Ruby Holler

by Sharon Creech

  “Can’t wait to get these pictures developed,” Z said. “Especially the one of him with the jewels.”

  “Jewels!” Sairy said. “What a foolish man.”

  “How much did those stones cost?” Tiller asked.

  “Got the whole bag for a dollar ninety-nine.” Z dropped a handful of pecans into the bowl.

  “I do feel a tiny bit bad for Mr. Trepid,” Sairy said.

  “Don’t you go feeling sorry for him,” Florida said. “He’d have stolen all your money if he’d had the chance.”

  “Putrid pincher,” Tiller said, adding more chocolate syrup to the bowl.

  Z tossed a handful of chopped cherries into the mix. “So what about your trips, your real trips? Guess you’re not going on those, right?”

  “Tiller and I were talking about that earlier,” Sairy said. “Seems we won’t be going off on those trips after all. Seems we’ll stay right here in the holler.” She turned to Florida and Dallas. “I hope you kids aren’t going to be too disappointed about that.”

  Dallas spotted a jar of peanuts, opened it, and dumped them in the bowl. He didn’t know what to think. Part of him was relieved, and part of him wanted to bawl his head off.

  “Guess I’d better head out to pick up Buddy and Lucy at the airport,” Z said. “Be good to have your own kids home, won’t it?”

  Sairy and Tiller nodded. “It will,” they said.

  Florida emptied the jar of chocolate syrup into the bowl. She reached across the counter for a bag of cookies, smashed the whole bag with the empty jar, and then emptied the smashed cookies into the bowl.

  Sairy cupped Florida’s chin in her hands. “Honey,” Sairy said, “don’t you ever let anyone treat you bad ever again, you hear?”

  Sure, Florida thought. Easy for you to say when you’re about to get rid of us. She pounded the dough with a wooden spoon.

  CHAPTER 64

  APPRAISALS

  Once again, Mr. Trepid had parked his battered old car several blocks from the Cadillac showroom. He’d worn his best suit, unaware that a piece of bubble gum was stuck to the back of his jacket and that cornflake crumbs clung to his pant legs.

  The salesman who had waited on him before met him just inside the door. “Mr. Trepid, correct?” He shook Mr. Trepid’s hand, but, noticing the red rash on Mr. Trepid’s hand and wrist, the salesman cut short the handshake. “The red Cadillac convertible—is that the one you’re still interested in?” The salesman noticed the tiny blisters on Mr. Trepid’s face and neck.

  “That’s right,” Mr. Trepid said, rubbing at the skin beneath his jacket. “I just want to be sure it will be available.”

  “Oh?” the salesman said. “So you’ve made your decision?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Trepid said, pawing at his ear. “I’m off to make some arrangements, and then I’ll be back. How soon could I have it?”

  “Do you care to discuss the finances?”

  “No, no. Not now. It’ll be fine, I’m sure. I suppose I ought to take it for a test drive. Is that possible?”

  “Absolutely,” the salesman said. He didn’t think he should mention the gum on Mr. Trepid’s jacket or the crumbs on his pants. The salesman figured that if a man wanted to buy a new Cadillac, he could have food all over himself if he wanted.

  Mr. Trepid parked the Cadillac directly in front of the First Avenue Jewelry store. The ding of the door’s bell brought the salesman from the back of the store.

  “Ah,” he said, “Mr. Trepid, I believe?” As Mr. Trepid approached, the salesman noticed the angry rash creeping up Mr. Trepid’s neck and across his face, and the salesman took a step backward. He hoped that whatever Mr. Trepid had wasn’t contagious.

  “That watch I was looking at, you remember which one?” Mr. Trepid said.

  “Yes sir, I do,” the salesman said. “Would the gentleman like to see it again?”

  “No, just checking. I wonder if you also do appraisals?”

  “Appraisals? Of jewelry?”

  “Yes, or gems? Precious jewels?” Mr. Trepid retrieved the pouch from his jacket pocket and laid it carefully on the counter. “I have here some gems that I’d like appraised.”

  The man eyed the pouch. “I would be happy to do appraisals for you. What sort of gems?”

