Clover Blue

by Eldonna Edwards

  I grab Moon’s hand and pull him out the front door. When we get to the other side of the street Harmony breaks into howls and squeals, slapping her knees. “Shoulda seen your face!”

  I don’t laugh. “Don’t ever do that again, Harmony.”

  “Oh come on, Blue. It was hilarious. Why do you have to be such a downer?”

  “I just worry what will happen to us if someone tries to take us away.”

  She shakes her head, grinning. “You worry too much, man.” Harmony acts so much like Gaia sometimes it’s almost scary. I don’t tell her so because she hates when I compare her to her mom.

  Before we can climb back into the truck, Sirona, Willow, and Jade stride across the parking lot, their peasant dresses billowing in the November wind. Aura is tucked inside Jade’s thick sweater, resting on her mother’s hip. When Sirona sees Moon she squats down, so she’s face-to-face with him. “What’s up with the glasses, little man?”

  He lets go of his book and it falls onto the concrete. With both hands, he strokes Sirona’s cheeks, her red hair, the paisley print of her blouse before looking her straight in the face.

  “I can see your eyelashes!”

  12

  December 1976

  Mrs. Fuller honks her horn from just outside our driveway gate. I wave to let her know I see her. Goji steps onto the stoop of his shack with a wool blanket draped around his shoulders. He looks toward Mrs. Fuller and back to me as I walk down the driveway toward her huge car.

  “Morning chores complete, Clover Blue?”

  “All done. I did some of Rain’s, too. She’s not feeling well.” At the sound of her name, Goji’s eyes go from sleepy to wide awake. He bows slightly, holding one hand over his heart. I pick up my pace in case he changes his mind about letting me help Mrs. Fuller in her sixth-grade classroom. When I glance back to see if Goji’s watching, he’s already trotting toward the tree house. For someone who constantly talks about detachment, he sure seems hooked on our newest member.

  During the drive to Sebastopol, Mrs. Fuller gives me the run-down about what she does in the classroom. “The government keeps chipping away at school budgets. More kids to a classroom means less one-on-one with students who need extra help. The biggest challenges are reading and math.”

  “Harmony’s better at math,” I say. “I help her write essays and she helps me with geometry.”

  Mrs. Fuller laughs. “Geometry? If you kids are already working on geometry you’re a lot better at math than you think.” She pats my knee. “Besides, I’d already planned on having you help in the reading group.”

  She pulls off the highway and makes a couple of turns before pulling into the parking lot in front of the elementary school. To the right of the building, groups of kids chase each other around a grassy playground. Some of the older boys shoot baskets on one end of a basketball court while girls jump rope at the other end.

  Mrs. Fuller sees me watching and smiles. “Recess.”

  “Recess?”

  “A break for exercise. Otherwise they can’t sit still in the classroom.”

  I can’t imagine sitting all day at a desk, with or without a break. But the idea of having more friends to play with makes me think maybe school isn’t all bad. I love hanging out with Harmony but it might be nice to have other friends my age that aren’t girls.

  “C’mon, kiddo.” She lifts a canvas bag stuffed with books and notebooks from the backseat. “Let’s get inside before they run us down when the bell rings.”

  We walk along a shiny floor dotted with scuff marks. The school smells a little like vomit and a lot like Wave’s van did when the whole family was crammed inside it. Halfway down the hallway a bell blares and I nearly jump out of my skin. Before I can collect myself, hordes of screaming kids stream through the doors. When they spot Mrs. Fuller, several children swarm around her, jumping up and down, squealing happily and yelling her name. Beaming, she pats heads, squeezes arms, and hugs a few before pushing through the crowd.

  “Wow. They really love you,” I say above the noise.

  “And I love them back.” She motions toward a doorway on our left, next to a row of hooks where kids are hanging their jackets and hats. “They’ll love you, too.”

  The noise and chaos follows us inside the classroom. Mrs. Fuller raises her voice above the rambunctious kids finding their way to desks to introduce me to the teacher. “This is the young man I was telling you about, Clover Blue.”

