by Betsy Byars
Mad Mary’s face almost cracked into a smile. “What else would we read?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I was asking.”
“Yes, I read books. The ones I like best are the ones where people end up living in caves. My favorite’s Riders of the Purple Sage.”
“That doesn’t sound like a cave book to me.”
“Why, that’s one of the best cave books ever written. Venters—that’s the cowboy—and Bess—that’s the rustler girl—live in a cave for months. It’s one of the best caves I ever read of. I wish I had one just like it. When the storms used to hit, that cave would gong like a bell. My cave whistles a little, but it never gongs. And rooms—Oh, that cave had more rooms than a mansion.”
She wiped her hands on her skirt and smoothed it over her bony knees. “Anyway. That’s what I read—books. I don’t care for magazines and I don’t read newspapers. People who end up living in caves generally don’t.”
“We don’t read newspapers much either, except for the one we were in. Last summer we were news, and I do read that newspaper. I’ve still got it. Two things happened to us last summer.” Junior lifted his hand so he could count them off. “One, we got in the news, and two, we got a telephone.”
To this day Junior didn’t know which was the most amazing, the fame or the telephone. The installation of the telephone had left Junior with the feeling that he was at last hooked up to the rest of the world, plugged in like everybody else. He loved that telephone.
Sometimes he called strangers on it. “Hello, this is Junior. Have you got time to talk?” he would say. Nobody had so far, but Junior didn’t mind. “I’ll try you later,” he’d say. “So long.”
“Over the last ten years,” Mad Mary said, looking thoughtful, “I’ve wanted to call somebody up maybe three times.”
“You can use our phone anytime you want to,” Junior said generously. “Just come on over.”
Mad Mary shook her head. She didn’t wear her hat in the cave, and her long gray hair hung down her back. Without her hat, she didn’t look so old to Junior. In fact, she was getting younger and younger somehow as the morning progressed.
“My mom wouldn’t mind, really.”
“Those people I wanted to call up are all dead.” Mad Mary looked at her stew. “You know, I wouldn’t mind them being dead so much if I could just call them up on the telephone every now and then.”
Junior’s mouth dropped open. His own stew was forgotten. He drew in a deep shuddering breath. “If I could call my father …” he said. “If I could just call my father …”
He couldn’t finish. The words hadn’t been created to express how much he would benefit from talking to his father for three minutes.
“I don’t have a living relative left on this earth,” Mad Mary went on. She started eating again. “And Cantrells don’t die of old age. My brother died in the war. My mother got thrown by a horse. My father set himself on fire with his pipe and burned himself and the whole house down.” She smoothed her skirt again, but slowly this time.
“I may have a cousin living somewhere, but my cousins were accident-prone too. My cousin La Rue scalped herself on an electric fan. Anyway, they’re dead to me.”
“If I could just talk to my father …”
Junior trailed off again. The thought somehow was too big for his brain.
“The last time I wanted to call my daddy was when they widened the road and put the Seven-eleven right where our front porch used to be. My daddy was the only person I could think of that would be as mad as I was. I wanted to hear that old man roar one more time.”
Junior appeared to hear Mad Mary for the first time.
“I wouldn’t want to hear my father roar. I’d just want to hear him say ‘Junior, Junior, Junior. What are we going to do with you?’ He used to say that a lot.”
Mad Mary looked down at him. She closed her weak eye to bring his features in focus. Then she reached over and tapped his hand. “Your stew’s getting cold.”
“Oh, yes.”
“You won’t have stew like that very often.”
“I know.”
“So take advantage of it. Eat. Eat!”
“I will in a minute.” He squinted at her as if he wanted to see better too. “What did your dad die of?”
“I told you. He burned himself up and the house too.”
“Mine got gored by a bull.”
She nodded slightly, but Junior felt the understanding behind that nod. “Now eat.”
Junior ate.
CHAPTER 24
The Search for Junior
“Will you please give me a break and do your searching somewhere else?”
“No way. Mom told us to stay together and not get lost.”
“And that’s what we’re going to do too. And, anyway, Maggie told us she does not bite little boys’ ears off. So there!”
All morning Ralphie had been trying to get rid of his little brothers and be alone with Maggie. Ralphie was in love with Maggie.
He had fallen in love with her exactly one year ago when he had awakened in the hospital one morning. There she had been, sitting on the foot of her brother’s bed, grinning, telling about how she and her other brother had busted into city jail.
Even today, a whole year later, the memory of how wonderful she had been and how stupid he had been could turn the tips of his ears red with embarrassment. “Excuse me for being nosy”—this was one of the stupid things he had said—“but why didn’t you just go in the jail and ask to see your grandfather like anybody else?”
“We Blossoms,” she had answered, “have never been just anybody.”
Well, that was the truth.
“All right,” Ralphie said to his brothers, “I’ll pay you to leave me alone.” He was desperate.