  Mr. Trepid raked at his neck. This blasted rash. “Rubies,” he said, “and emeralds and diamonds.”

  “Rubies and emeralds and diamonds? May I?” The salesman extended his hand.

  Mr. Trepid smiled as he carefully undid the pouch and poured the gems into the salesman’s hand.

  The salesman stared at the stones and cleared his throat. “Perhaps you would like to leave them with me,” he said. “I will need to … to consult my manager.”

  “Fine, fine, whatever,” Mr. Trepid said. “When do you think you can give me a firm appraisal?”

  The salesman dumped the stones back into the pouch. “Oh, I’d say by tomorrow, no problem.”

  “And my gems are safe here with you?” Mr. Trepid said.

  The salesman chewed on his lip. “Oh yes, they’re perfectly safe with me.”

  “Fine, fine, very good then,” Mr. Trepid said.

  As Mr. Trepid drove away, the salesman called to someone in the back room. “Hey, get in here. Wait’ll you see what this joker wants appraised. A bunch of worthless dime-store stones!”

  CHAPTER 65

  CONVERSATIONS IN THE NIGHT

  It was a cool night in the holler, with a lazy breeze blowing through, whisking branches against the loft window. Dallas whispered to Florida. “Listen. Hear Tiller snoring? And can you hear Sairy and her kids down there? They’re still talking.”

  “Don’t they know we can hear them?” Florida said. She was hidden under her quilt, with only her head poking out, staring at Buddy’s and Lucy’s suitcases sitting on the two empty beds.

  “Tiller and Sairy seem pretty happy to see their kids, don’t they?” Dallas said.

  “Don’t talk about it. They’re probably sorry we’re taking up space here. Did you hear what Buddy said when he saw us? He said, ‘Who are those two kids?’—like we were a couple of dogs.”

  “He didn’t mean it like that,” Dallas said.

  Florida had also heard Lucy ask her parents what on earth those two kids were doing here, and what on earth had Tiller and Sairy been thinking, anyway, taking on a couple of stray kids that they didn’t know anything about. Florida could hear Lucy’s voice now, below, rising as if she were annoyed.

  “You can’t possibly keep them here now,” Lucy said. “What with Dad recuperating and—”

  “Shh,” Sairy said. “Lower your voice, please.”

  “But Mom—” Lucy said.

  “Let’s go outside,” Sairy said.

  Florida heard the screen door close and then turned to Dallas. “We’re just in the way,” she said. “I thought Tiller and Sairy were different from all the rest of those trouble grown-ups, but they’re not.”

  “Stop it,” Dallas said. “They are different. Don’t you go talking bad about them.”

  “I can say whatever I want,” she said. She thought about Tiller lying in his bed downstairs. What was Tiller dreaming? What if his heart started hurting again?

  Dallas was out of bed, rummaging around.

  “What’re you doing?” Florida said. “What’re you stuffing in that sack?”

  “I’m packing.”

  “Don’t do that,” Florida said.

  “Why not? Maybe you’re right. Maybe our time is up here. They don’t need us, and we’re in the way, aren’t we?” Dallas put a change of clothes in the sack and then pulled them out again. “What’s ours and what’s theirs? Is this shirt mine?”

  “Of course it’s yours, Dallas. Who else’s would it be?”

  “I mean did they buy it, or did I have it already when we came here?”

  “Let me see it,” Florida said.

  Dallas tossed the shirt at her.

  “You don’t have to be so rough,” sh
e said, examining the shirt. “It’s a nice one. Definitely not one you had when we came here.” She tossed it back to Dallas, who threw it on the floor.

  Reluctantly, Florida eased out from under the quilt. “I guess I’ve got to pack, too,” she said.

  “I guess you do,” Dallas said, “unless you’re not coming with me.”

  “What’re you talking about? You wouldn’t go without me, would you?”

  Dallas sat back down on his bed. “No, I wouldn’t do that. Not if you wanted to come. But maybe you don’t want to come. Maybe that night freight train doesn’t sound so good to you anymore.”

