Rosetown

by Cynthia Rylant

  “All it takes is one squirrel,” cautioned the instructor, “and away goes your dog.”

  Yury was determined that Friday would not go away. He kept Friday on lead and gave him mini-biscuits as reward for such good manners. Then when they got home and into the fenced yard, the lead clicked open and Friday ran a hundred circles in the snow.

  For Flora, during the break, there were favorite board games to play when Nessy visited—Flora liked Clue and Nessy liked Candy Land—and there was time for Flora and her father to be together in his rented white house, watching old movies on television. And sometimes they walked to the camera store to look at special lenses and the European cameras her father said he could never afford but loved to admire. She admired them as well.

  It was wonderful to have these long, empty winter days to fill up however she liked.

  But Flora also looked forward to going back to school, even in the snow, even in the ice, for she loved the old brick building, its radiators filling the rooms with heat, the aroma in the hallway of bread rolls baking in the school kitchen, the glistening shine of polished floors, and the reliable presence of pencils and chalk and large round globes.

  A break was nice, but ordinary days were better.

  19

  February was hushed and cold. The nights were longer, so schoolchildren awoke in darkness and traveled to Rosetown Primary in darkness. They stomped their feet at the bus stop to stay warm, and when finally the headlights of the school bus appeared on the horizon, they applauded with their mitten-covered hands.

  Flora was not a bus rider, so on these dark February mornings her parents took turns walking with her to school. Forster always brought along his camera. For the newspaper, Forster had taken hundreds of photographs of Rosetown citizens at hallmarks of their lives, but on his own time Forster brought along his camera and watched for what he called the “sublime moment.”

  A sublime moment was a split-second moment in time when suddenly something was revealed and then as suddenly gone. A swift making a perfect dive into the chimney of a grain factory; the blue flash of lightning inside a thunder cloud—those fleeting chances for a remarkable photograph, if Forster was there at the right time.

  Because of her father’s search for sublime moments, Flora tried to collect her own. Most of them involved her cat. Flora would see Serenity sitting in the window in the sun, and in her mind Flora would snap a photograph. Flora had a very large photo collection in her head, she once told her father.

  He just smiled and said, “I’m sure.”

  Lately both of Flora’s friends had something new to tell her. Nessy had said that she could not tell Flora her news until Flora came to her house on Saturday, which was still three days away.

  “You will be happy I made you wait,” Nessy had said on the telephone. “You’ll see.”

  Flora tried to imagine what Nessy might be waiting to tell her on Saturday, but the possibilities stretched all the way to the moon, so she gave up thinking about it.

  Yury, on the other hand, had promised that he would tell Flora his news today on their walk after school to the bookstore. They had been working their way through the Walton Boys series. The three Walton brothers seemed always to be cast out in nature amid dire circumstances. Naturally this appealed to Flora and Yury. And they were hoping that no one would buy all of the titles until they finished the series.

  Today on their walk to the store, both of them bundled in wool and flannel, Yury was eager to tell Flora his news.

  “There is a Scrabble Club forming at Moonwalk Toys and Games,” Yury said. “And my parents think that I should join for the mental challenge. Ukrainians like mental challenges, they said. So I wondered if you would like to go with me.”

  “You mean to play Scrabble?” asked Flora.

  “Yes,” said Yury. “To join up and play.”

  “I can’t,” said Flora. “I am terrible at Scrabble.

  “I like letters, and I like words,” she continued. “Actually, I love words. But when they turn into objects on a board, my mind turns off.”

  “Really?” said Yury. “I guess that means no.”

  Flora pointed to the top of her head.

  “Completely off,” she said.

  “Well, I think I will give it a go,” said Yury.

  “Of course you should,” said Flora. “You’ll win every game.”

  “Maybe not,” said Yury. “The club is for ages nine to fourteen.”

  “Nine to fourteen?” repeated Flora. “I am positive now that I am not joining. Fourteen is ninth graders!”

  “Yes,” said Yury. “I must be crazy.”

