Mr. Pepperday made a printout. He took it to his wife. She was sanding a bookcase in the dining room.
“Now Tooter has invaded my computer,” he told her. “Look at this.” He showed her the printout. “She says we’re mean and cruel.”
Mrs. Pepperday chuckled. “All kids say that. It makes them feel better.”
“I don’t think she’s feeling better at all,” he said. “I haven’t seen her smile since we left Morgantown. I’m starting to feel guilty about moving.”
“Don’t feel guilty,” said Mrs. Pepperday. “That’s just what she wants you to do. You know Tooter. She’s a scrapper, that’s all. She can’t give up without a fight.”
Mr. Pepperday looked around. “Where is she now?”
“Ordering pizza.”
“Pizza! In the morning?”
“She says it’s been three days now. It’s the longest she’s ever had to go without pizza. She couldn’t wait another minute.”
Tooter stomped into the room. She slammed the phone book to the floor. “I don’t believe this.”
“Believe what?” said Mr. Pepperday.
“Pizza places don’t deliver out here. They say it’s too far. We’re in the middle of nowhere!” She was pacing back and forth, waving her arms, ranting. “If I don’t get some pizza pretty quick, I’m not gonna make it. I’m gonna croak!”
Mr. Pepperday took Tooter by both shoulders and sat her down. He studied her face. He examined her fingernails. He poked through her hair.
“What?” said Tooter.
Mr. Pepperday turned to his wife. He shook his head sadly. “She’s right. She’s in the final stages of pizza-pie shortage. She may not last the day.”
Tooter pushed him away and got up. “Funny, Dad.”
Mrs. Pepperday had a good laugh.
She said, “Did you do your chore, Toot?”
“What chore?” said Tooter.
“The egg.”
Tooter snorted. “That’s so dumb. Who cares if the stupid egg gets turned every day? Would the chicken turn it every day?” She glared at her parents. “Huh?”
No answer.
Tooter decided to show them how silly the whole thing was. She squatted down on the rug as if she were a hen.
She cackled: “Ba-bawlk ba-bawlk.”
She raised up. She peeked under herself.
“Ba-bawlk. Oh my goodness, I do believe it’s time to turn my egg. Ba-bawlk. If I don’t turn it every day, it won’t get done on all sides. Ba-bawlk. And then when little junior comes out, his hiney will be fuzzy and his head will still be an egg yolk. Ba-bawlk.”
Mr. and Mrs. Pepperday roared with laughter. And they weren’t the only ones.
Mr. Pepperday pointed at Tooter. “She’s laughing!”
Tooter stopped laughing at once.
Mrs. Pepperday clapped. “Terrific performance.” She gave Tooter a hug. “Now, go do your chore.”
Tooter headed for the kitchen.
On the floor, in the corner, in the shoebox, on the pillowcase—the egg was basking inches below the light bulb, its own private little sun.
“This is dumb,” Tooter whispered as she gave the egg a quarter-turn. The light brown shell felt warm and perfectly smooth.
Tooter stared at the egg. The more she stared, the more annoyed she became. Who did this egg think it was, anyhow? Just lying there while everybody else had to be its servant.
“Think you’re a big deal, don’t you?” she said.
The egg did not answer.
“You’re nothing without me,” Tooter told it. And just to prove it, she put her hand between the light bulb and the egg.
The egg was in shadow. Already Tooter could feel it cooling down. She shaded the egg for five seconds … ten seconds. She thought she might do it for an hour or two. But soon the back of her hand became hot. She took it away.
“That’ll teach you who’s boss around here,” she said. “Don’t you ever forget it.”
The egg did not answer.
Tooter leaned down until her lips were almost touching the shell.
“Boo,” she said.
The egg was silent.
6
Woe Is Me!
“Have you seen Tooter?”
Mrs. Pepperday stood in the office doorway the next morning.
Mr. Pepperday went on writing at his computer.
She said it louder: “Have you seen Tooter?”
Mr. Pepperday kept writing.
