by Sarah Zettel
“Bull Morgan don’t allow no bums on his trains, girl, or in his town.” He reached down and pulled that shiny brown club out of its holster beside the wooden-handled revolver.
Fear found the last of my strength, and I bolted like a scared rabbit. Jack caught hold of me as I ran past, and swung us both around behind the hardware store. All the while, I heard that big man—Bull Morgan—laughing.
I was shaking and I couldn’t stand anymore. I slid down the clapboard wall until I was huddled on the ground. I could still smell the grease and the onions, and tears were starting.
“It’s okay.” Jack put his hand on my shoulder. “It happens sometimes. We just wait till he’s gone. Then we try again. Back door this time. That waitress felt sorry for you, I could tell.”
I shook my head hard. “I can’t do that again.”
“You’re just not hungry enough yet. Give it another hour. You’ll go back.”
“Well,” said a new voice, “I call that an awful shame.”
A Negro woman was walking down the backstreet, swinging a little white handbag.
“A great big girl like you begging in the streets.” She stopped right in front of us and planted a fist on her hip.
She had a pretty face, with round cheeks and a wide mouth that looked like it was holding back a smile. Her skin was the color of the earth in good times. The blue flowers on her white dress made splashes of bright color against our dust-dimmed surroundings, and a wide-brimmed white hat shaded her face, making it hard to see her eyes.
Jack was on his feet. “ ’S not her fault, missus,” he said in a high, pathetic voice that sounded a lot younger than his own. “We been knockin’ and knockin’, lookin’ for a job of work, but there’s nothin’, not with the duster, and we were so hungry.…”
I’d been right about Jack Holland. He had the kind of face that could make you believe. He made his eyes go all wide and puppy-dog as he twisted his cap in his hands and hunched over so he didn’t look so tall.
“Tsk-tsk.” The woman shook her head slowly. But she wasn’t paying attention to Jack. She just kept looking at me.
“Come here, girl,” she said at last.
Jack gave me a hint of a nod. So I got up and brushed myself off and walked to the woman. She was pretty, in her flower-print dress, white hat, and white gloves. Now I could see her eyes were the color of strong coffee.
She looked at me hard with those eyes, and then broke into a big smile. Unlike Bull Morgan’s, this one was full of joy.
“Well, well.” The woman clapped her hands together. “If I haven’t gone and found myself Callie LeRoux.”
“ ’Scuse me?” I said, forgetting my manners entirely. “I don’t know you.”
“No, you don’t, but I know your papa, Daniel.”
Just like that, I was struck as dumb as a dead stump. Jack slipped closer, but I couldn’t so much as turn my head away from this lady. I couldn’t have moved if the whole Hopper clan had come pouring out of the hardware store.
“You got us confused, missus,” Jack said clearly and politely. Probably to keep her attention off the fact that he was also kicking my ankle. “Our daddy’s name is Dennis, Dennis McClaren.”
She looked down her nose at him. You could tell she’d had a lot of practice doing that. “Is this … boy with you, Callie?”
I licked my lips and remembered I actually had a voice. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, all right then. You can both come with me.”
“Where to?” demanded Jack.
“Why, to lunch, of course. There won’t be talking sense to either of you if you’re half starved.”
Jack gripped my arm, and to my utter shock he said, “Thank you kindly, missus, but I don’t think so.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourselves.”
And just like that, she walked away, swinging her handbag, switching her hips, and not looking back.
I yanked my arm away from Jack. “What’re you doing?” I whispered fiercely.
“I don’t trust her.” Jack stuffed both hands in his pockets and looked after the woman with his hard hobo eyes. “How does she know your name?”
“She knows my papa!”
“How can she just be walking down the street and know your father?”
I pulled back and shook the question away. “He was a musician! He must’ve played towns all over the state. I bet we could have met somebody who knows him in Dodge, or Topeka.”
“And you should think careful about what kind of people that’d be,” Jack said. “Remember what Baya said about your papa.”
