by Mavis Jukes
For more than forty years,
Yearling has been the leading name.
in classic and award-winning literature for young readers.
Yearling books feature children's
favorite authors and characters,
providing dynamic stories of adventure,
humor, history, mystery, and fantasy.
Trust Yearling paperbacks to entertain,
inspire, and promote the love of reading
in all children.
OTHER YEARLING BOOKS YOU WILL ENJOY
LIKE JAKE AND ME,”Mows Jukes
THE QUIGLEYS, Simon Mason
THE QUIGLEYS AT LARGE, Simon Mason
NIM'S ISLAND, Wendy On
MANIAC MONKEYS ON MAGNOLIA STREET/WHEN MULES
FLEW ON MAGNOLIA STREET, Angehjohnson
HOW TIA LOLA CAME TO VISIT STAY, Julia Alvarez
BABE: THE GALLANT PIG, Dick King-Smith
THREE TERRIBLE TRINS, Dick King-Smith
TROUT AND ME, Susan Shreve
THE FLUNKING OF JOSHUA T BATES, Susan Shreve
For River, Amy, Cannon, Case, and Bob
—M. J.
For Jim Branch, Joe Kern, and B. Paty,
who taught me the art of fishing and so much more
—T. A.
chapter 1
When Austin got off the airplane, his grandmother was waiting for him—wearing a white linen suit and white linen shoes and a hat with artificial cherries on it.
“Hello, Austin,” she said. They hugged. She smelled of flowers. “YouVe grown taller! How was the flight?”
“Fine,” said Austin.
“You must be hungry.”
“Not really,” said Austin. “I ate on the plane.” He swung his pack up onto one shoulder. They walked to the baggage claim, holding hands.
“My neighbor Wayne McCabe drove me to the airport to pick you up,” said Austin's grandmother. “You remember Wayne. He's parked out front.”
“Yup,” said Austin.
“Wayne knows I don't like to drive myself places. He's been wonderful to me since Grandpa died.”
Austin said nothing. His suitcase slid from the conveyor onto the carousel. He lifted it off when it came around.
“Out those doors,” said Austin's grandmother, pointing. “You lead the way.”
They stood on the sidewalk. “There's Wayne!” She waved at a black pickup. A tall man got out of the truck, wearing jeans and lizard-skin boots.
“Wayne, you remember Austin…”
“You've grown, boy,” said Wayne to Austin. “How old are you now?”
“Nine,” said Austin.
Wayne whistled. He tossed Austin's suitcase into the back of the truck.
Wayne helped Austin's grandmother into the cab. Austin climbed in beside her. His grandmother smiled at him and patted his knee. “So! We're on our own this summer. We've got ten days together. What shall we do?”
Austin stared at his hands in his lap.
“Want to come fly-fishing with me and the boys Saturday?” said Wayne. “We're going up to Two Rock.”
Austin shrugged.
“Well, we'll see,” said Austin's grandmother for Austin.
Wayne turned on the radio.
They headed out of town on a road that followed the river. After a few miles the pavement changed from asphalt to gravel.
“We're almost home,” said Austin's grandmother as they clattered over a bridge.
Below them, Austin could see a man wearing green rubber waders standing in the river, fishing.
“Here we are,” said Wayne as he pulled into the driveway. Austin stared through the windshield at the ranch. The grass around the barn was knee-deep and needed mowing.
“Thanks, Wayne,” said Austin's grandmother.
“My pleasure,” said Wayne. He got out and went around to help Austin's grandmother out of the cab. “Well, think about Saturday,” he said to Austin. He leaned into the truck for Austin's bag.
“I don't think I'll go, but thanks anyway,” said Austin. “And thanks for picking me up.”
“Anytime,” said Wayne.
He tipped his hat and got into his truck and backed out of the driveway.
“How come you didn't want to fish with Wayne and his boys?” said Austin's grandmother.
“I've never fished with anybody but Grandpa,” Austin said, “Besides, it's fly-fishing. I don't know how to fly-fish.”
“Neither do I,” said Austin's grandmother. “Can't Wayne teach you?”
“I don't want Wayne to teach me,” said Austin quietly. “Anyway, I guess I'll stick this stuff inside.”
chapter 2
Austin carried his suitcase nip the porch steps and through the kitchen and the living room into the spare bedroom. He put his suitcase and pack on the bed. The covers were folded down— the sheets were printed with cowboys. There were pictures of pheasants on the bedspread and on the curtains. He walked to the window and opened the curtains and looked outside.
He saw the swing that his grandfather had cut from a tire and hung from the maple tree.
“Do you want some lemonade?” his grandmother called from the kitchen.
Austin turned from the window. “Yes, please,” he called back. He walked into the living room.
He opened the coat closet. It was empty of overcoats, empty of galoshes and wing-tip shoes. The old leather bag of golf clubs was gone.
He shut the door. He went over to the table and walked his fingers across the tablecloth and ate a handful of nuts out of the cut-glass bowl. He heard his grandmother stirring lemonade in the kitchen.
