Cat Running

by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

  Tonight when she looked out into the wet darkness she kept seeing a pale, thin face. Sammy’s face, wet with tears or rain, floating above a dark huddle of tents and shanties that seemed to be slowly collapsing into an endlessly spreading sea of cold, black mud.

  It was still raining on Monday. Cat went to the girls’ rest room early and she was already waiting in the hall when Spence came out of Mrs. Peters’s room.

  After they’d both said, “Howdy,” Cat said, “Well, I see you’re still here. How’s the Studebaker coming along?”

  Spence shrugged. “Well, they’re workin’ on it. Jist got it all tore up so far. But Elmer thinks they’ll have it back together ’fore long.”

  “And running?” Cat asked.

  “Well, maybe for a day or two, anyways, if we’re real lucky.” Spence’s twisted grin was brave, Cat thought. Brave to be able to laugh about something so life-or-death important as the old Studebaker was to the Perkinses right now.

  “I’ll bet they get it running real soon,” she said. “Cliff says Studebakers are long-lasting cars.”

  Spence nodded and his smile became a little less painful. “We got a house now, anyways,” he said. “After the Laytons left we moved into their cabin. Ain’t much of a house but it’s drier and right warm when the stove’s agoin’. Ma thought a warm room to sleep in might help Sammy get over her cough.”

  “Is she better?” Cat asked. “Is Sammy better?”

  Spence looked at Cat, shrugged, and looked away. Then he turned toward the playground, where rain was still spattering on the blacktop and splashing into the small lakes that had once been sawdust pits.

  Ignoring Cat’s question he only said, “Shorely do wish it would stop rainin’.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  THAT NIGHT CAT SAT at her window for a long time. For the first time in what seemed like ages it was a clear, almost cloudless night. The man in a nearly full moon seemed to have a startled expression on his face, as if he were surprised about something. Surprised, maybe, to see that California hadn’t washed completely away after all, and that it had finally come out from behind all those everlasting clouds.

  Cat knew she was certainly glad to see an end to the rain. Calm, clear nights with lots of moonlight sometimes gave her a hopeful feeling. And right now something, perhaps the moonlight, was making her feel that all sorts of problems could be solved if only people would get to know each other instead of being so suspicious and frightened just because of a few differences. If they’d just get acquainted, for instance, the way she’d gotten to know Sammy and Spence—and Mrs. Perkins too. And Zane? She wasn’t including Zane. At least not very much.

  She’d been thinking about the Perkinses and their problems for a while when she suddenly came up with a wonderful plan. The plan was to find Mr. Perkins a job in Brownwood so Sammy and, of course, all the other Perkinses, too, wouldn’t have to move away.

  She knew, of course, how scarce jobs were nowadays with the depression and all. And how even people like Cliff had tried for months and months to find work without any luck. But that was different. That wouldn’t be the same at all because Cliff had been looking for a different kind of work. Cliff, who had not only a high school diploma but also two years at the junior college, had been looking for a job as a salesman or in an office. And Mr. Perkins would probably want to do farming work or at least something where he didn’t have to sit in an office or wear a coat and tie. And, it suddenly occurred to Cat, she knew where just that kind of job could be found. Right in Kinsey’s Hardware. Mr. Perkins could take over Ernie’s old job in the stockroom of Kinsey’s Hardware.

  It wasn’t the kind of job where you needed to have a lot of special training or education. Or the kind of clothes people had to wear if they worked out in front and had to meet the public a lot. Ernie hadn’t much education at all, but for years and years he’d taken care of loading and unloading and keeping things neat and orderly in the stockroom. And in the evenings after closing he’d swept and dusted and stocked the shelves in the front of the store. But then a few years ago Ernie had gone off to an old folks’ home and Father just hadn’t yet hired someone to take his place. Instead he and Cliff and sometimes even Ellen had been taking turns doing Ernie’s work. Not that Cliff and Ellen really wanted to do that kind of work. At least, Cliff was always complaining about it. Cliff would probably be very glad to have someone doing Ernie’s job again.

