by Rosa Jordan
“Maybe this is why the call it Lost Goat Lane,” Chip said. “‘Cause when goats get lost, they come down here.”
“Maybe,” Justin said. “Used to be lots of goats along here.”
“When?” Kate asked.
“Back in the old days, before all the land got bought up by big farmers that live somewhere else.” Justin waved his hand at the acres and acres of cornfields on each side of the road. “Used to be quite a few little farms around here. Lots of them had goats, and I guess some of them must’ve got lost sometime, just like ours.”
They came to a crossroad. There was still no sign of Sugar. Justin walked back and forth across the road. “She’s been here for sure,” he said, pointing to some goat droppings in the dirt.
Just ahead was a house a little bigger than theirs. It had a nice front porch shaded by big trees. There were some sheds out back, and a fenced pasture. It was the farm belonging to the Wilsons. A black family.
“We going to ask the Wilsons?” Kate asked.
“Might as well,” said Justin.
“How come we never go there?” Chip asked.
“No kids,” Kate told him. “Anyway, I heard somebody at church say black people would rather be with their own friends.”
“Hey, look!” Justin pointed.
On the far side of the Wilsons’ pasture was Sugar, standing close to a big, beautiful white billy goat.
When Justin, Kate, and Chip got near the house Kate saw that there were three people on the front porch. The one with gray hair, shelling peas into a pot between her knees, would be Mrs. Wilson. They sort of knew her, because she sometimes walked past their house on her way to town. If they happened to be near the road when she went by, they always said, “Hi, Mrs. Wilson.” She always smiled and said “good morning” or “good afternoon” back to them.
Kate had never seen the other two people on the porch. One was a boy about Chip’s age, sitting in the porch swing. He held a chapter book, which Kate thought looked too hard for such a little kid. He stopped reading and stared at them.
The other person on the porch was a young woman. She was wearing a halter top, a white miniskirt, and gold thongs. Kate had never seen anybody so beautiful, even in the movies.
“Morning,” Kate said to the beautiful woman.
The woman gave a small nod but didn’t say anything.
Mrs. Wilson looked up from shelling peas and smiled. “Still morning? Seems like it was getting on to afternoon.”
“We lost our goat,” Kate explained. She had to do the explaining because Justin was hanging back, as usual. He didn’t say much at home, and he hardly ever spoke up around strangers.
“So you did.” Mrs. Wilson looked over at the boy on the swing. “Luther, run around the house and tell Grandpa the Martin kids are here for their goat.”
The boy called Luther slipped down the steps without looking at them and disappeared around the corner of the house.
Kate couldn’t stop staring at the beautiful woman. “I never saw anybody’s hair done in little bitty braids with beads all mixed in like that,” she said. “It sure is pretty.”
“Up in New York where Ruby’s been living, lots of folks wear their hair like that,” said Mrs. Wilson. “Though I don’t know where they find the time. It takes pretty near a whole day to do it up.”
The beautiful woman named Ruby still didn’t say anything. Kate couldn’t think of anything else to say either, so she just stood there in her cutoffs and T-shirt, feeling very unbeautiful.
Luther came back around the house with his grandpa, who they knew was Mr. Wilson. They’d seen him before, too, walking to town with Mrs. Wilson and helping her carry groceries home. Mr. Wilson’s hair was pure white and soft looking.
“So that’s your nanny goat, is it?” Mr. Wilson asked.
“Yes sir,” Kate said. “She’s never run away before. Reckon she was looking for some grass.”
“Reckon she was looking for a husband,” Mr. Wilson said. “And not just any old husband at that. Billy’s won first prize at county fair three years in a row.”
“We’re real sorry if she caused you any trouble,” Kate mumbled.
“No trouble,” Mr. Wilson said. “But you know it’s not free, her keeping company with a pedigreed goat like Billy. Folks pay up to fifty dollars to breed their nannies to my Billy.”
Kate understood what Mr. Wilson meant, but couldn’t think of what to say, except the truth. She hesitated a moment, then explained, “We don’t have any money. Would you take goat milk for payment?”
Mr. Wilson shook his head. “I got a couple nannies of my own. They give more milk than we can use.”
