by Rachel Coker
Metal sheets. I ran up the calculations in my head. “Cliff, that’ll cost a lot of money. How are we going to get it? I don’t have a job.”
He bit his lip, thinking hard. “We could do a tap show act.”
“Neither of us knows how to tap dance.”
“Oh.” Cliff fell silent for a moment. “Well, you’re pretty good at baking pies. You’ll sell pies, and we’ll use the money to buy wood.”
“Sell pies?” I tried to imagine myself standing at a pie stand, selling pies on the street. “No one would come.”
“Yes, they would.” Cliff nodded firmly. “You bake good pies.”
A smile tugged at my lips. He was so sure, completely confident we would make enough money to build a rocket to travel to Jupiter, and sure that rocket would work. My shoulders slumped, defeated. “Okay. Tonight I’ll ask Dad if he can bring home some peaches.”
Cliff jumped up. “Why wait? Let’s go find him and ask if we can help bring them home!”
I relished a few more seconds of lying on the grass, the last I might get all summer, then shrugged. “Fine with me.”
I followed behind Cliff as he ran into the house yelling, “Mama! Mama! Ma-ma!”
“What?” Her voice was slightly muffled, which meant she must have been in the kitchen.
I ran in to find her pulling her hair back into a loose bun; her work clothes were spread over the ironing board. I halted to a stop. “Are you going to the plantation?”
“In a few hours or so. They’re ramping up the bed and breakfast for the tourists again. Their first big customer came yesterday, and I wasn’t there. So guess what I got?” She made a face. “A talking to, that’s what. I swear, they treat me like a child. Or a slave. A slave in their plantation house.” She rolled her eyes and picked up a lotion bottle off the counter, pausing to pump lotion onto her smooth white hands. She rubbed her palms together and sighed while reaching for a rag to hold the iron.
Once, when I was hardly five years old, I’d asked Mama why she always put lotion on her hands. She told me that soft, supple hands were a woman’s crowning glory.
I looked down at my grass-stained knuckles and hid them behind my back. “Can we go to the peach farm and see Dad? We want to ask for some peaches.”
She frowned, a tiny crease appearing on her forehead. “Will you be back in time to make supper? I won’t have time to get anything started before I leave.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will. I promise.”
Since my promises were as good as gold, she let us go, and we raced all the way to the peach farm.
Our feet pounded on the gravel driveway, and I enjoyed the warm, breezy air kissing my windblown cheeks. The houses of our neighborhood whizzed past. By the time we reached the peach farm, our chests were heaving and we kneeled over, gasping for air.
“I beat you,” Cliff wheezed.
I rolled my eyes. “Please.”
Dad was standing in the middle of the orchard with a pair of pliers in his hands. He looked up, wiping sweat off his forehead, and frowned when he saw us. “What are y’all doing here?”
We ran toward him and swung our legs over the fence, climbing into the orchard. I placed a hand over my brow to shield off the sun. “We wanted to know if we could have some peaches. We’re going to use them to make pies and sell the pies for money to build a rocket.”
“To Jupiter,” Cliff added.
“Yeah.” I gave him my best smile, wrapping my arm around Cliff for added sweetness. I tried to read Dad’s eyes—would he see how much this crazy plan meant to his son? “Please?”
Dad frowned again and turned back to his work. “I can’t give y’all peaches.”
Cliff’s face fell. “Why not?”
“Well, first off, they’re not my peaches. They’re Luke Leggett’s. And second off, you two don’t need to be building rockets and causing trouble. We have enough trouble in the family already,” he muttered.
My chest began to swell with disappointment and anger. “It’s not causing trouble! I’m a good cook! I know people would buy my pies.”
Dad sighed and turned, cupping my cheek. “Scarlett, baby, I know you’re a good cook. I just don’t need the trouble this summer. If you want to buy the peaches yourself or make money some other way, that’s fine. But I can’t be troubling Mr. Leggett about it right now.” He glanced at his watch and set down the pliers. “Now, I’m heading home. You two run along, okay?” He started for his truck.
“Wait!” Cliff followed on his heels. “I wanna ride in the Clunker.”