  “You will be great,” said Flora.

  “You are saying that,” said Yury, “but I don’t think you mean it.”

  “Well,” said Flora, “I might not one-hundred-percent mean it.”

  Yury laughed. “So much for encouragement!” he said.

  They walked into Wings and a Chair and found the Walton Boys book they were halfway through: The Walton Boys in Rapids Ahead, published 1958.

  “We left off when Bert was telling Howard to hang his shoes on a line to keep porcupines from eating them,” said Yury.

  Flora found the page and settled into the velveteen chair. Yury sat down on the floor beside her.

  “Help me watch the clock,” he said. “Fifteen minutes and I have to go.”

  “Okay,” said Flora. She began reading aloud:

  “ ‘Well, suit yourself,’ said Bert patiently. ‘I just hope one of us wakes up in time if that porky comes along. . . .’ ”

  20

  By now Flora had grown quite used to living in both the yellow house and the white house, and although it was an unusual arrangement, this was, after all, the ’70s, and people had become more experimental about life. Even in Rosetown.

  Of late, her worrying father had become concerned about the environment and about the careless use of pesticides poisoning everything and everyone. Too much thinking about such matters could weigh him down, and he took long, solitary drives through the countryside to lift his spirits. He always told Flora that the best medicine for the blues was a field of birds.

  Flora’s mother, more practical and more social, continued to love working in Wings and a Chair. She loved books of all kinds, and she also loved the art of bookmaking: the wonderful varieties of typeface, the feel of the paper, the cover design. Emma Jean treasured books.

  From her parents Flora had gained an appreciation for the loveliness of life. And Rosetown itself—with its ornate Gothic and Italianate-style buildings, the gas lamps gracing City Hall, the fountain of angels in the town’s central park—reflected what Flora’s parents both hoped for the world: a kind of divine order.

  Saturday eventually did arrive, and, as he had promised, Flora’s father drove her to Nessy’s house.

  “I’ll be back at three o’clock,” her father said. “Be sure Nessy is ready to open the gate, or I may have to helicopter in.”

  Flora smiled, then went running up to Nessy’s front door. She rang the bell, and when Nessy and her mother opened the door, they all waved good-bye to Flora’s father and Flora stepped inside.

  Nessy gave her a hug and helped her hang up her coat.

  Nessy had that look that Flora knew so well, after years of friendship. It was the look that came just before Nessy spilled a secret she was bursting to tell.

  “I have a pet!” said Nessy immediately. Her face was lit with joy.

  “A pet?” asked Flora.

  “I do!” said Nessy, taking Flora’s hand. “Come and see!”

  She led Flora toward the den, and when they stepped into the room, before Nessy could say anything more, Flora cried, “Oh! Oh! Oh!”

  For there in a big beautiful cage sat a beautiful little bird.

  “His name is Sunny,” said Nessy proudly. “He is my canary.”

  The little yellow bird cocked his head to one side at the sound of Nessy’s voice.

  “He’s liste
ning to you,” said Flora.

  “I know,” answered Nessy with a smile.

  “Hello, Sunny,” Flora said softly. The little bird hopped to a different perch in the cage and gave a small chirp.

  Flora looked at the large cage.

  “His home is so big,” said Flora.

  “It’s so he can fly,” explained Nessy. “Canaries need to fly.”

  “How did you get him?” asked Flora.

  “Someone at the bank where my father works had to find a home for Sunny,” said Nessy. “Sunny is too delicate to move to San Francisco.”

  “I agree,” said Flora.

  So it was Nessy’s father who had brought the little canary and his enormous cage home to Nessy.

  “My father didn’t even ask my mother,” said Nessy. “He just said to my mother that it was ‘good for business and good for Vanessa.’ ”

  Flora smiled.

  “And Sunny is,” said Flora. “Sunny is good for you!”

  Nessy told Flora about all the ways she took care of Sunny.

  “I clean his water bottle and give him fresh seed every day,” said Nessy. “And I change his toys around so he doesn’t become bored.”