The search for Junior was the first legitimate excuse to see Maggie he had had all year. All the rest of his excuses—like pretending to be in the neighborhood on an errand when, actually, he had ridden six miles on an old bike to get there—had not worked. Maggie had blinked those green eyes and said, “What was the errand?” “Just something for my mom.” “What?” “Oh, nothing.” His ears turned red a lot around Maggie.
“How much?” the bigger brother said.
“One dollar.”
Ralphie intended that later, when he actually had to fork over, he would pretend he had meant a dollar between them. The little brother read his thoughts. “One dollar each?”
Ralphie was truly desperate. Maggie had gone on without him. If he didn’t leave right this minute, he might lose her in the woods. “Each.”
They extended their hands, palms up.
“Not now. When we get home. Now go on. Go on.”
“Ralphie?” It was Maggie calling him. “Are you coming?”
Hobbling up the hill on his artificial leg wasn’t easy, but Ralphie hobbled. “Coming!” he called with sudden cheer.
For the first time in his life Ralphie would be alone with the woman he loved.
Mad Mary and Junior were on the rocky ledge in front of the cave—the porch, Mad Mary called it. Mad Mary was in her rocking chair. This was the only piece of family furniture she had. It was a porch rocker, and that was why it hadn’t been burned up in the fire.
Junior was lying on his back. They were both watching the vultures overhead.
The vultures must have been two miles up in the sky, Junior figured. He had never seen anything like it. He had never known birds had fun like that, wheeling round and round, never flapping their wings a single time, getting higher with each turn.
“Oh, wow,” Junior said. These words—Oh, wow—had been the first words Junior had spoken as a baby, and he had used them all the time back then. “Here’s a cracker, Junior.” “Oh, wow.” “Here’s a ham sandwich?” “Oh, wow.”
The family used to tease him about it, so now he only used the words when he was too impressed not to.
Mad Mary broke the spell of the vultures by bracing her hands on the ar
ms of her rocker and starting to get up. “We ought to get going.”
Junior glanced at her in surprise. “Why?”
Junior was having one of the most pleasant mornings of his life. Lying on Mad Mary’s porch, watching birds enjoy themselves, eating varmint stew. It was like something a person would pay money to do, buy a ticket for. It was the first real vacation of Junior’s life.
And after their conversation about calling up their dead fathers on the telephone, Junior had felt very close to Mad Mary.
“To get you back to your folks.”
“No hurry,” Junior said. “They know I’m all right.”
The last thing Junior wanted was to get back to his folks. First of all, they would want to hear what had happened, and he would have to start with the unfortunate incident of his trapping himself. It was far, far nicer to lie in peaceful silence with Mary and watch the birds.
Junior changed the subject. “Do the vultures fly like that every morning?”
“Just when the air’s right.” Mad Mary leaned back. “Vultures have a bad reputation,” she said. “Most people don’t like them.”
“I do,” said Junior. “I like them a lot.”
“I do too.”
Mad Mary was glad to lean back and put off returning Junior. This was the first human company she had enjoyed in ten years.
“Down in the tropics people can’t get along without vultures.”
“Why?”
“They eat dead things, keep the jungle clean.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“They never kill anything. Never hurt a living soul, just eat what’s already dead, the way I do. I enjoy the competition.”
“I would too.”
“Over in India—I read this in one of my books, I never saw it for myself—over in India they have towers where they put dead bodies, and the vultures come down and eat the flesh and then the dry bones drop down into the towers—very sanitary.”
Junior’s mouth dropped open. “I wish I could read that book.”
He looked back up at the sky. Now the vultures had begun a long, slow circling descent. Two more vultures joined them. “They must have spotted lunch,” Mad Mary said.
“Do you still have that book?”
“Which one, the vultures or the cave.”
“Both.”
“They’re in there somewhere,” Mad Mary said, nodding toward her cave. “I’ll try to find them for you.” Then she added, “In case you come back.”
“Oh, I’ll come back,” Junior said. “I love it here.”
CHAPTER 25
Dried Mud
“Let me help you,” Ralphie said. He held out one hand. Maggie looked from his hand to the log she was getting ready to step over.
“It’s just a log,” she said.
“I know, but a person could fall stepping over a log.”
“Not me.”
“Well, would you please let me help you? I’d like to help you. All right?”
Ralphie’s whole face was red now. For fifteen minutes he had been working up the courage to offer to help her over something, and then he had to pick a log, a stupid log, and it wasn’t even a big stupid log.
Maggie looked up at him. She grinned, showing her chipped front tooth. “Oh, all right.”
“You will?”
She reached out and put her hand in Ralphie’s. He gasped with pleasure. For a moment he was so overcome that he forgot why he had offered his hand.
“So help me over the log,” Maggie reminded him, grinning again. “That’s what we’re holding hands for, isn’t it?”
“Sure.”
Actually Ralphie just stood there, grinning, while she stepped over the log herself. It was such a pleasant experience that Ralphie would have liked nothing better than to keep on helping her over things the rest of his life, but she took her hand back.
“That’s enough help,” she said, then turned and ran up the hill.
“Wait for me,” he called after her.
