by Betsy Byars
“Naaw,” Vern said from the table. He said it in a dog’s voice.
Junior threw him a dirty look.
Mud shook his head to get his ear out of Junior’s hand. The ear came free, but Junior still clung to his neck.
“Do you like me again?”
“Naw.”
“Mom, make him stop! Because, Mud, I really, really like you. You’re a good dog. Good, good dog.” Junior smoothed Mud’s long ears back from his face. “I didn’t mean those things I said. You’re a good dog. You wouldn’t eat my Scooty, would you?”
“Yaaw,” Vern growled.
“You better behave, Vern,” Junior snapped. “Or Mom will let me beat you up again, won’t you, Mom?”
“No, I don’t like all this fighting.” Vicki Blossom sighed. She wasn’t eating in the hope that Rooney would still be able to take her out. “Why doesn’t the phone ring? I—”
At that moment, as if on cue, the phone did ring.
“I’ll get it,” Vicki Blossom said. She jumped to her feet and crossed her fingers.
She turned her eyes to the ceiling. “I hope it’s Rooney! Please, please let that horse trial be over. Please, please let it be Rooney. Please, please let me get in my new pants suit and have some fun!”
Ralphie was holding the phone so tightly his knuckles were turning white.
Aha! The phone was answered in the middle of the second ring.
Ralphie smiled tightly to himself.
Maggie had probably been sitting by the phone, praying for him to call. Then, just when she had given up and started in a dejected way for her room, the phone HAD rung!
It’s Ralphie! her happy heart had cried, soaring like a kite. It’s a miracle. Ralphie, oh, Ralphie! I’m coming!
“Hello!” There was such eagerness, such hope, in her hello that Ralphie’s heart soared too. He had never before heard her voice like that.
Overcome by the girlish-womanliness of her “hello” and by his own eagerness to put her at her ease, to prove at once that he had not taken her cruel words seriously, he decided not to be brilliant but to be something he had rarely been in his lifetime—truthful.
“I love you,” Ralphie said.
He was pleased with the way his voice sounded. Anytime a person said something he had never heard himself say before there was a certain risk that the words wouldn’t sound right, but no movie star could have said “I love you” any better than …
Ralphie trailed off. There was a pause growing at the other end of the line.
For some reason, Ralphie thought of the radar-projected weather reports he saw occasionally on TV where a dangerous storm grew from a small white dot to a huge red pulsating storm system.
This pause was growing in the same uncontrollable, frightening way.
“Well, I’m glad somebody does,” the voice on the phone snapped.
It was Mrs. Blossom’s voice.
Ralphie felt the blood begin to drain from his head, leaving his brow in an icy sweat. Then the blood drained from his neck, his chest, from his body, leaving him as cold as an icicle.
He didn’t know where the blood had gone, because his whole entire body was cold, even his foot. Ralphie’s shoulders began to shiver.
Ralphie let his lids close over his eyes.
He had told Mrs. Blossom that he loved her—Mrs. Blossom. M!R!S! Blossom. M**R** S B**L**O**—
But wait. Again, Ralphie stopped.
Maybe Mrs. Blossom hadn’t recognized his voice. She didn’t know how his “I love you’s” sounded. She’d never heard one before. Nobody had. And it was going to be a long, long time, Ralphie thought, before anybody did again.
Ralphie opened his eyes. He was getting ready to very quickly, very quietly hang up the phone when he heard Mrs. Blossom put down her phone.
He didn’t want to, but he kept listening. He listened while Mrs. Blossom moved away from the phone. He listened while she entered the kitchen. He listened while she began saying one terrible sentence after another.
“Maggie, it’s for you. It’s Ralphie. And guess what? He says he …”
Very quickly, very quietly, Ralphie hung up the telephone.
CHAPTER 22
The Fastest Man Alive
“Ralphie.”
The voice belonged to one of Ralphie’s brothers.
Ralphie was in such misery he didn’t know which brother it was. Anyway, Ralphie didn’t care. They sounded alike, smelled alike, and Ralphie was not going to interrupt his misery by opening his eyes for the sight of a brother.