For a minute nobody said anything. Then Chip asked, “How about duck eggs?”
Mr. Wilson looked at Mrs. Wilson, then back at Chip. “Reckon we could use a few duck eggs now and then if you felt like bringing them to us.”
“We could do that,” Kate said. She was relieved that there was a way they could deal with this themselves, without having to ask Mom for money.
Chip smiled proudly. “Our ducks are real good layers. I gather the eggs every night, and I know.”
“That’s a good job for a boy your age,” Mr. Wilson said. He looked at Kate. “Did you bring a rope to lead your nanny home?”
“No sir.”
“Well, maybe I got a little piece,” he said, and went into the house.
Ruby, whom Kate had figured out must be the Wilsons’ grown-up daughter and also the mother of the boy called Luther, followed Mr. Wilson into the house.
Kate, Justin, and Chip stood at the bottom of the steps waiting for Mr. Wilson to come back with the rope. Mrs. Wilson looked down at them. There were so many turned-up smile wrinkles around Mrs. Wilson’s eyes that she always seemed to be smiling, even when she was just shelling peas.
“You got a lot of peas there,” Kate said. “You canning?”
“Oh, yes. I put up produce from my garden all summer long. Then my son comes down from Georgia and brings me a big basket of peaches, and I put them up, too.” She smiled again. “Your mama still working out at the dairy?”
“Yes ma’am,” Kate said. “She usually comes home at noon, but today they’re vetting some calves so she won’t be back till late.”
“Bet you could do with a glass of lemonade before you start home.” Without waiting for an answer, Mrs. Wilson started into the house. As she pushed open the screen door, she looked back at them with her crinkly-smiley eyes and asked, “You-all like ham?”
“Yes ma’am!” Chip said.
Mrs. Wilson went inside, letting the screen door close softly.
Luther remained on the porch, watching them from behind a post. Chip looked up at Luther and said, right out of the blue, “I used to have a dog but an old gator ate him.”
Luther eased down the porch steps till he was standing face to face with Chip. “All of him?” he asked.
Chip’s blue eyes filled up with tears. He looked straight into Luther’s brown eyes and said, “Every bite.”
Mrs. Wilson came out onto the porch with a plate of sandwiches. Mr. Wilson followed her with a pitcher of lemonade, and Ruby behind them with a tray of glasses. Ruby set the glasses down in a way that made them rattle, like she was mad about something.
“Got plenty of sandwiches here, if you’d care to have one,” Mrs. Wilson said.
Chip started up the steps but Kate grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him back. “We’re kind of dirty,” Kate said. “Can we borrow some water from your hose to wash up?”
“Why sure,” Mrs. Wilson smiled. “I’ll bring you out a towel.” Justin sidled over and joined his brother and sister at the hose. Chip rinsed his hands quickly and ran back to the porch. By the time Kate and Justin got there, Chip was sitting on the swing next to Luther, munching on a ham sandwich.
Everybody had a ham sandwich except Luther. Luther’s was peanut butter. “Don’t you like ham?” Chip asked.
Luther took a bite of his peanut
butter sandwich and thought about it awhile. Then he said, “I do like ham. But I like pigs better. Grandpa’s got some pigs. They’re real smart.”
When they finished eating, Kate offered to help carry things in, but Ruby said, “No need. I’ve got it.” She scooped up everything and went inside, letting the screen slam in a way that let Kate know she didn’t want to be followed.
“You just go on around back with Sam and get your goat,” Mrs. Wilson said, still smiling.
“Yes ma’am. Thank you for lunch,” Kate said, and looked hard at Justin and Chip until they remembered to say thank you, too.
They all told Mrs. Wilson good-bye. Then Justin said, “Come on, Chip,” and headed for the road. Kate knew that was Justin’s way of saying it was her responsibility to go get Sugar, since Sugar was her goat. So Kate followed Mr. Wilson around back to the goat pen.
“Long about five months from now,” he said as he tied the rope around Sugar’s neck, “this little nanny’s going have a nice surprise for you.”
