by Tamara Bundy
Also by Tamara Bundy
Walking with Miss Millie
NANCY PAULSEN BOOKS
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York
Copyright © 2020 by Tamara Bundy
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Bundy, Tamara, author.
Title: Pixie pushes on / Tamara Bundy.
Description: New York: Nancy Paulsen Books, 2020. | Summary: Caring for a runt lamb helps Pixie gain empathy when, in the 1940s, her family moves to her grandparents’ farm and her sister, Charlotte, contracts polio and is sent away.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019019591 | ISBN 9780525515166 (hardback) | ISBN 9780525515173 (ebook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Family life—Indiana—Fiction. | Farm life—Indiana—Fiction. | Empathy—Fiction. | Moving, Household—Fiction. | Poliomyelitis—Fiction. | Indiana—History—20th century—Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Family / General (see also headings under Social Issues). | JUVENILE FICTION / Animals / Farm Animals. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Death & Dying.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.B8636 Pix 2020 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019019591
Ebook ISBN 9780525515173
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 2020 by Matt Saunders
Cover design by Kelley Brady
Version_1
For my mom and her favorite childhood lamb, Buster
CONTENTS
Also by Tamara Bundy
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Acknowledgments
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
Daddy burned all Charlotte’s bedding and blankets the day they took her away. Her dolly, her books, and her clothes too. Dang near burned everything.
And I watched as my sissy’s things—and my hope of ever seeing her again—all went up in smoke.
When I first saw Charlotte fall flat as a flapjack, I wasn’t worried. But when I helped her up, I could tell she was sweating out a fever something fierce. That’s when Doc Simpson came and told Daddy she needed to go away to the hospital.
That’s also when all the grown-ups in my life started whispering every time I entered a room.
Then when I overheard Grandma and Granddaddy on the back porch asking Mama, high up in heaven, to hold Charlotte’s hand, I feared my sissy was plain dead.
And I was plain heartsick.
I was heartsick my sissy had died, leaving me all alone after she promised she’d never leave like Mama did. Even after she pinky-swore she’d help me get through fifth grade with Miss Meany-Beany. And she’d never broke a promise before.
After I spent all afternoon being heartsick with sadness, I come to find out she wasn’t dead at all. That made me feel a wash of relief the size of a waterfall.
But seeing how I’m the reason my sister got sick in the first place, I was still plenty upset. Feeling that truth deep down made my insides hurt. And when my insides hurt so much, I wondered if it was because of sadness, guilt, or the same thing Charlotte had. Charlotte would know. She always knew what to say or do no matter what needed saying or doing.
I figured it was ’cause I was feeling extra bad that Daddy and Grandma kept me home from school for a bit after Charlotte took sick. But it turns out that old school didn’t want me there! Daddy had to go all the way down to Center Street and talk to the head of schools to make them take me back.
Imagine that! Begging them to send me to school. I told him not to bother—I’d just as soon walk barefoot in a field of bumblebees than go back to that school again.
My teacher, Miss Meany-Beany, hates me. I know it. Charlotte had her last year and told me she wasn’t mean—but everybody likes Charlotte, ’cause she’s perfect.
So Daddy made me go back to school.
No sooner did I walk in the door than Big-Mouth Berta, whose daddy owns the grocery store, rushed up to me and said, “I heard Charlotte got the polio! Oh, poor, poor Charlotte!”
And that was the first time I heard someone say Charlotte had polio.
Just like the president of the United States of America!
Polio.
’Course that’s the reason she was sick! And I practically wrapped up the polio, put a bow on it, and gave it to her myself.
I started to walk past Big-Mouth Berta when she added in a pretend whisper, “Stay away from Prudence, everyone. She probably has the polio too.”
And that was my welcome back to school.
Miss Meany-Beany told everyone I didn’t have polio. But I don’t think she’s certain herself, since every day she puts her clammy hand on my forehead when I get to school. And even though I’m cool as a cucumber, she makes me sit, every day, by myself in a row of desks only used for kids like Rotten Ricky to sit in when they do something wrong, like let a frog loose in school.
And every day Miss Meany-Beany says, “Class, I’m sure Prudence is fine,” but instead they all must hear, Class, don’t touch her or you’ll catch your death of disease, since not one of my thirteen classmates has mustered up the courage to say boo to me. Not that they’d talked my ear off before—what with me being new to the school last winter. It’s not that I di
dn’t have any friends; it’s just that when you have a perfect sissy, you already have a perfect friend.