Besides, Ralphie was standing on his head so that his blood would run down into his brain and nourish it. Ralphie blamed his present condition on an undernourished brain. There was no other explanation for his telling Mrs. Blossom that—what he had told her.
“Ralphie.”
“What?”
“Will you make Beanie a parachute?”
“No.”
“Please.”
“Who’s Beanie?” Ralphie still did not open his eyes.
“Beanie is Frank’s little brother and Beanie says if we make him a parachute, he’ll jump off the roof.”
“What roof?”
“The garage roof. He’s already up there. And he says if we don’t make him a parachute, he’s going to jump off without one. We’ve got to get him a parachute. So will you?”
“No.”
“Mom gave us a sheet.”
“Does Mom know it’s for a parachute?”
“No, she just asked if we were going to make anything dangerous.”
“You don’t call a parachute dangerous?”
“No! This parachute would save Beanie’s life!”
Ralphie’s brain was nourished enough so that he could imagine his mom’s voice saying, “You made a parachute out of my king-size sheet? Well, I’m going to king-size you.”
Ralphie still hadn’t opened his eyes. Normally he would already have that parachute whipped out and attached to Beanie, but Ralphie wasn’t normal. Indeed, Ralphie had never felt more subnormal in his life.
“Ralphie, telephone,” his mother called.
At that, Ralphie opened his eyes.
This was the moment he had been dreading. It had now been two long days since he told Mrs. Blossom he—since he told her what he told her—and he had known it was only a matter of time until Maggie called to taunt him.
“I’m not here,” he called.
He knew the caller was Maggie. She was the only person who ever called him, and Ralphie could never speak to Maggie again.
His mother appeared in the doorway. “Ralphie! I said the telephone is for you.”
“I’m not here.”
“Get off your head and go to the phone.”
“Mom, I’m letting blood go to my brain. My brain needs blood. It’s not working right.”
“Well, I don’t deny your brain’s not working, after you pushed your brothers down the hill in a Maytag box. But you boys have to learn right now that I’m not going to lie on the telephone for you.”
Ralphie rolled his eyes to his brother. “Will you lie on the telephone for me?”
The brother said, “Sure, if you’ll make the”—a sideways glance at his mother—“the you-know-what for Beanie.”
“He is not lying for you or anybody else! Now, get off your head. It’s Maggie on the phone, and she says there’s an emergency.”
“What kind of emergency?”
“She didn’t say.”
Ralphie got off his head and went to the phone. He felt as if he were going to his own hanging.
He wiped his hands before he picked up the phone. He swallowed. He said “Hello,” then realized that in his nervousness he had not spoken aloud.
“Hello.”
“Oh, Ralphie,” Maggie said, “a terrible thing has happened.”
At those words, Ralphie felt the first faint lessening of misery. He realized that while he had been balancing on his head with his eyes closed, suffering the greatest misery o
f his life, even then his luck had been working. The Ralphie luck. Something terrible actually had happened.
“What?”
“We finally found out what happened to Mad Mary.”
“Oh?”
“She’s in Alderson General Hospital.”
Now Ralphie’s mind clicked into high gear. His thoughts raced. Maggie was going to ask him to bust Mad Mary out of Alderson General Hospital. It was bound to be that. After all, he had once busted Junior out of the same hospital, and smuggled Mud in.
And he, Ralphie, was going to say yes.
Never mind that Mad Mary was probably hooked up to a machine. He’d unhook her. Never mind that she probably couldn’t walk. He’d stolen wheelchairs before. Never mind that the hospital had probably burned all her clothes. He’d sew her some if he had to.
Maggie was saying, “I didn’t want to call you because, you know, I was afraid you’d think I was, you know, using you again.”
“No, no, it’s all right. I want you to use me. Be my guest.”
“Well, if you’re sure …”
“I am!”
Ralphie couldn’t stand the suspense. Also he was beginning to feel a sort of enthusiasm for the caper.
