Rosetown Summer

by Cynthia Rylant

  The children went home with pails and books, and Flora felt a great sense of accomplishment. As she helped Mr. Anderson tidy up, he thanked her for her “good help and good cheer.” She left the library in a bit of a daze.

  Later that day Flora and Nessy compared notes about their Mondays.

  “They gave me a T-shirt at music camp,” Nessy told Flora on the phone.

  “They did?” asked Flora.

  “Yes,” said Nessy. “It’s blue and there’s a treble clef on the front and my name on the back. I’m supposed to wear it every day.”

  “That’s so nice!” said Flora.

  “I guess they thought I was taller, because it comes down to my knees,” said Nessy. “But that’s okay.”

  Sweet Nessy. “But that’s okay” was something she said so often that it could almost have been her motto.

  “I didn’t get a T-shirt,” said Flora, “but one of the toddlers gave me his paper garden pail after craft time.”

  “He did?” asked Nessy. “That means you’re his favorite.”

  “They were all really good,” said Flora. “They like glue sticks a lot. And I had to explain that they aren’t supposed to eat the lettuces and carrots.”

  “That’s what I would have done when I was three,” said Nessy. “I ate everything.”

  “Did you love music camp, Nessy?” asked Flora.

  “I think I’ll love it tomorrow,” Nessy answered. “I was too nervous today. But everyone was so nice. We’re going to be a little orchestra! And give a concert for people on Friday.”

  “I’ll come!” said Flora.

  “There are a lot of big instruments. Like a bassoon,” said Nessy. “I didn’t know what a bassoon was until today.”

  “I don’t know what a bassoon is,” said Flora.

  “Oh, just come to the concert,” said Nessy, “and I’ll show you.”

  Flora smiled. Nessy was sounding very sure about music camp.

  “But I missed Sunny,” said Nessy. “Did you miss Serenity?”

  “Yes,” Flora said. “She was sleeping in the bookcase when I got home. On top of the Monopoly game.”

  “I can’t play Monopoly very well,” said Nessy. “But I like the little dog.”

  “Me too,” said Flora.

  “Do you remember the story of Peter Rabbit?” Flora asked Nessy.

  “Sure,” said Nessy. “He squeezed under the gate.”

  “He did,” said Flora. “Mr. Anderson read it to the toddlers today, and they listened to every word. Two little girls held hands while they listened.”

  “That was us,” said Nessy with a giggle.

  After she finished talking with Nessy, Flora went out to the porch to sit. Serenity followed and jumped up into her lap and began to purr. Serenity loved porch time.

  Flora could hear her father and mother making dinner in the kitchen. She could smell potatoes frying on the stove. They would have fresh sliced tomatoes with them. They always did. And squash. Their garden was small, but Peter Rabbit would have loved it.

  Then Flora thought about Montana. And wondered how big the gardens grew there.

  8

  Flora had never been inside Rosetown High School, and when the day of Nessy’s concert arrived, Flora wondered what she should wear. She didn’t want to look too young. High school students intrigued her, they were so confident and stylish, and she didn’t want to seem an awkward child among them. When Flora told her mother she was nervous about being in the midst of so many teenagers, her mother replied, “Oh, I think the audience will be mostly parents, dear. The high school kids will probably be at the movies.” This information reassured Flora somewhat and also further added to her curiosity about the life of a teenager: she wondered what movie they would go see.

  But today was about Nessy, who had spent the week with music students of all ages and was about to make the leap from piano recital to concert. Sunny and Happy Girl would have to wait at home: Nessy was going onstage!

  When Flora and her parents arrived at the high school, they walked through the front door of the building and down the hallway leading to the auditorium, where the concert would take place. Flora was excited to see the interior of Rosetown High for the first time. It seemed to her a place of very serious learning. And it was so big compared to the elementary school. She loved the flights of stairs, the rows of lockers, the glass display cases filled with trophies. She wanted to go into the classrooms and see the kinds of books teenagers read.