  She pointed to a shallow bowl in the bottom of the cage.

  “He takes his baths there,” she said.

  And she pointed to a piece of fabric folded under the table.

  “That’s the cloth I cover his cage with at the end of the day, as soon as the sky gets dark,” said Nessy. “It helps him go to sleep.”

  Flora loved the image of the little yellow bird fast asleep in his dark, safe, covered home.

  “He loves spinach,” said Nessy.

  “Yuck!” said both girls, laughing.

  “And he likes oranges and cucumbers and broccoli and apples and so many good garden things,” Nessy continued. “When I become a gardener, I’ll make a little patch just for Sunny.”

  “Does he talk?” asked Flora.

  “He sings!” said Nessy. “Watch.”

  She walked over to the piano and started playing. All at once Sunny lifted his small head and began singing, singing so beautifully that Flora felt she might cry.

  Nessy stopped playing. Sunny flew around his cage to work off his excitement.

  “Let’s get some cucumbers for him in the kitchen,” said Nessy.

  “Let’s!” answered Flora.

  It was a very happy visit.

  21

  Fourth grade had been so much more difficult than third grade for Flora, and only now did she have some ground under her feet. It had taken her a long time to feel like a fourth grader and to realize that school would be a more serious business from now on. Flora was “not a natural scholar,” said her mother, reminding Flora that she still had many other admirable qualities.

  But there was one part of fourth grade Flora did love, and that was the Encyclopedia Hour.

  Every week Flora’s teacher, Mr. Cooper, had started allowing the students to explore twenty-two volumes of the World Book Encyclopedia. The volumes were large and heavy and were arranged alphabetically on a shelf. It was a 1962 edition, and since this was 1973, Mr. Cooper apologized for not having a more up-to-date set. (“If I bought a new set every year,” he said, “I couldn’t afford to restore my old Chevy!”)

  Flora might browse the A volume one week, then jump to the R volume the next. The books were filled with all the information a person could ever want to know. And Flora was interested. She had not known until fourth grade and Mr. Cooper’s Encyclopedia Hour that she was interested in the wider world. If all of fourth grade could be about the encyclopedia, Flora thought, school would be fine.

  When Mr. Cooper introduced the Encyclopedia Hour, the first volume Flora reached for was C. Volume C, of course, would include “cat.” She found “cat” in the large book, and an entire seven pages with photographs and drawings was devoted to cats. Flora loved the World Book Encyclopedia that instant.

  Looking at the photographs, she determined that her cat, Serenity, might be a relative of the Ragdoll cat. The photograph of a Ragdoll cat looked very much like Serenity, although Serenity was a different color, being white with a yellow tip. Flora smiled at the name “Ragdoll.” It was such a tender name.

  The article was thick with useful and entertaining information. Flora enjoyed how it began with its observation that cats make faithful, friendly companions.

  Yes! Serenity was as faithful and friendly as any pet could be. She followed Flora from room to room in her house, and the moment that Flora sat down, Serenity jumped into her lap. There were times when Flora put off doing important things—such as phoning Nessy when she said she would—because Serenity had just made herself perfectly comfortable in Flora’s lap and Flora was reluctant to disturb her. Serenity closed her eyes and purred, and if Flora did not have a book at hand, she simply found things to think about.

  The encyclopedia article cautioned that a cat’s bed should never be in a drafty place or “a damp cold basement.” Well, Flora could not imagine anyone putting a dear cat into a cold basement! And if a person absolutely had to do so, Flora hoped that at least sufficient wool and flannel would be provided! But avoiding the basement entirely was the best idea, and she was glad the encyclopedia agreed. Serenity had four warm beds in both of Flora’s homes. In pleasant weather Serenity chose those beside the windows, and in cold weather she always chose the one nearest the stove.

  The encyclopedia taught Flora much that she did not know about cats. She did not know, for example, that some cats turn on water faucets and take a drink. Serenity had not yet tried that trick.