At last Mud was beginning to dry out. He still paused to give himself a shake every now and then, one of his full body shakes that started at his shoulders and ended at the tip of his tail; but the sun and all the running around had left him almost dry.
The first thing Mud had done when he’d realized he was at last out of the trap had been to run. He had run for half an hour. He didn’t run anyplace in particular. He just ran fast, around and around, making huge circles through the trees and back into the clearing, back into the trees, back into the clearing. He barked as he ran.
“Mud’s crazy,” Vicki said when Mud tore into the clearing for the tenth time.
“You’ll have to start calling him Mad instead of Mud,” Ralphie said to Maggie.
Maggie smiled, and Ralphie thought it was like having the sun come out. He wanted to say something else funny more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. As usual, when he was around Maggie, his mind didn’t work.
“Let the dog run,” Pap said. “I’d be running around like that, too, if I’d been locked up in a coyote trap all night.”
By the time the crowd was organized and ready to leave the coyote trap, Mud was through running. The crowd began pairing up. Mud didn’t hesitate. He knew who he was going to pair up with. Mud got with Pap.
“You know what we’re doing this for, Mud, don’t you?” Pap asked him as they started through the trees.
Mud wagged his tail.
“We’re doing this to find Junior. This ain’t just the usual walking in the woods. This is to find Junior. And we’ll not enjoy ourselves until we do.”
Wagging his tail in agreement, Mud took the lead.
CHAPTER 26
Ralphie’s Luck
Junior and Mad Mary were on the porch. They were getting ready to leave again. This was the fourth time they had gotten ready, and they were really going this time.
“I wish we didn’t have to go yet,” Junior said, looking around at the ledge, the cave, the vultures—all the things he had come to treasure.
“Well, we do. We’ve put it off long enough. They’re probably searching for you, and it’ll be better for both of us—especially me—if when they find us, it looks like I’m bringing you back.”
“You are bringing me back.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time a person got arrested because of the way something looked. And folks are generally suspicious of me. In town they call me Mad Mary.” Junior tried to look as if he never had. “I tell you one thing. I couldn’t stand to be put in a cell. That’s the reason I got you out and brought you here. Being put in a cage would be the worst thing that would happen to me.”
“They couldn’t arrest you and put you in jail. You helped me. You can’t get arrested for helping somebody.”
“You know I was helping you, and I know that, but they don’t. They are who counts right now. Come on.” Mad Mary pulled her shoulder bag tighter on her shoulder.
They started down the slope, through the fissure in the limestone—like steps, Junior thought. Halfway down, Junior paused and looked up the cliff to the cave, the porch, the curtain of laurel.
Beyond, on a high dead tree one of the vultures sat, sunning himself. It was the most beautiful sight Junior could remember seeing. Last summer Junior had finally gotten out of the habit of saying goodbye to buildings and places. But now he couldn’t help it. “Good-bye, cave. I’ll be back.”
“You coming or not?” Mary said.
Junior nodded. “Anyway,” he said as he followed, “if they should arrest you, my brother knows how to bust into jail.”
“I hope”—and this time a smile did crack Mad Mary’s face—“it won’t quite come to that.”
“Me too,” said Junior.
Ralphie was having very bad luck. He had just figured that enough time had passed since he had helped Maggie over the log, so that he could offer his assistance again. He didn’t want to overdo assisting, though. “May I help you over this log? This fern? Thi
s twig? This pebble?” That’s exactly what Ralphie wanted to do, so he forced himself to wait perhaps longer than necessary.
He was surprised and delighted that at that moment he and Maggie came to a small stream. Perfect. He was just getting ready to step across and offer his hand. Maybe he wouldn’t even have to say the words. Maybe Maggie would just accept the wordless offer. At that magic moment, when the whole world seemed to be cooperating in his romance, Vern came crashing down the hill.
Ralphie was so startled that he stumbled and fell sideways into the creek. Pain shot through the stump of his leg. He was glad the water was icy because at least that kept him from fainting.
Vern said excitedly, “Pap says he thinks it’s Vulture Roost.”
“What?”
“Where Mad Mary lives. He remembered there’s a cave there. He says his daddy took him there one time and told him it was an old Indian cave. Come on!”
Ralphie would have been glad to come on, but he didn’t think he could get up. Vern was already scrambling back up the hill now, so it was obvious he wouldn’t help.
Ever since Ralphie had cut off his leg with the riding mower, he had not let his artificial leg stop him from doing one single thing. He even played Little League and slid into bases with the best of them. For the first time, there in the creek at Maggie’s feet, he would have given anything to have his own leg back.
At that moment, the absolute lowest of his life, he looked up and saw a beautiful sight. It was Maggie and she was offering her hand to him. She was offering her hand! Ralphie took it and she pulled him up.
And the best part, Ralphie thought, as they started up the hill, still holding hands, the best part was that this time she didn’t have a good excuse for taking her hand back. She couldn’t say “That’s enough help” because this time she had offered.
“How’s your leg?” Maggie asked.
Wisely he answered, “It still hurts.”
“Let me know when it stops.”
“I will,” he said.