Kate had lived on a farm long enough to know exactly what kind of surprise he was talking about. “Thanks, Mr. Wilson,” Kate said. “We sure do appreciate it.” Mostly what she appreciated was the fact that Mr. Wilson didn’t say any more about how much it cost to breed a nanny to his prize-winning billy. He just handed the lead rope to Kate, said “There you are, girl,” and went back into the house.
Sugar was not enthusiastic about leaving Billy. She kept trying to go toward the pasture instead of the road. Kate had to drag her, which was hard because Sugar weighed at least as much as Kate. Kate stopped to rest in the shade of the house, hoping that Justin would wonder what was taking so long and come help her.
That’s when she heard Ruby’s voice coming through the kitchen window. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Papa, taking eggs off such raggedy-assed kids.”
“Mind your language there, girl,” Mr. Wilson scolded. “I don’t reckon a few eggs are going to hurt anybody. What we’re needing is not eggs so much as some children for that boy of yours to play with.”
“I told you, Papa. I don’t want Luther hanging around with white trash!”
Kate’s face burned as if it had been slapped. Part of her wanted to run away. The other part of her wanted to stomp that beautiful woman right on her beautiful painted toenails. For a minute Kate just stood there, too angry to move, almost too angry to breathe.
Then she heard Mrs. Wilson’s voice. “Being poor don’t make them trash, Ruby. There’s not a soul in this county works as hard as their mother. Don’t you remember? I wrote you a while back that Mr. Martin had gone off and left them.”
“That’s not my problem,” Ruby snapped.
“I’m surprised at you,” Mrs. Wilson said in a sorrowful voice. “You know yourself how hard it is for a woman to raise a child all by herself. Mrs. Martin’s got three to look after.”
Sugar tugged at the rope again, trying to get back to Billy. Kate realized that if Sugar let out one ba-a-a they’d look out the window and see her and think she was eavesdropping. She gave the rope a sharp yank and walked quickly away from the house. As they neared the road Sugar started walking normally, apparently having decided that she didn’t mind going home after all. Chip and Justin had already started walking back.
“Justin!” Kate called. “Wait.”
Justin and Chip waited until she caught up to them.
“I don’t think we ought to—” Kate was going to say she didn’t think they ought to come here again, but changed her mind. If she said that, they’d ask why, and if she told Justin and Chip what she’d heard, they’d feel just as bad as she did. What was the point?
“I know what you were going to say,” Chip said. “You don’t think we ought to tell Mom.”
Justin and Kate looked at each other. She knew what he was thinking, and he probably knew what she was thinking. Mom already didn’t trust them, and now that they’d let Sugar get out, she was going to trust them even less.
“We’ll tell her,” said Kate. “But not just yet, okay?”
Sooner or later they would tell Mom. They’d have to, because in about five months, probably around Christmas, Sugar was going to have a baby.
3
Turtles And Trophies
The following week, Justin, Kate, and Chip walked down Lost Goat Lane to the Wilsons’ to take the duck eggs. Kate carried the bag of eggs because Justin, as usual, was busy pitching a baseball in the air. Chip held two small turtles, one in each hand.
Luther saw them coming and ran up the road to meet them.
“Where’d you buy them?” Luther asked, staring at the two turtles.
“You don’t buy them,” Chip said. “You just find them.”
“Where?”
“On the road. Or in the ditch. They’re all over. This kind and snapping turtles, too.” Chip handed one of the turtles to Luther. “Don’t hold it up close. It might wet on you.”
The minute Luther took the turtle, it let loose a stream of urine. Luther giggled and held the turtle away from him.
“You want it?” Chip asked. “You can have it.”
“Sure!” Luther said. “What’s his name?”
“Hasn’t got one yet. I just found it on the way up here.”
“I’m going to call him Mr. P.,” Luther said. Both boys laughed so hard they nearly fell down.
“You can have this one, too,” Chip said. “So they can keep each other company. You got some chicken wire to make them a pen? They don’t like living in little bitty boxes.”
“Grandpa’s got some wire,” Luther said, “in his workshop.”
As soon as they reached the house, Luther and Chip disappeared around back in the direction of Mr. Wilson’s workshop. Justin followed them. Kate went up on the porch and knocked on the screen door.