“I remember,” I snapped back. “And I remember how you’ve been jabbering on about how he was a fairy and I’m a fairy and how we’ve got to find out what that means. But when we meet somebody who might actually know, you don’t want anything to do with her!” I bit down on both lips. I’d never win if I got Jack’s back up. “Look, she said she’d feed us. Do you want to eat or not?”
“We can’t! The stories all say if you eat anything in Fairyland, you can never leave.”
That was all I could stand and a little bit more. “We’re not in Fairyland! We’re in Kansas! Whoever she is, she knows something about my papa and she’s got food and I am going after her!”
I pelted around the corner of the store, afraid the woman would have gotten out of sight. But no, there she was, marching down the dusty hardpan street between the backs of the shops and the fronts of the first low houses. As I ran to catch up, she disappeared into a shuttered clapboard building, not much more than a shack, really. It wasn’t until I got to the porch that I saw the hand-painted cardboard sign tacked to the door that read SHIMMY’S.
Piano music trickled out around the door, a soft, wandering blues tune. I shifted my weight, and the porch boards creaked under my shoes. I knew what this was. It was a juke joint—a place where people could come and hear music and dance and drink. We’d had a place like it on the edge of Slow Run called the Turn Out. It was a big dare with the kids to sneak down there at night and try to see in the windows, or maybe watch the dice games out back.
But it was the music that made me hesitate. There’d been a lot of music in my life lately, and following it had not been getting me anyplace good. If I followed this music now and something went wrong, I didn’t have anything or anybody to help me. Not even Jack.
I put my hand on the knob. I didn’t bother to knock; I just pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold. As I did, I got that twisting key-in-the-lock feeling again, like I’d had when I opened that window or gate or whatever it was to the living prairie and the railroad men working. I knew I wasn’t just walking into an ordinary room; I was walking into Someplace Else.
This time, though, Someplace Else didn’t look like all that much. The room on the other side of that doorway was dim and hot. The smells of tobacco, dust, and beer rose up from scarred floorboards. Crooked chairs stood around bare wooden tables. As my eyes adjusted, I could make out a small stage in the far corner. The woman we’d met in the street rested her elbows on the top of an upright piano and smiled big and bright down at the player. He was a lean black man with a pencil-thin mustache and his black hair slicked down tight against his scalp. A cigarette burned in the stand ashtray at his elbow. His long hands moved slow and easy across the keys, coaxing out the tune.
“Let him go, let him go, God bless him …,” crooned the woman, and the player smiled into her eyes. “He can roam this wide world over, and never find a sweet gal like me.…”
I took a step. The dusty floor creaked underfoot, and the man and woman stopped.
“Well, it’s about time.” The man swiveled his stool toward me. “Shimmy said you’d be coming along. Hello, Callie girl.”
“Who’re you?”
“Well,” said the woman, “I guess I’d better perform the introductions. Callie LeRoux, meet your papa, Daniel.”
11
I Seen My People
The floor tipped. My lungs closed up tighte
r than they ever had when they were full of dust. I was sliding sideways. I had to put my hand out to stop from falling against the wall.
“Easy now, honey.” The woman—Shimmy—beamed at me, like she’d just brought home the canary for the cat.
“I’m sorry to break it to you so sudden, Callie,” said the man—my papa? Really? “But seeing you there, I couldn’t hold off.”
“You … you’re my papa?” I whispered.
He smiled, showing his teeth, which were straight and even and bright, bright white. He wore neat gray trousers with red suspenders over a crisp white shirt. A gold and pearl pin held his red tie in place, and a big gold ring glittered on his pinkie finger. I couldn’t see his eyes. The room was too dim for that.
“I’m awful glad to finally meet you, Callie.”
He held out his arms, ready for me to run right in. He was so handsome, and he sat at an upright piano that might have been the twin of the one in the Moonlight Room. But more than that, his voice was familiar. I was sure I’d heard that voice before, somewhere else, a long way away. With memory kicking my shins, I was tired, frightened, and starved enough that if this had been maybe two days ago, I just could have believed him.