  “I think I’ll like high school,” she told her parents.

  “Most people do,” her father said. “It’s a very alive time.”

  A very alive time. Flora wondered what that would mean for her, for Nessy, for Yury. Flora loved the past: old houses, old towns, old ways of life. But walking through this building, she felt a new interest in the future.

  “I’ll probably join a lot of clubs,” she said.

  They arrived at the entrance to the auditorium, where two students handed them programs. Then they found some seats near the stage. Many people were saying hello to one another, mothers and fathers sharing their excitement. Flora’s mother was right: there were many parents, and some young children, and the teenagers were at the movies. Flora spotted Nessy’s parents near the back corner, with Nessy’s older brother, Michael. Flora rarely saw him when she visited Nessy’s house because he was always busy with his activities. Michael would go away to college soon. But today he was here for his sister, not at the movies.

  The seats were filled, and the program began. First the conductor stepped out from behind the curtains, baton in hand, and told the audience how wonderful it had been to work with “these very special musicians.” She told them how important music education was and that all children everywhere should have the opportunity to play an instrument if they wished to learn. She said that music brings happiness.

  Then the heavy velvet curtains behind her opened, and there were all the young musicians.

  Nessy! Flora could hardly believe it, but there was her friend.

  Nessy was seated at one of six pianos, holding herself very straight and looking only at the conductor. Like the other musicians, she was wearing black and white. Being Nessy, she had added a large white bow to her hair.

  Flora grabbed her mother’s hand. This was important. This would be a memory.

  The conductor lifted her baton, and the music began, filling the auditorium with the beautiful opening sound of violins.

  When the concert was over, there were many “Bravos,” and Nessy stood up and took a bow with the rest of the orchestra members. Then the curtains closed and the young musicians scattered to find their families and friends.

  Nessy found Flora before she found her brother and parents. Flora handed Nessy the small bunch of daisies she had brought.

  “Thank you,” said Nessy. “Were we groovy?” She giggled.

  “You were so good!” Flora said. Her mother gave Nessy a hug, and Flora’s father applauded and said another “Bravo” for good measure.

  “I’d better go find my family,” said Nessy. “We’re going to get milkshakes!”

  She hugged Flora, then hurried away into the crowd of excited musicians and parents. As Flora watched her go, she remembered that Nessy had taken piano lessons last year because Flora had asked that they do it together. And here Nessy was, in her black and white, her name in a concert program—Vanessa instead of Nessy—listed as one of the very special musicians in Rosetown.

  Flora was proud of her friend.

  “Did that word ‘milkshake’ sound good to you?” she asked her parents with a smile.

  9

  Saturday was graduation day for the Beginner class at the Good Manners for Good Dogs dog school, and the families of the graduates were appropriately excited. Completing a challenging course of learning is difficult enough for anyone, but when the student of that course is someone who would like nothing more than to roll around in dirt in the backyard and to chew on the leg of the co
ffee table in the living room, achieving a certificate of learning is a feat close to landing on the moon.

  But somehow twenty good dogs did just that. They faithfully attended school every Saturday morning for ten weeks, leashing up to their devoted owners and learning to heel, to stay, to sit, to wait, and to amaze the world with their good manners. They earned a lot of mini-biscuits. And Friday was one of those dogs.

  Friday had been born in a litter of puppies birthed at the home of a patient of Yury’s father. Yury’s family had not been thinking about getting a dog. They were fairly new in town and were still thinking mostly of getting completely unpacked. It had been a long, strange journey from their country of the Ukraine to this small town in Indiana. Yury’s parents had not meant to leave the Ukraine permanently, only long enough for Yury’s father to get additional medical training at a university in Chicago.

  But, as sometimes happens to a family, events in the larger world decided the course their family would take. Unrest overwhelmed the Ukraine, and after four years away, it was too dangerous to return home. So Yury’s parents, with the help of many kindnesses from others, found a way to stay in America, keeping their son safe. They eventually moved to Rosetown, Indiana.