  The teacher smiles and tilts her head to one side. Her long hair is pulled into a high ponytail. She looks tired for someone so young. “What an unusual name,” she says, shaking my hand. “The kids call me Miss S. My last name is Schmeideknecht but they have a hard time pronouncing it, let alone spelling it.” She smiles. “Yours is much easier to remember.”

  She turns to where two boys are shoving each other in the back corner of the room. “Roger! Danny! Hands to yourselves or to the principal’s office.”

  Like magic, the room instantly goes silent. All the kids turn toward the teacher, then stare at the two boys. The larger boy folds his arms across his chest and waits for the other one to back away before claiming the desk they were fighting over.

  Miss S. introduces me to the class. “I want you all to give a nice welcome to Clover Blue. He’s a friend of Mrs. Fuller and he’s going to be helping in the reading circle today.”

  A few of the kids clap. Some snicker. A red-haired girl in the front row raises her hand.

  “Yes, Nancy?”

  The girl looks at me and wrinkles her freckled nose. “Where do you go to school?”

  Mrs. Fuller answers for me. “Clover Blue is home-schooled.”

  More snickers. Another hand shoots up in the back corner. Miss S. nods at the big kid. I can sense her holding her breath.

  “Yes, Danny?”

  “Are you a girl or a boy?”

  I was prepared for this one since I get it a lot when we’re away from SFC. Miss S. looks flustered as she tries to stutter out an answer but I interrupt her. “A boy,” I say. “And you can just call me Blue.”

  “Maybe we should call you Blue Velvet,” he says, laughing. Several of the others laugh along with him.

  Miss S. claps her hands. “That’s enough.”

  I’m already doubting my decision to help Mrs. Fuller. She said Goji agreed to let me come so I could appreciate what I have. I’m pretty sure he knew this would happen. It’s not too late to back out. I could easily walk home and be back by lunchtime. I take a couple of steps in the direction of the door. Mrs. Fuller grabs my hand before I can get away.

  “This nice young man is volunteering his time to help in the classroom. He’s a friend of mine. Let’s treat him with the same gratitude and respect you give to me.” She squeezes my arm and whispers, “They like to test new people. Give them a chance.”

  Miss S. clears her throat. “Okay, class. Let’s break up into our reading groups. I’ll take Group One, Mrs. Fuller will lead Group Two, and Clover Blue will be helping those of you in Group Three.”

  The room fills with the sounds of desks screeching against the floor as they move to form three circles. The students reach inside backpacks and pull out their books. Each group has a different book. Miss S. points to my group. “They’re reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis. Have you read it?”

  “We got that one when I was seven.”

  Mrs. Fuller grins proudly. “I told you he was an advanced reader.”

  Miss S. hands me a tattered copy. “It’s a timeless book for all ages, don’t you think?”

  “I’ve read it at least a dozen times. My little brother, Moon . . .” I stop myself when her eyebrows go up at the mention of another weird name. “I agree.”

  She points in the direction of my group. The first face I see is Danny, the bully from the back of the room. He looks older than the rest of his classmates. He looks older even than me. I glance back at Mrs. Fuller, who nods. “Just let them take turns, one paragraph
at a time.”

  I nervously walk toward my group of ten or so kids. “Hi, everybody. Who wants to go first?”

  Nobody volunteers.

  “Okay, well I’ll just pick someone. Where did you last leave off?”

  A small girl wearing cat-eye glasses raises her hand. “We’re just starting this one.”

  Danny leans back in his chair. “It sounds like a stupid book.”

  I take a breath and think about what Goji would do in this situation. He’d probably tell me to “be the mirror” or something vague like that. I turn toward the bully. “What do you like to read about?”

  He folds his arms across his chest. “I hate reading except for comic books.”

  “Okay, well what kinds of stories do you like best?”

  “I like monsters.”