Mrs. Pepperday came into the room. She stood behind Mr. Pepperday and rapped the top of his head with her knuckle.
Mr. Pepperday squawked. “Oww!”
“Next time, I sit on your keyboard,” said Mrs. Pepperday. “Have you seen Tooter?”
Mr. Pepperday rubbed his head. “No. Why?”
“The morning’s half over and I haven’t seen her yet. She’s not in her room. Do you know where she is?”
“No, but I know where she was. Into my computer again.” He scrolled up the screen. “This is her latest.”
Mrs. Pepperday leaned over his shoulder to read the words on the screen:
Every minute Tooter Pepperday made a new gruesome discovery about the farm. Every day she listened for the bell of the Jack and Jill ice cream truck but it never came. There were no movies, no video arcade, no deli, no 7-Eleven. The TV only had two Channels and no cable. And worst of all nobody would deliver. Tooter Pepperday was a kid without pizza.
Tooter Pepperday cried out loud, “Woe is me!”
“Do you think she took off down the road again?” said Mr. Pepperday.
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Pepperday. “But I’m going to find out.”
She went back downstairs, calling Tooter’s name. She called again and again. From the front door. From the back door.
Chuckie came running in with Harvey.
“Have you seen your sister?” said Mrs. Pepperday.
“No,” said Chuckie.
“Arf!” said Harvey.
“She’s not your sister,” said Mrs. Pepperday to Harvey.
“Did she run away?” said Chuckie.
Mrs. Pepperday held his chin. “Why do you say that?”
“Because she said she was going to go back home. Even if she had to walk.”
Mrs. Pepperday rolled her eyes to the sky. “Help me.” She ran to the car.
Chuckie and Harvey hurried after.
“Can we come?” said Chuckie.
“All right, all right. Climb in. Quick.”
Chuckie and Harvey jumped into the backseat.
Mrs. Pepperday drove down the road. “Keep a sharp eye out, you two,” she said.
“Arf!” said Harvey.
Eight miles she drove. Nine miles. Ten miles.
No Tooter.
She turned around and drove twenty miles the other way.
Still no Tooter.
She drove back to the farmhouse.
“Are we going to call the police, Mom?” said Chuckie.
“First I’m calling Mr. Tolen,” she said. “Maybe he knows something.”
Chuckie and Harvey raced into the kitchen.
Mrs. Pepperday followed. She telephoned the neighbor, Mr. Tolen. He was out in the fields. But Mrs. Tolen said she had not seen a little girl.
Mrs. Pepperday went up to her husband’s office.
“I can’t find her anywhere.”
This time Mr. Pepperday heard the first time. He turned in his chair. They stared at each other. Afraid to speak. Afraid to even think what might have happened to Tooter.
Suddenly Mrs. Pepperday cocked her head. “What’s that noise?”
“What noise?” said Mr. Pepperday.
“That.” She moved to the doorway. “Thumping.”
She was heading down the hall, following the sound to Tooter’s room.
Most of Harvey was under Tooter’s bed. Only his shaggy, rusty tail stuck out. It was thumping on the floor like a drummer.
“Harvey!” commanded Mrs. Pepperday.
“Tooter,” she said. “I’ll count to three. One … two …”
On the count of three, Tooter crawled out from under her bed.
7
Right Where You
Want to Be
Fifteen minutes later Tooter was standing at the open doorway of the honey house. It was a shed-like building, smaller than her bedroom.
Aunt Sally was inside, washing out metal pails in a large sink. There were more pails, a tall stack of them. There were also tanks and screens and copper pipes and hoses.
“You’re supposed to punish me,” said Tooter.
Aunt Sally looked up from her work. “Is that so? Isn’t that your mother’s job?”
“She did punish me. Now it’s your turn.”
Aunt Sally let out a slow whistle. “You must have been mighty bad. What did you do?”
“I hid under my bed all morning.”
Aunt Sally nodded. “And worried your mother half to death wondering where you were.”
Tooter shrugged. “I guess.”
“So, how did she punish you?”