But it wasn’t two days ago, and my brain was going full steam ahead.
“You told Mama you’d come back for her.” I didn’t run forward. I walked a couple of steps, keeping my eyes wide, just like Jack had done when he was lying up a storm to Shimmy. “She said you told her, ‘Always remember I’m coming back for you, Josie.’ ”
“I was on my way too, but I got held up in this duster. I couldn’t believe it when Shimmy said she saw you on the street right here in town. But we’re together now, and that’s all that matters.” He lifted his arms an inch.
I took another step. His eyes twinkled in the dim light. At first glance, they were a warm brown like Shimmy’s, but now I was close enough to see they were gold and silver and black too, all mixed up together in a way that wasn’t quite human. Close, but not quite. But even with his strange eyes, he looked so happy. It would be so easy to sink into belief, just because this man wanted me to.
“Mama said you’d know me right away when you saw me.” I could feel this word game was dangerous. I was playing with something I didn’t understand all the way.
“I couldn’t miss you, Callie,” he said. “You look just like my Josie.”
That did it. I grabbed his hand and shoved it down. “My mother’s name is Margaret. I don’t look a thing like her, and whoever you are, you ain’t my papa.”
That bright smile fell off his face so far I could have kicked it across the floor.
Shimmy threw back her head and laughed. “Well, sir, if she ain’t the clever one after all.” Still chuckling, she pulled a compact, the kind with a mirror inside, out of her purse. She studied what she saw there and dabbed at the corner of her mouth for a second before she snapped it shut and tucked it away. “Don’t you mind Shake, Callie LeRoux. He’s just mad ’cause you’re smarter than he looks. Sit down here with me.” She sauntered off the stage and slipped behind one of the tables.
Truth to tell, I didn’t want to get any closer to her. But I wanted her to talk to me, so I pulled out a chair and sat, trying to keep to the far edge without looking like I was. That just made her laugh again.
“You hungry, Callie?” She spread her hands out. There wasn’t anything on the table in front of us. Then there was.
A huge roast turkey with corn-bread stuffing spilling out of it sat in the middle of a sea of food: three kinds of congealed salad lined up alongside green beans, sliced bread, macaroni and cheese, and a bowl of creamy white mashed potatoes. There was a bowl of soft butter, and another of rich brown gravy.
A fresh wave of dizziness made me really glad I was sitting down. I wished I could wipe my mouth with my sleeve like Jack did. “No thank you, ma’am,” I whispered. “I ain’t hungry.”
Shimmy rolled her big, coffee-colored eyes. “You been listening to stories, ain’t you? Well, the rules ain’t the same for family.”
That finally got my eyes off all the magic food. “We ain’t family.”
“You so sure about that, Callie?” said Shake.
I took a long sideways look over at the lean man where he sat glowering by the piano.
“Oh, let go of that.” Shimmy waved the man’s entire existence away, just like that.
“But we are kin, Callie.” Shake stood up and walked slowly down the steps off the stage. “And if you stop a minute, you’ll feel it in your bones.”
That food smelled so good. It was like an itch begging to be scratched. Every part of me wanted to reach over and grab up just one piece of bread and take a huge bite. Despite that, I knew the last thing I could trust around these folks was a feeling in my bones.
“You say we’re related? You prove it.”
“Yeah, go on, Shimmy. You’re so smart, you prove it to the gal.” Shake leaned back and folded his arms. “This oughta be good,” he added to me.
“Just my luck,” Shimmy muttered. “I find the girl everybody’s looking for, and she turns out to be stump-stubborn.” She brought her hands together, and all the food vanished. Not a sight or smell remained. My heart broke into about five hundred pieces. “You want to see how close kin we are, you go ahead and make us dinner.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” But I was already looking at Shake’s upright piano. He jumped back up onto the stage, pulled out a red silk handkerchief, and made a big show of dusting off the stool.