Dad laughed, and swung into the driver’s seat with a teasing smile. “Y’all ran here, didn’t you? Well, run on back.” His key turned in the ignition and then he was gone, a cloud of dust following behind him.
I watched him go until he was just a speck at the end of the long dirt road that went through our community. “Well, there goes that dream,” I muttered, kicking at the driveway. I walked back to the white picket fence and sat on the ground. What are we going to do now? I’ll never get enough money to buy that wood unless I take a job working at the plantation like Mama. Images of myself dressed in mid-nineteenth-century hoop skirts serving apple pie flashed across my mind. I wrinkled my nose. Yuck.
I leaned against the fence to watch the sky again. “At least it’s a pretty day. No clouds or anything.” I let myself ease down the fence then pulled my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them. “Don’t you love the sky in June? It’s like cotton candy—smooth and sweet and fluffy. The tinges of pink hidden in the blue …” I sighed.
“What do you think, Cliff?”
Silence. I frowned and looked around. “Cliff?”
“Talking to yourself again?”
My skin leapt. I scurried to my feet and whipped around. Frank Leggett was standing in the middle of the orchard watching me. A grin tugged at his mouth. “You seem to do that a lot.”
My eyes scanned the orchard. No Cliff in sight. I stood and brushed off my jeans. “This is going to sound really stupid, but have you seen my brother?”
Frank nodded his head. “Isn’t he the one stealing peaches?”
“What?” Blood drained from my face. “Where?”
He pointed toward the south side of the orchard. “I saw him over there.”
I ran in that direction, my heart pounding along with my feet. Oh no, Cliff. This is beyond stupid.
I found him standing under a peach tree, jumping to reach the fruit on the lowest branches. A small pile of peaches already lay at his feet. He brightened when he saw me. “Can you reach that one for me?”
My mouth hung open. I looked from the peaches to him and back to the peaches. “Cliff, what are you doing?”
He shrugged. “Dad will never find out.”
“Cliff, you can’t steal peaches. God will strike you dead or something.” I glanced at the sky again.
Frank ran up behind me. “Hey.” He nodded at Cliff.
Cliff pressed his lips together in a tight smile and went back to picking peaches. I stood in dumbfounded silence, watching him. Is he really going to keep stealing them right in front of me and Frank?
Frank stepped forward and began pulling down fruit from some of the higher branches and dropping it on the ground. “What are all these peaches for?”
My eyes widened. “You can’t just help him steal!”
They ignored me.
“Scarlett’s gonna sell some peach pies and use the money to build a rocket to Jupiter for me. We hope to finish it by the end of the summer.”
Frank nodded, like this was the most normal thing in the world. And I guess it was sort of normal Cliff-like behavior. But Frank wouldn’t have known that.
After several minutes of silent staring, my senses finally began coming back. “What are you doing here?” I asked Frank.
He dropped the rest of the peaches before sticking his hands in his pockets and looking at me. “I live here. Or at least, just up that hill.” He pointed. “I was actually on my way over there
to … um … take care of a few things, when I saw your brother here and I was curious. And then I heard you talking to yourself again and figured something was up.”
I pressed my lips together and asked, “What are you planning to do with all these peaches you picked?”
Frank glanced at Cliff. “Well, I thought the kid said you were making peach pies to sell so you can make a rocket.”
“So you’re giving us these peaches?”
He nodded.
I folded my arms, assuming a defensive position. “For how much?”
A smile tugged at Frank’s mouth for the second time that day. “Sometimes people are just nice.”
My eyes narrowed. “It’s more than that. What?”
The smile turned into a full-out grin, illuminating his face. “Okay, okay. At first I was interested in your arrival because I’ve always had a crush on your sister, Juli, and I figured y’all could put in a good word for me.”
“Juli wouldn’t date you in a million years.”
He didn’t flinch at my bluntness. He only nodded. “Yeah, I know. So now I’ve decided to help you both because a rocket to Jupiter sounds really fun.” He glanced at me. “And I happen to love peach pie and was hoping you’d give me a slice for free.”
