side of an argument.

  “Always seems to surprise them,” Aunt M. said. “Not to mention everyone else. Disappoints a few people, too, I daresay. What are the gossips going to have to keep their tongues busy, with the Carlton-Quigley feud fizzling out like this?”

  Late that March it began to look as if another important change was about to happen when there began to be rumors that telephone lines were about to go up in the Hamilton Valley.

  “I must say,” Aunt M. said, “when Alfred Bennington Quigley has a change of heart he doesn’t do it halfway. I hear now that he’s decided to let them run the telephone lines across his valley land. What do you think of that?”

  Carly said she thought it was wonderful, and Woo Ying said something in Chinese that didn’t sound nearly as rude as the things he usually said when Alfred Quigley was mentioned. And just a day or two later when Carly came home from school Aunt M. told her to dial 216.

  “That’s the new number,” she said, “out at the ranch. Nellie rang me an hour or so ago. Said she wanted to talk to you when you got home.”

  So Carly cranked the phone and told Bessie Taylor, the operator, that she wanted 216, and in a minute she heard Nellie saying hello.

  “Isn’t it exciting,” Nellie said, and Carly agreed with her, and after they’d talked for a minute or two Nellie said she was just leaving to come into town and could she stop by for a visit. So Carly asked and Aunt M. looked up from the beans she was snapping and said, “Yes, of course,” and for some reason Carly suddenly felt certain that Aunt M. had already known that Nellie was coming and she also knew why. Carly found out why soon after Nellie arrived.