“She lectured me for nineteen hours.”
Aunt Sally frowned. “Ouch. I reckon that hurt.”
“It was gruesome.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Make you listen to me sing?”
She reared back and let out a note that sounded like a cow with a toothache.
Tooter clamped her hands over her ears. “No! Stop! You’re supposed to show me the farm.”
Aunt Sally’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s punishment?”
Tooter slumped against the doorway and slid to a seat on the cement floor. “For me it is, I guess. My mother says the only things I’ve seen are the house and the chicken coop. She says I should see the whole place.”
“What else did she say?”
“She says I should stop complaining.”
Aunt Sally placed a pail on top of the stack. “What do you say?”
Tooter did not reply at once. She looked away. “I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings.”
Aunt Sally flapped her straw hat at Tooter. “Ah, go ahead. I’m a tough old critter. I don’t have feelings.”
The conversation was getting uncomfortable. Tooter changed the subject. “Aunt Sally, how come you always say words like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like critter. And reckon and yonder.”
Aunt Sally chuckled. “Well, it’s like this. When I bought this place, I told myself, Sal, ol’ gal, you’re a farmer now, so act like one. So I bought me a straw hat and started saying words I heard farmers say in the movies. I don’t reckon it made me a farmer, but it made me feel like one.”
Tooter said, “What does a hog in slop mean?”
“If you’re a hog in slop,” said Aunt Sally, “you’re right smack-dab where you want to be.”
“My dad says it.”
Aunt Sally nodded. “I know. He got it from me. I’ve been saying it for years.”
“I heard my mom and Chuckie say it too.”
Aunt Sally gave her a sideways look. “Sounds like everybody around here is a hog in slop but you.”
Tooter did not say anything. But she thought, I’ll never be a hog in slop. I’ll never be right smack-dab where I want to be.
Aunt Sally clapped her hands. “Okay, enough of this mush. Let’s get on with the punishment.”
8
Punishment
“First of all,” said Aunt Sally, “nobody takes a punishment of mine sitting down. Stand up.”
Tooter stood up.
“Okay, now. This—” Aunt Sally swept her arm about “—is the honey house.”
“I don’t see any honey,” said Tooter.
“That’s because it ain’t here,” said Aunt Sally. “It’s out yonder in the hives. The bees are making it. I’ll be collecting it in here later this summer.” She nodded to the doorway. “Let’s go see the great outdoors.”
Outside the honey house was a grassy hill. The near slope of the hill was fenced in. In the field a single animal grazed.
Aunt Sally pointed. “What is it?”
Tooter had seen this beast before. It was black and white and had four legs. There was a bag-like thing hanging beneath it. She was pretty sure the bag-like thing was an udder. The problem was, as far as she knew, only cows had udders.
This thing was not a cow. At least, she didn’t think so.
“It’s an animal,” Tooter stated firmly.
“You’re cookin’,” said Aunt Sally. “Tell me more.”
Tooter took a deep breath. “It’s not … a cow.”
Aunt Sally slapped her on the back. “Good girl! That there critter is not a cow and never was.”
“But that is an udder there, isn’t it?” said Tooter.
Aunt Sally nodded. “Bingo. That there is one fine upstanding all-American Grade-A udder. So tell me—” she leaned into Tooter’s face “—what’s that udder hanging onto?”
Tooter frowned. “This isn’t school. It’s summer vacation. I’m not supposed to have a test.”
Aunt Sally moved in. She pressed her fingertip on the end of Tooter’s nose. “This is not a test. This is punishment. And you’re stalling. Answer.”
Tooter squealed and stomped her foot and knew that she was out of time. She took a wild guess. “A moose?”
Aunt Sally seemed about to laugh. And then she was hugging Tooter tightly and stroking her hair. She was saying, as if to a baby or puppy, “You poor creature. Don’t even know the difference between a moose and a goat. What did that awful town place do to you?”
Tooter felt like she could take a nap right there snuggled up against her aunt. Sometimes it was hard to remember that she hated this place.