I shrugged. “I guess.”
He continued staring at me with his gold-green eyes. My skin began to heat, a bright red blush creeping over my cheeks. “What?”
He smiled. “You have really messy hair.”
Self-conscious, I reached up. The loose ponytail my hair had been tucked into had come undone long ago, and now chunks were hanging around my shoulders in loose waves. I pulled out the hair tie and tucked what I could behind one ear. “We ran here.” I was wrong to grow it out. I should have left it short and neat.
A teasing glint twinkled in Frank’s eye. “You look like a hippie. Like your sister.”
I frowned. “I am not a hippie.”
He shrugged. “Would you rather I say you looked like a fairy child? Or a runaway princess with briars in her hair? Because I could.”
Cliff wrinkled his nose. “I liked hippie better.”
Frank smirked. “Me too. Now come on.” He stood and brushed off his pants. “Let’s take these to the bomb shelter.” He scooped up an armful of peaches and began walking down the hill.
What? I grabbed some peaches and scurried after him. “Why are we going to a bomb shelter?”
“No one ever uses it except me,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s the perfect place to build a rocket.”
I watched him from the back. He was tall and thin, with strong arms. His light brown hair was growing lighter in the sunshine, turning the color of golden pancakes. Every couple steps, he’d turn to glance at Cliff to make sure he didn’t fall behind.
I wonder if Juli ever had any classes with him. Maybe she could tell me what Frank’s like.
“Here we are.”
Frank stopped in front of what was indeed an old bomb shelter and dropped the peaches on the ground. “My parents built this in the fifties, but I don’t think they ever used it.” He pressed his lips together, as if holding back a secret. “Though it hasn’t exactly been vacant all this time. I kind of, uh, used it for my own purposes.” He stepped forward to open the door and stopped mid-swing. His eyes darted toward us. “Promise not to tell anyone what you see inside.”
I smirked. “What are you hiding in there? Nuclear weapons?”
“Ha, ha.”
Cliff studied the door in silence. His eyes drifted over toward Frank and looked him over. “We will keep your secrets,” Cliff finally declared. “You seem like an amigo.”
Frank grinned. “Yeah, sure.” He pushed open the door and fumbled for a switch. Light flooded the small shelter and revealed quite a sight.
—All kinds of animals filled the room. Birds sat on the rafters, two rabbits munched on newspaper clippings in the corner, a turtle inched its way across the floor, and the furry little heads of kittens peeked out of a box by the door.
“Whoa,” Cliff breathed as he stepped inside. “It’s like the ark.”
I knelt on the floor and stroked the kittens’ heads. They were soft and warm, pitifully mewing. “Who do all these animals belong to?”
“Me.” Frank closed the door behind us and went to work picking up newspaper shreds off the dirt floor.
My eyebrows rose. “Where did you get them?”
“I rescued most of them. I found those kittens under the porch of an abandoned house last week. It was raining hard, and they were pretty miserable.” He picked up a turtle. “I found this outside my bedroom window one morning. He’s missing an eye. See?”
The one-eyed reptile recoiled his head into his shell and watched us. Frank reached into the corner. A baby deer sat nestled in a makeshift bed. Frank scooped up the deer and held it in his lap, petting it gently. “This one’s pretty special. Her name is Fawn. I found her in the woods behind the house after she hurt her leg during a thunderstorm. Must’ve tripped over a log or something. Her leg was in a splint for almost a month, but it’s still pretty weak. I don’t think she’ll be able to walk for a few more months, at least.” His mouth tilted up in a lopsided smile. “I feed her milk out of a bottle.”
I looked around. “Do they all have names?”
Frank shrugged. “Only the ones I intend to keep. Though Fawn here is actually promised to a farmer down the road—said he’d keep her safe and sound in his back pasture once she’s healed, since she can’t very well go back into the wild. The ones I plan to let go stay nameless. It’s too hard to say good-bye to a pet, but it’s not as bad to leave a wild animal.”
Cliff scrambled on the floor next to me and picked up a kitten, holding it close to his chest. “Do the kittens have names?”