That was all I needed then.
And it’s all I need now.
CHAPTER 2
It was lunch, and I was eating the fried-egg sandwich Grandma makes for me every day even though I always tell her it’s cold and soggy by lunchtime. She reminds me she’s making do with the wartime shortages and rations, and since the hens are laying lots of eggs, we’re eating lots of eggs.
I sat there on my lonely side of the classroom dreaming of the jam sandwiches Mama used to make me, back when she was alive and the war wasn’t changing everything for everybody. I was taking another bite of that cold, soggy sandwich, minding my own business, when I spied the ugliest bug crawling across the floor. But my bug watching was interrupted when something hit me smack in the middle of my forehead. I reached up to touch it—and wouldn’t you know—it was the slimiest spit wad ever thrown at a living person.
Right then, I saw, plain as day, that boy whose name is Ricky looking at me—the boy I call Rotten Ricky (not having any friends here gives me lots of time to make up my own names for everyone). Rotten Ricky had this innocent look on his face, and he even had the nerve to smile at me!
I didn’t hold that slimy, sticky, wet spit wad for a second before I threw it right back at him.
It wasn’t my fault that Miss Meany-Beany picked that very moment to walk by—or that my perfectly aimed slimy spit wad landed smack in the middle of her forehead.
And the moment it did, time stood still. Every single student in the entire fifth grade stopped what they were doing, including breathing. I’d bet anything that dang bug even stopped crawling across that floor.
Miss Meany-Beany turned her head so slow, like she’d just figured out how to turn her head for the first time. That spit wad stayed right in the middle of her forehead like it belonged there. And as soon as her eyes focused on me, the hate shot out of them like chickens running from a fox.
I wanted to run too.
Instead, I tried to speak, except my mouth must’ve forgot how. “But . . . not . . . me . . . Rotten . . .” was all I could manage.
Miss Meany-Beany’s mouth must’ve had the same problem as mine. “You . . . what . . . why? Closet . . . now!”
She pointed her bony finger straight to the coat closet.
But I didn’t move. Even though the calendar says it’s fall, someone must’ve forgot to tell the sun that, ’cause it burned down on us like it was still those dog days of summer. I imagined that coat closet had to be over a hundred degrees.
“Now!” Miss Meany-Beany yelled, and as she did, the spit wad lost its place on her forehead and rolled down her face, in a slower-than-molasses way, and landed on her lace collar.
A look of horror flashed across her face, and I knew I’d have a better chance of convincing our cow never to moo again. So I went into the hottest, stinkiest place in the entire school.
I heard the rattle of the door closing right behind me before feeling something land in my hair that fell from the rafters.
I needed to scream right then but feared the laughs of the other kids even more than I feared whatever was crawling on me. I started flapping my head back and forth, but whatever was crawling on me hung on, probably enjoying the ride. Ripping out the braids Grandma had spent half an hour on after bath night last week, I ran my fingers all over my scalp and through my hair.
After I’d worked up a real sweat jumping around in that roasting-hot closet, that crawly thing must’ve slipped right off. I imagined I looked so frazzled that Grandma would’ve clucked her tongue at me the way she does sometimes when I’m not presentable.
I finally settled myself and noticed two old desks stacked one on top of the other. If I unstacked them and set them side by side, I could make a place to lay myself down.
So that’s just what I did.
And as soon as my head hit the softness of my arm resting on the desk, my eyes shut fast.
But that’s not even the worst part of my day. Oh no; getting hit with the spit wad, getting sent to the closet, getting dang near ate up by some mystery bug—all that was bad enough for my day—but that didn’t hold a candle to the part of my day that began when I woke up from that nap.
CHAPTER 3
I hadn’t the foggiest idea of where I was when I woke; I just knew my arm was asleep from resting on it. ’Course, I forgot I was perched on a couple of desks, so when I stretched, I fell smack-dab onto that dirty closet floor.
That’s when the events of the day splashed across my mind like a cold glass of water. And the thought of a cold glass of water made me want one like I’d never thirsted for something before in my life.
So, polite as I could, I knocked on the door, hoping Miss Meany-Beany would decide I’d been in there long enough, never minding how long “long enough” had been.
My polite knock didn’t get any attention, so I knocked less polite and then much louder.