Ruby came to the door.
“Here’s your eggs,” Kate said.
Ruby opened the door a crack and took the bag.
“I’ll tell Papa you brought them,” Ruby said, and let the screen slam shut in Kate’s face.
Kate stood on the porch for a minute, not knowing what to do. Should she should go around back and look for Chip and Justin, or just go home? While she was trying to decide, Mrs. Wilson came out on the porch.
“Long as you’re here, Kate, wonder if you’d give me a hand in the garden? My back doesn’t bend as good as it used to.”
“Yes ma’am.” Kate didn’t care much for garden work, but it was better than not knowing what to do.
They passed a tin-roofed shed in the backyard. Half of it was a goat shed that opened into the pasture. The other half opened into the yard and served as Mr. Wilson’s workshop. It had only one wall, in the back, to separate the goats’ part of the shed from the workshop part. The workshop didn’t have walls on three sides, so what little breeze there was passed through and kept it cool. Something that looked like a large wooden crate sat on the workbench. Mr. Wilson and Justin were helping Chip and Luther unroll and measure a length of wire for the turtle pen. Kate followed Mrs. Wilson to the garden. Mrs. Wilson set the basket down between two rows. “This yellow squash is coming on so fast I can’t keep up with it,” she said. “You take that row and I’ll take this one, and we’ll scoot the basket along between us.”
Kate knelt down at the end of the row and started picking the yellow crookneck squash. “Your garden’s bigger than ours.” Kate glanced across the yard at the flower beds that went all the way around the house. “And you got real pretty flowers.”
“I couldn’t do without my flowers,” Mrs. Wilson said, her dark brown fingers searching among the big green squash leaves and snapping off the little yellow crooknecks. “Back when I was a girl, a lady at church showed us flower arranging, that’s what got me started. Ruby, now, she’s got an artistic streak, too, but she’d rather work with store-bought stuff. Not me. When I get the itch to be creative, I want to lay my hands on something natural.”
“We used to have flower gardens around th
e house, but Mom doesn’t have time anymore,” Kate told her.
Mrs. Wilson tilted her head to one side, and her eyes got a remembering look in them. “I didn’t either when I was working. Saving up to buy this farm, Sam and me worked two jobs apiece. Then the children came along.” She smiled over the top of the squash leaves at Kate. “But there’s a secret folks don’t tell young’uns about getting older.”
“What?” Kate asked.
“When a person starts getting up in years, they get to do more and more just what they want to do. Why, when I was young, I was so busy trying to please teachers and preachers and parents and brothers and sisters and my husband and my children, I had no time to think about what I’d rather be doing.” Mrs. Wilson’s voice dropped low and confidential. “But now, sometimes I don’t even go to church. Me and the Lord spend many a Sunday morning all by ourselves out amongst the flowers.”
Mrs. Wilson glanced at the basket of squash, which was about as full as it could get. “That ought to do,” she told Kate. “With Ruby and Luther here there’s lots more cooking than when it was just Sam and me. But I’m not complaining. I’m just glad she came home. It was real hard, her trying to work and look after Luther all by herself in the city.”
“Are they going to stay?” Kate asked.
“Well now, it’s hard to tell.” Mrs. Wilson stared off into the distance, like she was trying to see into the future. “Ruby’s a restless one. From since she was a little girl, she was always wanting to go somewhere. That’s how come she was up in New York when Luther was born. She liked it okay up there, liked working in that fancy candy shop. But then she got laid off. She couldn’t find another job that would support her and Luther both. So she came on back, which to my way of thinking is a good thing. The way families spread out now makes it harder on everybody. But ‘specially the little ones.”
Kate picked up the basket of squash. Mrs. Wilson got up and walked alongside her, headed toward the house. Kate was thinking about when her dad left. It had probably been hardest on Mom because now she had to do all the work and worrying about how to make ends meet. If Justin left, Mom would really freak. “Justin’s getting restless like that,” she said. “Even our animals act like they don’t like living at home anymore. The ducks are always hiding their nests and the calves keep getting out, and then Sugar ran away. She never did that before.”