“It’s a goat?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am. That there is one goat.”
“Goats have udders too?”
“Goats have udders too.”
“Do they make milk too?”
“Like the old saying goes,” said Aunt Sally. “Where there’s an udder, there’s milk.”
A terrible thought began to wriggle into Tooter’s brain. She backed away. She stared at her aunt.
“I drink milk every day.”
Aunt Sally nodded. “I believe you do.”
“And you’re telling me the milk I drink comes from—” she pointed at the goat “—that?”
Aunt Sally answered cheerily: “That’s why it’s called goat’s milk.”
Tooter’s tongue shot out as if trying to escape her mouth. She gagged. She stepped backward. She felt something mushy underfoot. She looked down at her sneaker. She looked up at Aunt Sally.
Aunt Sally nodded: “Goat poop.”
Tooter howled. She scrubbed her sneaker into the ground. She howled again and bolted for the house.
9
Poop
Mrs. Pepperday was waiting at the back door. “Punishment over so soon?”
“Goat milk! Goat poop!” Tooter squawked. “I’m not being punished. I’m being tortured.”
Mrs. Pepperday held out a small white plastic bag. “Well, this isn’t torture,” she said. “This is a chore. Empty this bag in the compost heap.”
Tooter took the bag. “Compost heap? What’s that?”
“Ask Aunt Sally,” her mother replied. She went inside.
Tooter asked Aunt Sally. Her aunt led her around the house to the vegetable garden.
She pointed to a wire fence in the shape of a circle. The fence was as tall as Tooter. Inside was a pile of dark brown oily gloppy gunky stuff.
“That’s the compost heap.”
Tooter pinched her nose. “Eww! It smells.”
“It’s supposed to smell,” said Aunt Sally. “It’s rotting.”
“What is it?” Tooter honked through her pinched nose. “More poop?”
“That’s one way of thinking of it,” said Aunt Sally. “I guess you could call
it plant poop. Why don’t you open the bag there and dump ’er in.”
Tooter opened the bag. Inside she could see the remains of breakfast. Coffee grounds, grapefruit rinds, egg shells. Her nose wrinkled.
“Garbage.”
“Compost,” said Aunt Sally.
“Garbage,” said Tooter. “Don’t you even have garbage trucks out here?”
“Sure,” said Aunt Sally. “But this stuff is too good for garbage. Dump ’er in.”
Tooter held the bag upside-down over the fence and let the contents fall on the heap. Then she backed off till she could no longer smell it. “That is the grossest, most disgusting thing I ever saw.”
Aunt Sally grinned. “The better to grow your tomatoes with, my dear.”
Tooter stared. “What are you talking about?”
Aunt Sally reached over the wire fence and scooped up a handful of compost. Three fat worms fell out.
“Leaves, grass clippings, leftovers. That’s what goes in. After half a year, this is what comes out. Best seed food in the world. This is what we plant our tomatoes in. And our lettuce and cucumbers and beans and peas and carrots and everything you see in this here garden.”
Tooter looked at the garden. She was turning green. “You mean the food I’ve been eating grew up in that … that …”
“Like the old saying goes,” chirped Aunt Sally. “Rotten earth makes sweet pea.” She tossed the handful back onto the heap.
Tooter was getting woozy.
“Come on,” said Aunt Sally. “We’ll go see the rest of the farm.”
Tooter groaned. She flopped to the ground.
“I can’t take any more. I’m gonna barf.”
Aunt Sally smiled gently. She thought for a moment.
“All right, Just two more things. Not punishment. You can do them by yourself whenever you feel like. Okay?”
Tooter grunted.
Aunt Sally nodded. “Okay. These are two little things you might never notice on your own. They’ll show you there’s more to the farm than meets the eye.” She chuckled. “Or the nose.”
Aunt Sally knelt down beside a group of white-topped plants. “First thing. These are called Queen Anne’s lace,” she said. “Someday I want you to look real close at one, and see what you find in the middle. Okay?”
Tooter Pepperday: A Tooter Tale Page 2