  The writer of the article seemed to understand cats thoroughly. When Flora read that “cats will often refuse to do something that might make them look silly,” she was certain the writer must be a cat owner. Who else would know?

  Encyclopedia Hour was never dull. Flora looked at illustrations of the human skeleton and at stories and photographs of important people like the nurse Florence Nightingale. She examined drawings of birds and submarines and the insides of a frog.

  And one day Flora picked up the U volume, and she looked up “Ukraine.” The article was not very long and there were no pictures, which was disappointing. She wanted to see what Yury’s native country looked like.

  The article described the Ukraine as a place that other countries wanted to control because of the valuable minerals in its ground. For a while the Ukraine would be taken over by one country, then another would take over, and then another. Its biggest city, Kiev, was the birthplace of the country of Russia, but Russia did not always stay in control of the Ukraine.

  Flora wondered if this was why Yury’s family left when he was six years old: to escape all of the troubles there.

  So she asked him about it on their walk after school.

  “My father was invited to teach for a year in Chicago,” explained Yury, “so my family came to America. But when it was time for us to go home, there was too much conflict in our country, and my parents decided not to go back. My father finished teaching, and then he moved us here to Rosetown.”

  “It’s sad that your family isn’t able to go back home,” said Flora. She knew that it would break her heart to leave Rosetown and never be able to come back.

  “My mother is sad sometimes,” said Yury. “She hasn’t gotten used to when the sun rises here. She is sometimes still awake and asleep with the Ukrainian sun.”

  “Do you want to go back?” Flora asked.

  “Someday I think I will,” answered Yury. “To visit, at least. Imagine a place where there are thousands of Yurys! I will be just another boring Yury.”

  “Not boring,” Flora said.

  “You could come with me,” said Yury. “We could bring ice skates. It is very cold there.”

  Flora thought maybe she would, one day. Encyclopedia Hour had made the world seem so much smaller. As if she belonged to all of it.

  22

  The Scrabble Club at Moonwalk Toys and Games ha
d met just three times when Yury decided it was not for him.

  Flora was sitting with Yury and Friday in the town’s central park one Sunday afternoon when Yury told her about his decision.

  “I did pretty well, actually,” Yury said. “I was a bingo winner more than once.”

  “Bingo?” asked Flora. “What?”

  “In Scrabble,” said Yury, “when a player makes a word with all seven tiles, it is called a bingo.”

  “Oh,” Flora said. “No wonder I didn’t know.”

  Yury smiled and continued his story.

  “I was the youngest player there, of course,” he said. “But I didn’t mind. Scrabble is a calm game, so I was calm.”

  “Then what happened?” asked Flora.

  “I began to turn into Wolf Man,” said Yury.

  Flora laughed.

  “Wolf Man?” she repeated.

  “I’m usually a mild-mannered person, right?” asked Yury.

  “Right,” said Flora.

  “Well, Scrabble Club brought out the beast in me,” said Yury. “I would actually lie awake at night thinking about how to prey on the other players’ weaknesses so I could destroy them!”

  “Wolf Man,” said Flora.

  “Precisely,” said Yury.

  Then he smiled.

  “So I decided to take up bowling instead,” he said.

  “Bowling?” asked Flora. “There’s a bowling club?”

  “Well,” answered Yury, “I guess my parents and I could call ourselves a club.”

  “Your parents are bowling, too?” asked Flora.

  Yury nodded.

  “We had our first bowl at Starlight Lanes yesterday,” he said. “Every other game is free on Saturday mornings. And it was fun! I was a terrible bowler, and it was great!”

  Flora laughed.

  “I think we might even buy our own bowling shoes,” said Yury.

  “Amazing,” said Flora.

  The two friends sat awhile longer in the park, scratching Friday’s head and talking of many things: their favorite Beatles songs, whether Mr. Cooper would take the class on a field trip in the spring, the possibility of life on other planets, and the new bubble-gum-flavor ice cream at the Sweet Shoppe.