  So that was the plan, and the time to bring it up would be in the evening, after Father had eaten and rested for a while. The timing would have to be perfect and so would the things Cat would say. She would begin, she decided, by talking about Ernie.

  The very next day, after waiting for just the right moment, she started in by saying, “I wonder how Ernie is.” It was about an hour after dinner on Tuesday night and the whole family, except Ellen, was still sitting around the kitchen table. This winter, for some reason, the whole family had been staying in the warm kitchen after dinner instead of building a fire in the living-room fireplace the way they used to do.

  Father had finished listening to the news on the radio, which had been mostly about the war in Spain and the floods in other parts of California. Both he and Cliff were reading the newspaper and Mama was mending. Ellen had gone to her room early, which was fine. Ellen wouldn’t be any help, Cat felt sure. Even if she didn’t like sweeping up and dusting at the store she’d be sure to find some reason to disagree with what Cat had to say. Like for instance the fact that Mr. Perkins was an Okie. Or what Ellen called an Okie, anyway, which seemed to be just about anyone who came from someplace else and didn’t have much money.

  No one looked up except Mama, so Cat had to say it again, louder, “I wonder how old Ernie is.”

  “Ernie’s fine as far as I know,” Father said. “I called the home just last month and they said Ernie was much the same.”

  “That’s good,” Cat said. “Ernie used to be a big help at the store, didn’t he?”

  “I’ll say amen to that,” Cliff said. “I didn’t realize how much old Ernie did till I started having to do it myself. Sure wish we had him back.”

  Cat couldn’t help smiling. Cliff had said just the right thing. “Well,” she went on, “I don’t see why you don’t hire someone else to take Ernie’s place. And I know just the person you ought to hire.”

  Father put down his newspaper and looked at Cat. “And who might that be?” he asked.

  “It’s this man named Perkins. He’s been working on the Otis ranch until last week and the Perkins kids go to Brownwood School. You remember Zane Perkins? He’s the one who’s in my room, and he won the Winners’ Grand Finale race and got all that Lions Club prize money for Brownwood. But Mr. Otis laid everybody off last week and so the Perkinses are going to have to move and they have this little girl who’s kind of sick, and it sure would be swell if Mr. Perkins could get a job right here in Brownwood.”

  Father didn’t say anything right away and after a minute Mama looked up from her mending. “This Perkins family, they’re dust-bowl refugees?” she asked.

  “Well—” Cat had begun when Cliff interrupted.

  “Okies, she means. She wants to know if they’re Okies. Are they Okies, Cat?”

  “No, they aren’t Okies,” Cat said in a sassy tone of voice. “They’re not even from Oklahoma, so how could they be Okies?”

  “Oh, yeah? Where are they from, then?”

  “Texas. They’re from Texas.”

  Cliff laughed. “Big difference,” he said.

  “Catherine,” Father said, “I hope you haven’t said anything to these Perkins children about our hiring their father, because it just wouldn’t be possible. For one thing, I doubt very much if Mr. Perkins would be a suitable employee for Kinsey’s Hardware. And besides, if I were going to hire a stockman again, there’s quite a few old Brownwood residents who would jump at the chance to get the job. And there’s also the fact that a lot of my regular customers wouldn’t understand my encouraging these tr
ansients to stay in the Brownwood area any longer than necessary. And, by the way ...

  But Cat had stopped listening. Getting to her feet she shoved her chair back under the table very deliberately. Slowly and deliberately, in spite of the anger that was burning behind her eyes. She might have known. She might have known that Father wouldn’t see it her way. Father never saw anything her way and probably never would. And she might also have known he would never spend a penny that he didn’t have to, no matter what. And certainly not to please her. Certainly not a penny on anything that Catherine Kinsey wanted. “Never mind,” she said between tight lips. “Just forget I mentioned it.” Then she left the room.

  In her own room Cat kicked off her shoes, put on her heavy winter robe, picked out a book, and lay down on her bed to read. It was about fifteen minutes later and she still hadn’t been able to get her mind on what she was reading when someone knocked on the door. To her surprise it was Cliff.