“No. Would you like to name them?” Frank put Fawn back on her bed then pulled an unopened carton of milk from inside a bowl on the shelf and poured it into another bowl. One side of his mouth twitched up. “I keep some on ice for the little guys.”
“Hmm …” Cliff studied the tiny black furball in his arms. “I think his name should be Antonio.” He pointed to an orange cat in the litter. “And that one’s Diego.”
Frank raised an eyebrow. “Um, okay.”
I lifted a gray kitten from the box. “This one is Mittens.” Simple, but suitable. His body heat emanated through my fingertips.
Frank turned and cocked his head. “Yeah. It fits him.”
I sat back against the wall and watched Frank pet the kittens. He looked up and asked, “So how many pies are you planning to make? Are you going to make a stand to sell them?” He brightened. “Oh, now that I think about it, I think I have some spare wood behind the shed. I could build you a stand, and Cliff could paint a sign. Would you like that?”
Cliff nodded. “I’m actually pretty good at painting.”
Frank looked at me and grinned. Then his smile slowly faded. “What?” he asked.
I frowned and avoided his eye. “I just don’t get why you’re even talking to us. I don’t think I’ve said more than two sentences to you before today.”
He shrugged, rubbing his hands together. “I just felt like it.”
I gave him a wry smile. “Are you always so spontaneous?”
Frank nodded. “Yeah. I am.” He looked me directly in the eye. “To tell the truth, I’ve always considered both of you to be a little odd, and I guess you thought I was strange too. So I figured we’d get along fine. And we do.”
For some weird reason, it made sense. I guess things were always so offbeat and random with Cliff that anything out of the ordinary seemed normal to me.
Cliff stood and brushed off his jeans. “Oooo-kay. If you two are done, I’m going to go get some more peaches.” He bolted out of the shelter and disappeared into the orchard.
Frank watched him leave before placing a clinging kitten back on the ground and turning toward me. “Come on. I’ll show you that wood.”
All kinds of lumber
was stacked in the backyard, ranging from large to small, smooth to rough. Frank picked up a sturdy piece of wood and looked it over, chewing on his bottom lip. “Do you think this’ll work for the base?”
I shrugged. “You know better than I do. I’ll bake the pies, but you and Cliff will have to build the stand yourselves.”
He puffed out his cheeks and released the captured air slowly. “Okay. I guess I’ll have to teach him how to wield a hammer, huh?”
“Yep.”
“And cut wood with a saw?”
I bit my lower lip. “No, I think you’d better do that.”
“Scarlett!” Cliff came running around the corner, barely stopping for breath. “Dad just drove by! We have to go home and make supper, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” My brow furrowed. Drat.
Frank set the wood back down. “Why don’t I come over to your place tomorrow with some of this wood? Cliff can help me make the stand, and you can reward me with one of those delicious pies.” He winked.
I grinned. “Sure.”
Cliff grabbed my arm and began running back toward home. I followed him, pausing to yell over my shoulder. “Thanks!”
Chapter 4
Mrs. Ima Nice sat up as we passed her porch, waving her cane at us. “Hey, you two! Yeah, I’m talking to you!”
Uh-oh. I turned slowly and winced. Her voice was as screechy as nails on a chalkboard and loud enough to keep all the birds away from her window. She was kind of known for the irony of her name. I seemed to recall Mama telling us that Mrs. Nice was called Ima Kilpatrick before she married the stock broker from Vermont. She was from one of the only families with any money that I knew about in southern Georgia, but I supposed that even money couldn’t keep you from ending up a leathery, bitter old woman, selling eggs to the neighborhood children. “Yes, ma’am?”
She stiffened her lower lip. “You didn’t come for eggs last Tuesday, and I want to know why.”
Cliff’s foot nudged the back of my heel, pushing me forward. I clutched my hands together, stammering. “Well, uh … I didn’t do any baking on Tuesday, and I guess I just sort of forgot. Plus, I normally remember when I’m frying pancakes because I always realize then I’m out of eggs. But last Tuesday Dad went to work early and we just had cereal.” My tongue turned numb at the fierce scowl on her face. “And so I forgot.”