  Then Yury had met Flora on the first day of school, and the two friends met a stray cat who had no name but would soon have not only a name but also a warm bed by a sunny window and an owner devoted to her: Flora.

  Yury’s parents heard all about the rescue of the white cat with a yellow tip on her tail. Yury seemed to talk of nothing else for days. The family had once had a cat of its own—Juliette—when Yury was younger. But Juliette died of old age when she was sixteen. And the family had been so busy since then that another pet seemed unlikely anytime soon.

  But Yury talked so much about the stray cat.

  And not long after, one of the patients of Yury’s father mentioned—between the taking of temperature and blood pressure—that his beloved collie was about to have her first litter of pups. The man was visibly joyful—which fortunately did not raise his blood pressure—and with pride described building a whelping box for his collie to give birth in.

  So there were, in Yury’s household, suddenly many thoughts about dogs and cats.

  There were so many of those thoughts that Yury’s father finally asked his patient if he might have one of those puppies for his boy, Yury, who was new in Rosetown and had only one friend so far—a nice girl named Flora—and who might like one more.

  That is how Friday came to Yury. And part of Yury’s responsibility to this new puppy, Yury’s parents told him, would be Saturday mornings at the Good Manners for Good Dogs dog school.

  Friday was first enrolled in puppy class, and for many Saturdays he tumbled around with the other puppies and learned about leashes, and the eyes and voice of his owner, and about being comfortable in a puppy carrier when it was time to go into the car or take a nap.

  Flora had met up with Yury and Friday every Saturday at puppy class. She loved watching all of the puppies.

  And now, after a summer of Beginner class, which Flora had also faithfully visited, Friday would receive his first obedience-trained-dog certificate.

  The ceremony was to take place in the same large space where the dogs had so carefully learned to be good. Folding chairs were arranged for friends and family, just as for any graduation.

  As always, on Saturday morning Yury and Friday met Flora in front of Rosetown Hardware, to walk around to the dog school in back. Yury was wearing a carefully ironed button-down shirt and creased slacks, clothes denoting the importance of the occasion. Friday was groomed and brushed, not a tangle to be seen in his collie coat. And Flora wore a summer dress and new yellow sandals.

  “Ready?” asked Yury.

  “Ready,” said Flora, giving Friday an encouraging pat on the head.

  Inside she took a seat on a folding chair next to Yury’s parents, who were already there. She shyly said hello. As did they.

  Then they watched together as Yury and Friday and all of the other good owners and good dogs showed everyone what they had learned about watching, listening, obeying—and being best friends.

  Yury was so composed throughout. Flora watched him, and she could see the future person he would be: capable and calm. She knew he would help others, as he so wanted to do. As long as it didn’t bore him.

  When the demonstrations were finished, the class instructors gave each owner a certificate and each dog a mini-biscuit. There was much applause and sometimes a “Hurray!”

  After the graduation was over, Flora and Yury said good-bye to his parents and walked to the bakery with Friday as usual. Yury rolled up the sleeves of his formal shirt, ready to be comfortable again.

  Flora admired Friday’s certificate.

  “It looks a lot like the one on the wall in your father’s office,” she said.

  “Except Friday worked harder for his,” Yury answered with a grin.

  They ate their muffins quietly for a bit, each gathering back some energy after the exciting morning.

  Then Yury said, “I changed my mind about the Boy Scouts.”

  “You did?” asked Flora.

  “It seems that I would join the Cub Scouts first,” Yury continued, “and attend a lot of meetings and tie knots.”

  “Knots,” repeated Flora.

  “It’s one thing at a time in Scouts,” said Yury. “Then after I finish fifth grade, I can join the Boy Scouts.”

  He paused.

  “You know how impatient I am,” Yury said.