I took a U-turn back to my own good sense. “Uh-uh. No. Bad stuff happens when I make music.”
“That’s because you ain’t had none of your own kind around to teach you.” Shake smiled. “It’s all about concentration. You’ve got to keep your mind on what you want, and only what you want. The more practice you get, the better you’ll be able to put it over.”
Just then, a beam of light sliced through the room. I turned in my seat. Jack had thrown open the shutters on the far side of the house and was peering in the window, hands framing his face. I waved, to try to show him I was okay. But he just frowned and went around to the next window. The shutters opened, and he pressed his face right up against the glass.
“What’s the matter with him?” I waved again, but Jack just rattled the frame. After a minute, he pulled out a pocketknife and worked it into the sash, trying to jimmy the lock.
“He can’t see you,” said Shimmy. “He ain’t got the eyes.”
I felt bad. He must have followed me after all, and was waiting for me to come out. Now he was worried, and still hungry because I didn’t know how to bum. Plus, it was really starting to look like he’d been right about me all along.
An idea swam to the surface. “If I … if I made the food, could my friend eat it without it hurting him any?”
Shimmy held up her hands, asking for patience from the ceiling. “You make the food, you make the rules, Callie.”
Outside, Jack’s mouth was moving, making me think he was cussing as he tried to work his knife deeper under the sash. I tried to think about the things he’d told me while we were walking, about the kinds of tricks fairies liked to play. About how they’d kidnap human babies and put a fake in their place. A whaddayacallit … a changeling.
“If I let him in here, you wouldn’t … you wouldn’t try to keep him or anything?”
“I swear on my breath and bones, if he comes into my house freely, he will leave just as free,” said Shimmy.
That was a lot of words to say something simple like “yes.” I was starting not to like the way these people talked.
I got up and walked to the door, kind of sideways because I didn’t want to take my eyes off Shimmy and Shake. They both looked smug and smiled little satisfied smiles. I put my hand on the knob. These two knew something I didn’t, and I was about to let Jack into the middle of it. I thought about all those words Shimmy had used to make her promise. My hand slid back down to my side.
&nb
sp; “Is this your house?” I asked. “You said if Jack came into your house freely, he’d be able to leave freely, but you didn’t say if this place was your house.”
Now it was Shake’s turn to laugh, and he did, long and loud. He laughed so hard he stumbled backward and bumped into the wall, and he kept right on laughing.
“Oh, she’s good, she’s good!” He wiped his eyes with his hankie. “She got you on that one, Shimmy!”
“Hmph!” Shimmy glowered at me, and I swear I saw sparks in her brown eyes. “All right, all right, Miss Smarty, you bring the boy in, you take him out. Makes no difference to me.”
“Okay.” I pulled the door open. The turning key and shifting lock feeling shivered through me. “Jack!” I shouted.
“Callie!” He came running around the corner, his pocketknife out, like he thought he was going to need to stab somebody. “Are you okay?”
“Just fine.” I stepped back so he could walk inside. “This is Shimmy, and this is Shake. They … they say they’re kin to me.”
Jack froze for a split second, and then whipped his cap off. “How do you do, Miss Shimmy? Mr. Shake?”
“Hmm.” Shimmy gave him that straight-down-the-nose look and deliberately turned to me. “Well, now that your little friend’s here, are you going to get supper set, or what?”
“Supper?” repeated Jack numbly. “Callie …”
“It’s okay. If I make the food, it’s all right.”
You could tell Jack was torn between what he’d heard about the rules of fairy dinners and not having eaten anything decent for almost a week. I wasn’t torn. I was flat-out scared and more than ready to run. But run where? To do what? We had to eat, and Bull Morgan might still be out there with his club and his gun, waiting for us to try bumming on the street again.
“So, how does this work?” I asked Shimmy.
“You wish.”
“Sorry?”
“You take up the nearest source of power, and you wish.” She sighed. “But you have to be very clear about what it is you’re wishing for. Leave out any details and, well … let’s just say things ain’t gonna come out how you might think.”