  “It sounds good. It sounds just fine. I’m just tired is all. I thought we’d be resting up a few days,” Florida said. She was surprised at how much she didn’t want to leave.

  “No point in resting up,” Dallas said. “Might as well get moving.”

  “Are you talking about tonight?” Florida asked. “You mean like this night here, right now?”

  “That’s what I mean,” Dallas said. “After Lucy and Buddy are asleep.”

  “But what about saying good-bye? We’re not even going to say good-bye?”

  It was nearly midnight when Lucy and Buddy crept up to the loft and Sairy crawled into bed beside Tiller. She studied his face and listened to his even breathing. She sat leaning against the headboard, knowing she would have trouble sleeping.

  She’d been surprised when Lucy and Buddy suggested that Dallas and Florida should be sent back to the Home right away. Could this be her own Lucy, her own Buddy—so cold, so unfeeling? Then Sairy told Buddy and Lucy about the Trepids, and about the Hoppers and the Cranbeps and Burgertons and Dreeps. She told them about Florida and Tiller fixing up the old boat, and about Dallas helping her plan her trip and get supplies, and about how the kids had run through the holler and climbed its trees.

  “Oh, Mom,” Lucy had said when she finished. “They must love the holler, just like we all did. I dream of it all the time. And to be back here now, oh …”

  Buddy was sitting on the porch swing, taking in the view. “What a place this is. What a place!” He took ahold of Sairy’s hand. “But are you sure you can manage two kids right now? Are you sure you can handle something else to worry about?”

  “Worry about?” Sairy had said. “Those two keep us from worrying. They’re a comfort.”

  But now, as she lay in bed, she wondered if it was selfish of her to want Dallas and Florida to stay. What was the best thing for them? Certainly it was not going back to the Home. She was sure of that. And those kids loved the holler. They loved being able to run and shout. They loved the stream and the trees and the birds.

  She wanted to wake Tiller, so that he could reassure her. In the hospital, he’d said one of the first things he was going to do when he’d rested up was to teach Dallas how to chop wood and light the lanterns. And he’d go fishing with Florida and teach her how to swim.

  She heard Buddy and Lucy climb into their beds above, and then it was quiet, with only the wind brushing the branches against the house.

  “Good night, Tiller,” she whispered. “Good night, my handsome old boot.”

  Florida heard Dallas slip out of bed. What she really wanted to do was stay under her quilt and drift off to sleep and wake to the smell of bacon and eggs and waffles and syrup and honey and blueberries and everything sweet and warm that you could possibly think of to eat.

  “It’s time,” Dallas whispered.

  “What’s that? A note?”

  “Yeah. I’ll leave it on the bureau. I’m leaving that carving, too.”

  “That leafy-tree one? Okay, I’ll leave mine, too.”

  “What is it?”

  “A curly-headed bat.” She knew that bats didn’t really have curly heads, but that’s how this one came out. And bats were good. Tiller had said so. She watched Dallas stuff his old socks into his sack. “Hey, Dallas, whatever happened to your backpack? And your sleeping bag?”

  “Lost them,” he said, thinking about the two boys who had offered to “watch” his and Sairy’s gear. Maybe the gear was still there. Maybe he could find his way back.

  “You ready?” Florida asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  “What? Oh yeah. Okay. Ready.”

  They slipped down the ladder and out the door. “Okay,” Dallas said, trying to sound more cheerful than he felt. “Let’s catch that night train and ride on out of town!”

  They had just stepped off the porch when Florida said, “Hey, wait. What about our money?”

  “Shoot. Z’s got it, remember? Guess we could try and find his place and ask him for our money.”

  “Forget it,” Florida said. “We’ve got no dang idea where his place is. Money is trouble, Dallas. I don’t want it.”

  Dallas thought about all the food their money could buy, and his stomach rumbled in response. Maybe they should wait another day and get their money from Z.

  But they were outside, and they were on their way, and their feet kept moving forward.

  Across the holler, Z was in his own cabin, holding a lantern in the middle of the main room. What a pit. Maybe I oughta start cleaning. Maybe I oughta get some groceries. Maybe I oughta… But he didn’t do anything except flop down on his bed and go to sleep.