  I’m no good at being the mirror. Harmony’s right. I need to come up with my own ideas. But the best idea I have is to imagine what Harmony would do.

  I grin. “You’re going to love this book, Danny.” I grab an empty desk and wriggle it into the group, right next to him. “It has lions and witches and all kinds of magic stuff.”

  I open his book and hold the left side down with my hand. “Go ahead,” I say.

  Danny’s cheeks go bright red.

  I point to the first line. “Just pretend it’s a comic book.”

  He glances at me and back to the page. “Okay, but if one of you makes a peep I’ll smash your face.” He puts a finger under the first word. “Once there were four child.” He stops. “Child. Ren. Children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy. This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away. . . .”

  His voice is low and quiet, unlike the noisy outburst from earlier. Each time he stumbles I help him sound out the word, just like I used to with Moon, who now devours books like this in a day or two. Danny reads painfully slow but the other kids stay quiet, not wanting to spark his anger. The longer he reads the less he stumbles. When he moves to the second paragraph, the girl to his right opens her mouth to take her turn, but changes her mind. I glance up to see Mrs. Fuller and Miss S. both smiling as they watch Danny read a full page before stopping. The kids in our group all clap when he looks up from the book.

  By the end of the hour, each student has had a turn. They’re slow readers and it’s a little hard to listen without wondering how they got this far in school without learning to read better. For all the times I’ve felt embarrassed to stick out like an oddball around other people, right now I feel lucky not to be Danny.

  The rest of the day I move around the classroom, stopping to help anyone who raises their hand as they work on their assignments. Everything they’re studying I learned several years ago, sometimes from the Olders and sometimes from books I checked out from the library.

  When it’s time for us to leave, Mrs. S. stops me in the hallway. “I forgot to have you fill out this form. All the volunteers need to register with the office.”

  I look down at the paper. There are boxes for full name, birth date, and a parent’s signature.

  “Can I take it home and bring it back next time?” After reading the form, I already know there won’t be a next time.

  “Sure. I think that’d be okay.” She hugs Mrs. Fuller. “Thanks for your help today. And thanks for bringing this guy. I can’t believe he got Danny to read aloud.”

  Mrs. Fuller squeezes my arm. “He’s a natural.”

  On the way home Mrs. Fuller explains that school will be out for the holidays. She asks if I’ll join her again in the middle of January when they reopen. I think about Danny and those other kids, how bad they need the help. But then I remember Goji and the rest of my family, and how risky it could be to fill out that form.

  “I need to think about it, okay?”

  She pulls into our driveway. “Really? It looked like you were having a pretty good time.”

  “It was okay, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “I’m needed here. I have lots of chores and, you know, stuff to do.”

  Mrs. Fuller frowns. I can tell she’s disappointed. “I hope you change your mind. We make a great team.” She nudges me with her elbow. “And I think that red-headed girl likes you.”

  I laugh, but it’s a fake laugh.

  In the distance, laughing, pulling, pushing, and trying to slow each other down, Harmony and Rain race up our grass driveway to greet me. I hop out and jog toward them, forgetting the paper in the car.

  13

  January 1977

  Goji takes small, intentional steps with his hands folded in front of him. He chants quietly to himself, almost as if I’m not here. We walk side by side between the tractor ruts left behind by the Czech. The tracks are filled with tread-patterned pools of rainwater. When Harmony and I were little, we used to walk along the edge of the cow pasture after the spring rains. We’d stomp in the puddles until we were both covered in mud. Before going home we’d dunk ourselves in the cattle tank because if we showed up that dirty we’d be given laundry duty for a week. It’s our least-favorite chore next to shoveling chicken manure.

  I keep to Goji’s right, studying him as he walks. He’s a small man compared to the other Olders. The older brothers are all taller than him. A couple of the sisters, too. I’ll probably catch up to him in height before long.

  Goji stops to watch the cows as they feed. “Clover Blue, today you are the teacher and I am the student.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes. What would you like me to know?”