Austin peered into the corner cupboard. Through the glass door he could see his grandfather's fishing knife sitting on the edge of the shelf. Austin wondered why it was in the cupboard, by the teacups—instead of in his grandfather's fishing vest.
He opened the door. He took the pocketknife from the shelf and held it in his hand. He closed his fingers around the knife and then opened them up again. The handle of the knife was carved of antler, in the shape of a trout. Its sides were inlaid with turquoise spots with red centers—its eye was a fleck of gold. Austin put his thumbnail into the slot on the blade and slowly pulled it open. The blade was sharp. TESTED XX RAZOR EDGE was written in the steel. He looked at hijs reflection in the blade of the fishing knife. Then carefully, as his grandfather had taught him, he clicked it closed against his hand.
Austin put the knife back on the shelf and shut the cupboard door. He wandered over and played a few notes on the piano. “You didn't give away Grandpa's fishing stuff, did you?” he called.
“No,” said his grandmother. She walked into the room carrying two aluminum glasses. “I haven't had the heart to go through the barn. Everything's in there, just like it was. Lemonade?”
They sat at the table drinking the lemonade and rattling the ice.
“But I've been through everything in the house, and that's been a job. And look what I found in the attic___”
Austin's grandmother went over and opened the corner cupboard.
“I forgot I had it.”
She stood on her tiptoes and carefully lifted something white down from behind the teacups. Austin moved closer to see what it was.
“It's an antique doll,” she said, turning with the doll in her arms. “I played with it when I was a little girl.” She tugged on the brim of the bonnet. She carefully arranged the dolPs hair so that it fell behind its shoulders, and lowered the doll so Austin could see its face.
“It's a hundred years old,” said his grandmother softly. “It's been passed from mother to daughter in my family for generations.”
Austin stared at the doll's face. Its lips were pink and parted, and between
them were white porcelain teeth. He gently made the eyes blink by moving one eyelid down with his finger.
“All the clothes are handmade,” said Austin's grandmother. “See how delicately the lace was done in the old days?”
She lifted the doll's skirt to show the petticoat to Austin. Austin touched the slip. His fingernail looked dirty against the white.
“I didn't have a little girl to give it to—I had your father. And he had you. Now here the doll sits! Well, she's too old to be played with, anyway. Look at these,” she whispered. “Do you know what these are?” She hooked her finger through the doll's necklace and pulled it up so Austin could see. “These are real coral beads. Aren't they lovely?”
Austin put his finger near his grandmother's finger and pulled them a little closer. The thread on the necklace broke and the coral beads slid off the ends of the string and bounced and rolled on the floor.
“Here! I'll get a saucer!” said Austin's grandmother. She handed him the doll.
He put it on the couch.
She took a saucer from under a flowered teacup in the cupboard. They picked up the beads and put them on the saucer. “Now, there's a project,” she told him. “There's a needle and white button thread in my sewing basket. You can restring them while I change out of these clothes.”
“Restring the beads?” said Austin. He looked over at the sewing basket. “How do I restring the beads?”
“String them on a needle and thread.”
“I'm not good at threading needles, Gram— and I want to check the tractor. You still have it, don't you?”
“Of course I do,” said Austin's grandmother. “It's been a while since it's been cranked up, but it's in the barn, right where Grandpa left it.” She opened the corner cupboard and put the doll and the saucer of beads up onto the shelf.
chapter 3
Austin went outside.
He walked into the barn. The room was dim; it smelled of motor oil. It took his eyes a moment to get accustomed to the light.
Austin stood by his grandfather's workbench. Jars of nuts and screws were lined up along the back edge. Tools were hanging on the wall on nails. On the workbench was a wooden box filled with odds and ends, including a broken spinning reel.
There was a line of photographs stapled to the wall, all dusty and with curled edges—and all of Austin. He examined the most recent one. He was wearing black high-topped sneakers and his grandfather's New York Yankees cap, with the brim folded back. He was holding a German brown trout, his thumb looped through the gills.
Austin looked over at the Farmall Cub tractor. Behind it, where sunlight was leaking through the boards. Austin saw his grandfather's fishing gear: creel, rod, and rubber boots. His fishing vest and baseball cap were hanging from a nail.
“What are you thinking?” said Austin's grandmother from the doorway.
Austin stood with his back to his grandmother. “Nothing,” he said, without turning to face her.
“Not thinking anything?”
“Well, I was thinking,” he said after a moment, “about last summer.” He paused. “About when Grandpa took me fishing. We stayed out late. We picked blackberries in the dark. We brought them home and you made that pie—and we ate it, in the middle of the night.”
He looked down at the floor.
“He said this summer he'd teach me how to fly-fish at Two Rock Creek. “
Austin's grandmother stood behind Austin. She put her hand on his shoulder.
Austin reached up and blotted his eyes with his sleeve. He turned to his grandmother. “And I was thinking, “ he said quietly, “about the day I wore Grandpa's baseball cap. He let me use his fishing knife—he showed me how to clean a trout.”
“I remember that day,” said Austin's grandmother. She bit her lip to keep her mouth from trembling.
“I didn't know—” began Austin.