  Flora nodded.

  “I think I can learn a lot from Survivor Bob on my own,” said Yury, “and not have to wait around.”

  Yury had all the Survivor Bob books.

  “You’d make friends with other Cub Scouts,” said Flora. “You might like that.”

  “Probably none of them would know as much about edible plants as you do,” Yury answered, handing Friday half of his second muffin.

  “Probably,” agreed Flora.

  “Besides, I have friends in the Archery Club,” said Yury.

  “Right,” Flora agreed.

  “My father said he can teach me how to bandage, and other first aid skills,” Yury continued. “He said I don’t have to wear a uniform but I do have to wash the dishes twice a week.”

  “That sounds fair,” Flora said. “And if you pick up a knife the wrong way, you’ll know how to bandage yourself.”

  “I thought of that,” said Yury.

  They were quiet again. Friday had fallen asleep on Yury’s shoes.

  “If Wings and a Chair closes,” Yury finally said, “we’ll have to find something else to read besides vintage books. I suppose we could try Mars Comics.”

  Flora didn’t want to think about Wings and a Chair closing, and she especially didn’t want to think about Mars Comics and its grumpy owner. He seemed to be annoyed by kids, who were the number one customers in his shop. Besides, Yury was the person who loved comics. Not her.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  They were quiet again.

  “Well, do you have any ideas?” he asked.

  Flora shook her head. “No ideas. But did you know that the Sweet Shoppe has a new ice cream?” she asked. “It’s in the colors of the high school. Tiger Swirl.”

  “Blue-and-gold ice cream definitely sounds interesting,” said Yury.

  Whatever the future might hold, they both felt pretty sure Tiger Swirl would be a part of it.

  10

  Back in December, when Miss Meriwether had returned from her Christmas trip to Paris, she had brought Flora a necklace that held a tiny elephant charm. It wasn’t a brand-new necklace. It was from a Paris flea market, which made it all the more special. Miss Meriwether knew that Flora would most love something old.

  Flora regarded this necklace as something so meaningful that she had carefully put it away and planned to wear it only on special occasions.

  So why she decided to start wearing it every
day during these ordinary last days of summer, Flora wasn’t sure. One morning she opened a dresser drawer, removed the box, and put the necklace around her neck. And now she did this every morning.

  There is a meaning to some things that a person cannot always define. When an object has some link to the heart, it is often because it came from someone dear or was loved by someone dear who has passed away. Or sometimes the object is a treasured reminder of an experience: a winning game, the first sight of the ocean, a project carried through with intense devotion.

  Flora began wearing the elephant necklace, though she did not know exactly why.

  Flora and Yury were now making August morning visits to the bookshop because Yury’s afternoons were taken. He was helping his father repaint the office, and painting began once the last appointment of the day was finished. In a doctor’s office, this could be unpredictable.

  Miss Meriwether was always happy to see them, and they were happy to step inside. The old wood floors shone beautifully in the morning sunlight. The store was quiet, this early. And everywhere were books.

  Both Flora and Yury loved talking to Miss Meriwether. She was keenly interested in their lives: What were their favorite songs? What were they watching on television? Reading?

  And sometimes Miss Meriwether surprised Flora with her quiet observations. She once said to Flora, “You remind me of the young French girls who sew beautiful lace collars and think about life.” This pleased Flora, who thought herself mostly ordinary and plain. Being compared to anything French was nice.

  And on another day, when Flora was in the shop while her mother was there working, Miss Meriwether made another unexpected observation: “Yury has a power no one can see.”

  Flora was startled when she heard this. Because Miss Meriwether was right. Flora had always known this about Yury. She just had not had the words for it. Miss Meriwether seemed able to see more than just the surface of a person.

  On each visit to the shop this summer, Flora and Yury had watched for some sign, some clue from Miss Meriwether about the decision she would make about leaving or staying. But Miss Meriwether gave up no information, directly or indirectly.