I figured Miss Meany-Beany was being stubborn, but I’d had enough. I decided it was time to walk out of that closet.
And wouldn’t you know it, that door wouldn’t budge.
I pulled and pounded on it. And then I took to screaming like the school was on fire. In fact, how was I to know the school wasn’t on fire? “Let me out! Now! Get me out of here!”
But no one came.
After a while, I noticed something that made my heart stop a bit.
There wasn’t a sound coming from the entire classroom.
That could only mean one thing: they’d all left. With me in that closet, they all up and went home to their cold drinks of water and family dinners and soft beds.
I was so dang mad I’d rather spit than cry, but something inside me forgot to tell my eyeballs that, ’cause soon as I sat down and leaned against the wall, tears started flowing.
And right between my sobs, I heard the closet door shaking and groaning before it opened.
I jumped up to thank whoever saved me, till I saw it was none other than Ricky. Rotten Ricky.
“Whatcha doin’ in here?” he asked like he had no idea why I might be hanging out in a stinky coat closet after everyone else went home. Like he wasn’t the one to have practically put me there himself.
I lunged at him so hard he toppled down like an axed Christmas tree, and I’m not sure who my outburst surprised more.
“Prudence!” Miss Meany-Beany’s voice rang out and sounded like she was most surprised of all. ’Cause there I sat, on top of Ricky. I stood up and straightened the darn dress I had to wear to school instead of my comfy overalls.
“Shoulda left ya to rot in there,” Rotten Ricky mumbled as he stood up and stormed out of the room.
Miss Meany-Beany’s eyes were looking at me like I had three heads. “I know things at home are . . . challenging . . . but your behavior is not acceptable.
“Right at the end of school today,” she began to explain, “I got called to a meeting with the superintendent, and, well, I forgot to get to you first. As soon as I remembered, I ran here, and that’s when I saw you pushing Ricky. After he helped you out . . . I just don’t understand.”
Then Miss Meany-Beany sighed. “You missed the bus. Come on . . . I’ll take you home.”
“I’ll walk,” I mumbled.
“Your farm is over five miles away.” She said that like she had to remind me where I lived.
But I bit my tongue to keep from mouthing off. Instead, I followed her out of the classroom and toward the front door. That’s when Miss Meany-Beany stopped and looked at me.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Now, why’d she have to go and do that? I can’t stand it when I’m good and mad at somebody and they apologize. And then I just can’t muster up any more mad.
I stopped and stared at the floor, but it was getting blurry from the
tears in my eyes.
Miss Meany-Beany knelt down to talk to me like I was five years old. “Prudence,” she said softly, “I’m sorry I left you in the coat closet. And I’m really sorry about Charlotte. I know how this must be affecting you.”
You don’t know a thing about me, I wanted to say. But fortunately, my mouth wasn’t moving any more than my legs. The only part of me that was doing anything at all right then was my eyes, and I didn’t like all those tears.
Miss Meany-Beany took my silence as an invitation to keep talking. “I think we got off on the wrong foot when you came last winter. And then, this whole . . . ordeal . . . with Charlotte . . .”
Ordeal . . . trouble . . . affliction . . .
I was tired of grown-ups calling it all sorts of names, as if dressing up a pig in your Sunday best would make it anything other than a pig. I wanted to yell, My sister has polio. Polio! And it’s my fault, and I hate it. Hate it.
But instead, I just looked Miss Meany-Beany in the eye. And for a second she wasn’t so mean. Her lips even seemed to be forming a sad-looking smile as she nodded toward the front door of the school. “Let’s go now.”
It wasn’t until I was on my way out with her that I saw Rotten Ricky in a classroom with a bucket of something, hearing every word Miss Meany-Beany said and probably some of the ones I didn’t say.
CHAPTER 4
We never even had a car till we moved in with Granddaddy and Grandma—and really it’s their car. Grandma hates ridin’ in it—says she doesn’t trust cars—so I never much saw a woman drive before.
Had to admit, though, Miss Meany-Beany looked natural getting into her brown Ford. I watched her start her car the first time she stepped on the pedal—not having to step on it over and over to get it started like the pedal on Granddaddy’s car. And before I knew it, she was shifting the gears and we were on our way.
It wasn’t like I wanted to chat, but there was something eating away at me, so I had to ask, “Why is Rotten—I mean, why is Ricky still at school?”