  “What do you want?” she said as rudely as she could, feeling sure that he’d just thought of some clever way to tease her for having been stupid enough to think she could get a job for Mr. Perkins.

  But he just stood there grinning for a minute before he pulled her desk chair over near the bed and sat down straddling its back.

  “Look, kid,” he said. “There’s something I think you ought to know. So I thought I’d just fill you in a bit. Against orders, I might add, but so what? I don’t think Kinsey senior is going to fire me at this point even if he should find out.” He paused, shrugged, and grinned in a strange, almost embarrassed way. “But I must admit that I’d just as soon you didn’t let him know I was the one who told you.”

  “Told me what?” Cat asked.

  “That that grand old Brownwood institution, Kinsey’s Hardware Emporium, has been teetering on the brink of bankruptcy for the last two or three years.”

  “Bankruptcy?”

  “Going broke. Kinsey’s Hardware has been just barely breaking even for a long time now. Sometimes not even that. And if the store goes under we’ll lose it and probably the house too.”

  Cat was stunned. “I don’t believe you,” she said after a minute. “Father would have told me.” Or would he? “Well, Mama would have, anyway.”

  “Lydia doesn’t know either. Or at least she doesn’t have any idea how bad things really are. Father won’t tell her and he won’t let me or Ellen tell her either. Seems to think she’s not strong enough to bear the news. I tried to tell him she’d have a much better chance of developing some strength if he’d just start treating her like an adult. But you know Pa. There’s no arguing with him. And he’s dead set against anybody telling you. Says he wants you to have a carefree childhood.”

  “Carefree ... Cat said in a voice that she hardly recognized as her own. And then she didn’t say anything else for a long time. Instead she just sat there staring. Cliff crossed his hands on the back of her chair, leaned his chin on them, and stared back. After a while, when he began to smile, she did, too, imitating that mocking, sarcastic Cliff Kinsey grin.

  “And I’ve always thought he wouldn’t spend any money on me because he just didn’t like me very much,” she said. She was trying to make it sound like a joke, but right in the middle of it there was a funny catch in her voice, almost like a sob.

  “Yeah.” Cliff had stopped grinning. “I had a notion that’s what you thought. That’s one of the reasons I decided to spill the beans. He cares about you a lot, kid, in his way. He just doesn’t know how to show it. Never has known how. Not with Ellen and me when we were kids either. Used to try to do it with money when he had it, but now ... He shrugged again.

  Cliff didn’t say much more. After a while he got up off Cat’s chair and left the room. At the door he turned around, rolled his eyes, and pretended to tip an imaginary hat. “Look,” he said, “don’t worry about it too much, kid. I’ve got a strong feeling this depression isn’t going to last too much longer. At least that’s what I think when I’m in a good mood.”

  It was a long time that night before Cat got to sleep. And when she finally did she was awakened by a loud noise. At first, coming up out of a dream in which the whole Kinsey family was heading for Bakersfield in the old Model A, she didn’t know what she’d heard. But then she recognized an all-too-familiar sound. It was raining again—hard, steady, driving rain.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  IT WAS STILL RAINING when Cat went downstairs the next morning. In the kitchen Mama was listening to the radio as she made breakfast. As Cat finished setting the table she came close to telling Mama what Cliff had said the night before. Mama ought to know, just like she, Cat, ought to have known a long time ago. She’d be worried, of course, but there were worse things to worry about than bankruptcy.

  That was one of the things Cat had decided when she was lying awake last night after Cliff’s visit. For instance, thinking that Father wouldn’t buy her a pony or a playhouse because he didn’t like her as much as he did Ellen and Cliff was quite a lot worse. As a matter of fact, after thinking it over Cat had decided that she preferred bankruptcy to a lot of other problems. Because bankruptcy you could do something about.

  The one thing that kept her from telling Mama right off was that she’d more or less promised Cliff she wouldn’t let Father know who’d “spilled the beans.” And if she told Mama—and Mama told Father—it was bound to come out that Cliff had been the one who’d told. So Cat decided to wait at least until she’d had a chance to talk to Cliff again before she said anything to anyone else. Besides, right at the moment Mama was very busy listening to the news about the flood.