His grandmother drew him near tö her. “Nobody knew, Austin.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Nobody knew that would be the last summer we'd all have together.” She pressed Austin's cheek against her sweater and they stood there for a few minptes, rocking back and forth. After a while she asked:
“The day you wore the Yankees cap—was that the day you and Grandpa thought that bull got through the fence? Remember you thought you heard the bull snort down by the creek—just after Grandpa caught that big German brown? “
Austin nodded into the front of her sweater.
“And it turned out to be something worse?”
Austin nodded again.
“What was it?”
“It was the game warden blowing his nose,” said Austin. He looked up at his grandmother.
They both smiled a little. “Well, that was quite a day, wasn't it,” said Austin's grandmother. “Here.” She took off her apron and blew her nose in it and doubled it over and handed it to Austin. He blew his nose in the apron and wadded it up and handed it back.
“Well, we can still have blackberry pie,” said Austin's grandmother. “How does that sound for dessert? Feel like picking?”
Austin nodded.
“You pick and I'll bake.” She looked at her watch. “It's ten after six. But there's time, if you start out now. There's the can.” She pointed out the doorway at a coffee can that was upside down on the fence post. Beside it a bird was warbling.
They walked outside. Austin took the can from the post. “You coming?” he asked.
Austin's grandmother looked down at her feet. “These shoes hurt my bunions. And anyway, I've got chicken to fry and corn to husk. And the laundry has to come in!” There was a row of cotton dresses clothespinned to the line. “You can make it, Austin. Just don't cross any fences.”
There was a bull standing in the neighbor's field. It looked over at Austin, then lowered its enormous head to graze.
chapter 4
Austin waved to his grandmother. He drop-kicked the can and ran ahead to catch it. He started across the field. Above him the sky was an empty bowl of blue.
He stopped and looked back at the ranch. He saw his grandmother standing by the barn door.
A grasshopper clicked onto his jeans, then popped away. He turned and looked for the bull.
It was gone.
Austin walked upward through the trees. At the top of the hill he stopped and listened. Below him he heard the rush of water. “Two Rock Creek,” thought Austin.
He tramped through the Woods until he came to the edge of a rocky stream bank and looked down at the water below. There were blackberry bushes growing beside a boulder that rested in the creekbed.
Austin scrambled down the slope, making his way through the thick underbrush to the stream. He sat on the ground tossing pebbles into the water. Then he stood up and began to fill the can with blackberries.
Suddenly, from the direction he had come, Austin heard the sounds of sticks cracking—as if something large was moving through the trees.
His heart raced. He climbed to the top of the boulder for a better look. He listened.
It was quiet. Mosquitoes drifted in the damp air.
After a while, Austin came down from the rock. He ate a few blackberries and then dropped a few into the can. Again he heard crashing on the ridge above. He whirled around and looked up.
The bushes were shaking.
A rock rolled down the bank.
For a long time Austin didn't move.
He heard the steady thud of approaching footsteps.
He crouched low and looked between the willow branches.
He heard himself breathing, so he held his breath to listen. Something else was breathing. Something was taking deep gasps of breath. He heard a grunt.
“Gram!” cried Austin. His grandmother stepped from the brush. “You made it!”
“I slipped up there and fell into some prickly bushes. Then these darn boots got mired in the mud.”
Austin stared at his grandmother.
She was holding his grandfather's fishing rod and wearing his grandf
ather's green rubber boots and fishing vest. The creel was slung over her shoulder and across her chest.
And she was wearing the New York Yankees cap.
She took the cap from her head and put it on Austin's head. “There,” she said, pulling the bill down over his nose. “You're set. Now, get to business.” She leaned the rod against the boulder and put the creel on the ground. She took off the fishing vest and handed it to Austin.
Then, hoisting her hem above her knees, she waded out into the stream. “My, what a spot!” she called to Austin. “I haven't been here in years! I'd forgotten how beautiful it is!”
“Yup,” said Austin. He laid the fishing vest down on the sand and searched the front pockets. He found a jar of Pautzke's salmon eggs, and he set it up on the boulder.
“There's no spool on the pole,” called Austin's grandmother.
‘You mean no spinning reel?” said Austin. He glanced over at the fishing rod. Then he snapped and unsnapped the vest pockets.
“It must be there,” said Austin's grandmother.
“Here's some Wrigley's spearmint gum,” said Austin. “And this.” He held up an empty package of cigarettes, with two matches tucked behind the cellophane. Then he found a plastic flashlight and turned it oh and off. “But no spinning reel,” said Austin, looking in the back flap, “Rats.”
He flipped open the lid of the fishing creel. Inside was a leather pouch.
“But there ‘s a fly reel here, Gram.” He frowned at the reel. “The problem is, how do we use it?”
Austin's grandmother waded to shore. Austin handed her the reel. “Let's see.” She pulled on the leader and the reel clicked out leader and green line.
“I would say the spool goes here.” She pointed to the cork handle on the rod.
Austin agreed.
They slid two copper rings around the reel at the base of the rod and fed the line up through the loops to the tip.