“You want me to bust Mad Mary out of the hospital, right? And if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get. I’ll bust her out of Alderson so fast the nurses won’t know she’s gone—”
“No, no!” Maggie laughed. “No, she’s getting out on her own. Well, Pap’s getting her out. But she wants her cane—you know that long crook she walks with?”
“I remember,” Ralphie said.
Indeed, he could recall the exact feel of that cane. Mad Mary had loaned it to him and Maggie the night they climbed the tree after the Green Phantom. It was the night he had kissed Maggie. He wasn’t likely to forget anything about that night.
“Well, see, what happened, Ralphie, was that Mad Mary passed out beside the road—right where we found her bag. Guess what she passed out from?”
“I couldn’t.” Ralphie’s blood was still racing from thoughts of hospital escapades and treetop embraces.
“Malnutrition and worms.”
“Well, that figures.”
“I knew it couldn’t be good for her to eat stuff off the road! It’s not nourishing! The doctor says from now on she has to buy her meat at Bi-Lo.”
“Smart man.”
“Anyway, some people were driving by and saw her. She had passed out in the ditch. So they loaded her in their car and took her to Alderson General. Only they left her bag and her cane.”
“Well, leaving that bag made sense.”
“We’ve got the bag—it’s hanging on our kitchen doorknob, and I told Pap I’d go back for the cane; but, Ralphie, I’m not sure I remember the exact spot. Do you?”
The exact spot where he had entwined a flower into Maggie’s braid. You bet he remembered …
And then Ralphie sat up straight in his chair. He smiled for the first time since he had told Mrs. Blossom—what he had told her. His smile widened to a grin. Ralphie beamed.
For Ralphie remembered the last time he had seen Mad Mary’s cane. It had been in the Blossom kitchen. That cane was in the Blossom kitchen! It was leaning against the back door beside the bag! But if Maggie wanted to pretend the cane was still lost in the weeds in order to see him … well, he would pretend the cane was still lost in the weeds.
Ralphie said in a mature voice, “I remember.”
“Oh, Ralphie, then will you meet me there?”
Ralphie took a deep breath, and he said the words he had wanted to say, yearned to be man enough to say, ever since he met Maggie.
“It’s a date.”
Ralphie hung up the phone. If he hurried …
Ralphie knew that speed was not something a person with an artificial leg was usually good at. He was different. He prided himself on his lightning fast reactions. Once in English class the teacher had asked the members of the class to write something about themselves. Ralphie had written:
I am the fastest man on earth. I drive my bike up mountains without slowing down. I have been known to run to New York City and back during recess. I hold the world record for the Indy 500. To let off steam one Saturday afternoon, I dug a hole to China, had tea, and filled the hole back up in time for the family barbecue. When I am bored, I race eighteen-wheelers on the freeway.
At this moment, he felt it was not an exaggeration. In moments like this, he was the fastest man alive.
Not only would he break the world record getting to Maggie, but he would also whip out Beanie’s parachute before he left.
After all, a child’s life was at stake.
CHAPTER 23
By Hook or by Crook
Maggie was riding Sandy Boy through the woods, taking a shortcut to the place where she and Ralphie had found Mad Mary’s bag. At her side, like a knight’s lance, was Mad Mary’s crook.
Maggie rode in an easy, unhurried way, but her thoughts were not on the woods or the horse or the golden afternoon. Maggie’s thoughts were on Ralphie.
When Maggie first learned that Ralphie had told her mother he loved her, she had felt her hatred solidify.
She had heard the news at the supper table along with all the other Blossoms. “It’s Ralphie,” her mom had said, returning from the phone. “He says he loves me, but hopefully he thought I was you. I’m not that desperate—yet.”
“Is he still on the phone?” Maggie had asked.
“Yes.”
Maggie pushed her chair back and stood up. She flung her braids behind her back, out of the way.
“Well, he’s got his nerve calling after I told him I hated him with all my heart.”
“Maggie, honey, make it short, please. Rooney could still call.”
“It’ll be short, all right.”