  The morning news on the radio was full of reports of flooding all up and down California and particularly in the southern part of the state. There wasn’t any mention of problems in the foothills except that the news announcer did say that creeks and rivers all over the state were full to overflowing. Of course there was no mention of little old Coyote Creek, but Cat couldn’t help thinking about it and wondering if, this time, it really was going to flood the grotto.

  When Cliff came in he grinned at Cat and she grinned back and then shook her head when he made his eyebrows ask a question. A question that was clearly something like You haven’t been tattling, have you?

  A little later when everyone was around the table Cat found herself watching Father. He looked awfully tired. There were dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well. Worrying, probably, about the bankruptcy. And maybe worrying about whether Cat was having a carefree childhood? (That was really a new and fascinating idea.) She was still looking at Father, and imagining all the worries that were going on inside his head, when he looked up at her so suddenly that she surprised herself by smiling at him. Which seemed to surprise him too.

  Breakfast was almost over when the phone rang. It was Mrs. Jayne calling to say that school had been canceled for the day. A tree had fallen during the night and knocked down some power lines and there were no lights or heat in the school building. The teachers were calling parents who had phones and Mr. Alessandro was at the school to send home any kids who didn’t get the message. Like anyone whose family didn’t have a phone, for instance. Cat wondered if the Perkins boys would walk all the way in from Okietown in the rain before they found out.

  When breakfast was over and Father and Cliff and Ellen had gone to the store, Cat went to her room and looked out the window toward Brownwood Road. Sitting on the floor, as always, she watched the rain and the wet black ribbon of pavement that stretched away toward Okietown and the valley. If she saw the Perkinses going by she could run out and at least save them the rest of the trip into town. But nobody went by and after a while the rain died down to a drizzle and then stopped. It was then that she decided to make a trip to the grotto.

  She didn’t really think it would be flooded. The canyon floor was so wide in that area and the floor of the grotto was so much higher than the regular creek bed. But the fact remained that the grotto itself probably had been formed som
etime in the far distant past by flood waters, and you couldn’t be absolutely positive it wouldn’t happen again. She would go to see, she decided, as soon as Mama started her afternoon nap.

  In the coat closet by the back door she picked out a worn-out coat and a pair of rubber boots, both of which were actually Ellen’s. The coat was an old one that Ellen only used to garden in, and the boots, which were quite a bit too big for Cat, had crackly places on both toes. But Cat’s own boots, which she’d completely outgrown, had never been replaced. Cat nodded knowingly as she pulled them on, thinking about the new boots she’d probably have had long ago if it hadn’t been for the bankruptcy problem. Cliff was certainly right. She really did need to know about family problems like that.

  She started for the grotto that day soon after one o’clock. The pony pasture was a muddy marshland. The pasture where, it suddenly occurred to her, Father might someday, when the depression was over, let her keep a horse of her own. The steep path to the canyon floor was a slippery slide and the usually clear creek had become a noisy tumble of muddy water.

  The trip down to the grotto was slow, complicated, and a little bit dangerous. There were places where Cat had to climb over boulders or forge a new trail along the side of the cliff face. And other places where the only route was through stretches of shallow water, wading along carefully in Ellen’s leaky old boots. But the stairlike descent down the face of the cascade slope was unchanged—except wetter and a lot more slippery.

  When Cat rounded the last boulder and the grotto thicket came into view, it was immediately apparent that the tunnel was underwater. Not a great deal of water, but enough so that crawling through it was going to be a soggy, muddy business.

  She checked out the other entry then, the one she’d cleared when she brought in the playhouse panels, but the water was even deeper there and the vicious berry-vines had again twined up the face of the cliff. And of course she hadn’t thought to bring her gloves or shears. So she returned to the tunnel, took off her boots, shoes, and socks, and put them on top of a fairly dry boulder. Then she tucked her coat up into the legs of her underpants, got down on her knees in the shallow, muddy water, and started to crawl. When she came out of the other end of the tunnel she was shocked to see that the grotto was flooded too.