  He’s always saying there’s no wrong answer, but when I search my mind for the perfect response I come up blank. “I can’t think of anything.”

  As soon as it’s out of my mouth I feel like an idiot.

  “Come on now. You bring dozens of books home from the library. Surely you’ve learned something worth sharing.”

  I loosen the wool scarf from around my neck and push the hood off my head, hoping the fresh air will inspire me. Think, Blue! Think of something impressive. I glance toward a group of Jersey cows watching us as they chew. “Did you know that cows are color-blind?”

  Goji shakes his head. “Hmmm. I didn’t know that.”

  “They can’t see the red in the bullfighter’s cape. It’s the waving that gets their attention.”

  “And how might you apply this knowledge to your own life?”

  I knew it was a trick. He always does this. Everything is a metaphor with Goji.

  I give it my best shot. “It means you can’t always get by on appearance. You have to actually do something to be useful?”

  He huffs a warm breath on his hands and rubs them together. “Are you asking me a question or stating your answer? Give me an example.”

  I hate these surprise tests. I’d rather write an essay, where I have time to think and work out my answer. I glance over at our station wagon, parked near the fence.

  “Maybe like all those bumper stickers against the war. You need more than signs and slogans. You have to act. Like protests and stuff.”

  Goji turns and hugs me. “You are one in a million, Clover Blue.”

  It feels good to have beat the game or whatever it is he wants to teach me by pretending to let me be the teacher. We’re not supposed to seek validation from others, but I’m relieved by his approval. The other men in the family are like older brothers but Goji is the closest thing to a real father. I wish I knew more about him. He doesn’t talk much about his past. He’s constantly telling us to stay in the present moment. But I pry a little anyway.

  “Goji? What was it like starting this place? I mean, was it just to get away from the crowds and live in nature? I’ve heard Willow say you all wanted to make a bigger statement about society.”

  He looks off toward the row of trees at the end of the fence. “It was all of that and more. One of the things I learned during my time in India was that we are so much more than our bodies. We are a vibration of everything around us. If you’re surrounded by ca
rs and noise and pollution, by a greedy culture of consumerism, it becomes part of who you are. But out here”—he spreads his arms—“out here it’s just us. Just nature.” He turns back to me and lays a hand on my cheek. “Just love.”

  And just like that I feel comforted. By his time alone with me, by his wisdom, and, mostly, by his reassuring hand on my face.

  As we turn back, Goji drapes his arm around my shoulder. “I’ve noticed you seem a little off lately. Between our two new members and needing extra help with the Youngers, it must seem a little like we’ve forgotten how lucky we are to know you, Clover Blue.” He makes a sharp right toward the station wagon. “But I wonder if you might be willing to take on one more responsibility.”

  I’m guessing he wants me to wash the muddy car, but Goji opens the rusty back gate of the station wagon and reaches for a cardboard box. He hands it to me and smiles. A whimper escapes from inside. My eyes go wide as I tear open the top flaps. Inside, a furry ball of warm yellow puppy stares up at me.

  “You got me a dog?”

  “Well, it’s a family dog to help protect us and alert us to outsiders who . . . who might not have good intentions. But I was hoping you’d be his main caretaker.”

  “Are you kidding?” I scoop the puppy into my arms. It’s the yellowest dog I’ve ever seen. “Where’d you get him?”

  “He was dropped off at the dog pound. Someone found him alongside the road and worried he’d get hit by a car.”

  I kiss the top of the puppy’s head. He smells like peanuts. “What’s his name?”

  “That will be yours to decide.”

  “Me? Really?”

  Goji nods, smiling.

  “Can I go show him to the rest of the family?”

  “Of course. Happy New Year, little brother.”

  I tuck the puppy inside my coat and jog toward the center of our compound. By the time I reach the others I’ve already decided on a name.

  “Hey, everybody!” I hold out our newest family member for everyone to see. “Meet Sunny!”

  Half a dozen pairs of hands nearly smother the puppy as they pat and stroke him. “Welcome, Sunny,” they all say.