Maggie had gotten up, walked quickly to the phone, and picked it up. She was ready for the conversation.
He would say, “Maggie?” in an uncertain way. It would be satisfying to hear Ralphie being uncertain, but that would just be the beginning.
She would say, “Yes, this is Maggie, the daughter of the woman you love.”
He would fall silent. She had never heard him silent before, but that would not weaken her hatred any more than his uncertainty would.
She picked up the phone, but she didn’t get to say anything. The dial tone buzzed in her ear.
Ralphie was gone.
Maggie let the telephone rest on her shoulder for a moment. There was a finality about that dial tone, as if it wasn’t just the end of a telephone call. That dial tone meant that Ralphie was not going to call again—ever. Ralphie was not going to come see her again—ever. Ralphie was out of her life.
From her shoulder, came the operator’s voice, “If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and …”
Maggie hung up and went back to the kitchen.
“So what did Ralphie say?” Junior asked with interest.
“Nothing.”
“Does he love you or Mom?”
Maggie shrugged. “Who cares?”
Maggie wasn’t good at arranging meetings with boys and that is why it took her until Sunday to think up a way to see Ralphie. She would have to ask his help.
Maggie had done this before—he had helped her sneak Mud into Alderson General Hospital to see Pap, she had asked him to help find Junior when he was lost. He had even come up with helium when the Green Phantom was in trouble.
Finally, she came up with it. She would ask Ralphie’s help in finding Mad Mary’s cane. Of course, she had already found it. She and Pap and Junior had gone back that same evening, and there it was. But Ralphie didn’t know that.
Now she was heading toward the spot to meet Ralphie, and she was on horseback. She wanted to get there fast, hide the cane, and be standing there when Ralphie arrived.
She came through the trees and reined Sandy Boy to a stop. This was the spot. Maggie slid off Sandy Boy’s back. She looked around. Th
e bag had been right about here. She paced it off. So the crook should be right about here.
Maggie dropped the crook in the tall grass. She brushed the grass over it. She wasn’t satisfied. It was too obvious. She took the crook and dropped it closer to the trees so that it was camouflaged by the fallen branches and twigs.
Then she walked to the ditch and sat down.
Holding Sandy Boy’s reins in one hand, she watched the road for Ralphie’s bike.
Ralphie was in battle dress.
He had on black jeans, black T-shirt—both faded to a gun-metal gray—and black, high-top sneakers, untied, with the laces whipping around his ankles.
Ralphie was bent over the handlebars of his bike, head down, eyes squinting into the wind.
With every spin of the wheels, his heart sang.
Ralphie to the rescue! Ralphie, the fastest man alive, is on the way!
He came over the crest of the hill, and he saw Maggie at once. She was sitting beside the road, holding Sandy Boy’s reins.
When she saw him, she got up and brushed off the seat of her jeans.
Ralphie rested back on the seat of his bicycle and coasted down the hill. He was letting his natural brilliance coast downhill in the same way. He was not—no matter what restraint it took—he was not going to be brilliant.
After all, it took real brilliance to find just the right tone of non-brilliance.
Ralphie braked right in front of Maggie, stopping on a dime, as the saying went. He laid his bike on its side, and the rear wheel continued to spin as he turned to Maggie.
“Now,” he said, with studied non-brilliance, “let me be of assistance.”
“Where have you been with Mary’s cane? I was looking for that,” Junior said when Maggie and Ralphie rode up.
Maggie was on Sandy Boy, Ralphie on his bike. “Here,” Maggie said quickly. She handed down the crook.
“Thanks, I wanted to be the one to give it to her.”
Junior sat back down on the steps with the crook across his knees. His eyes watched the bridge for the sight of Pap’s truck. He had been sitting on the steps, waiting, ever since Pap had left for town.
Maggie said, “Want to come to the barn with me, Ralphie?”
“I guess.”
Beside Junior on the steps was Scooty’s cage. Ever since the miraculous moment when he had learned Scooty was alive, Junior had not let Scooty out of his presence. Scooty had even slept beside Junior in his bed.