  CHAPTER 66

  DREAMS

  When there is a full moon in Ruby Holler, as there was on the night that Dallas and Florida left the cabin, the purest silver light makes everything above and below look soft and rich, like velvet. The birds sit quietly in the trees, and all the other creatures seem to move more gently, as if their feet are padded with cotton.

  “Good smell here,” Florida said, as they picked their way along beside the barn. “Good old barn, too.”

  Dallas leaned forward to smell the wood siding. “Let’s follow the creek a ways,” he said.

  They wound their way down the hill and moved slowly along the bank, picking their way over stones and around bushes until Florida said, “Wait. Stop.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t want to leave,” Florida said. “I like it here. Nobody ever treated us this good before, and nobody’s probably ever going to treat us this good again.”

  “But like you said, maybe we’re in the way now. We don’t have any choice, do we?” Dallas said.

  “Who’s going to chop the wood while Tiller’s getting his strength back?” Florida said. “And who’s going to haul the water?”

  Dallas saw himself, Pioneer Boy, chopping wood and hauling water. He saw himself stalking through the woods—

  “And,” Florida said, “who’s going to help Sairy with all those getting-over-heart-attack things she’s going to have to make? Answer me that.”

  Dallas stood there, thinking. “I believe I’m getting a little idea,” he said. “Are you getting an idea?”

  “Yep,” she said.

  Dallas glanced around. “Whoa!” He moved toward a tree near the bank, a tall one, with long leafy branches dipping toward the ground. “In here,” he said, dipping under the branches.

  “It’s like a fort or something,” Florida said.

  “I’ve had a dream about this place,” Dallas said. “Honest, it was this exact place, this leafy tree with the branches hanging down, and the creek nearby. What an odd thing, that it’s a real place.”

  “Dallas? Let’s camp here, okay?”

  “You mean camp here and—”

  “—and see what happens.” Florida spread out her sleeping bag and crawled inside. “You going to be okay without a sleeping bag, Dallas?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve got this sack for a pillow, and maybe the crawly things will leave me alone for one night.”

  “Dallas? Are you hoping what I’m hoping?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Let’s not say it out loud, though.”

  And so they slept, and as they slept, they dreamed again of talking birds. Florida was paddling down the river on a raft when a meteor crossed the sky, filling it with gol
den light, and out of the golden light came a golden bird, which swept down to Florida’s raft. It said, “You’re my baby,” and Florida put out her hand to the bird and said, “Okay.”

  In Dallas’s dream, he crawled out from beneath the leafy tree and stood by the edge of the clear stream. Soon a silver bird fluttered down from the sky and sat on his shoulder. “There is a place where you can go, where everything is—”

  “Is what?” Dallas said.

  “—where everything is magic,” the bird said.

  Dallas touched the silver feathers. “And that place is … ?”

  But the bird merely tucked its head in its wing and fell asleep.

  In the morning, Dallas heard the birds calling and knew it was first light, but he didn’t open his eyes. He held very still, afraid to breathe.

  Florida, too, heard the birds. Oh please, she prayed, please. She scrambled out of her sleeping bag and breathed deeply.

  “Dallas, wake up!” she called.

  Dallas lifted his head and glanced at Florida.

  “Dallas, take a whiff. What’s that you smell?”

  He inhaled. It was the best smell in the world.

  Bacon. Welcome-home bacon.

  Read an excerpt from Sharon Creech’s novel

  Excerpt from

  The Great Unexpected

  PROLOGUE

  My name is Naomi Deane and I grew up in Blackbird Tree, in the home of my guardians, Joe and Nula. Among the tales that Joe often told was that of a poor man who, while gambling, lost his house but won a donkey.

  “A donkey?” the poor man wailed. “What do I want with a donkey? I cannot even feed a donkey.”

  “No matter,” replied the donkey. “Reach into my left ear.”

  The poor man, though shocked that the donkey could talk, nonetheless reached into the donkey’s ear and pulled out a sack of feed.

  “Well, now,” the poor man said. “That’s a mighty handy ear. I wish it had food for me as well.”

  “Reach into my right ear,” the donkey said.