by Ruth White
11
WE’RE ALL OUT OF HONEY, AND MISS ARBUTUS WANTS you to go with me to Way Up That-a-Way and fetch some.”
Peter had finished nearly everything on the table, and the other guests had gone about their day. Now Ruby and Peter were drying dishes.
“Where to?” Peter said.
“To Way Up That-a-Way,” Ruby said, pointing a finger toward the back of the house. “That’s what we call the place on the top of this mountain behind us. Granny Butler and her clan have a few acres up there. She keeps bees, and everybody buys her honey.”
“Okay, how do we get there?”
“There’s a path that starts right behind The Roost. It takes a while to walk up there, but you’ll like Granny Butler. She communicates with animals.”
“For real?” Peter said.
“Yes,” Ruby said. “She has knowledge nobody else has because she understands their language, and they tell her stuff.”
“Would you say she’s a bit pixilated?” Peter said.
“Pixilated?” Ruby did not know the word.
“That was one of Mama’s words,” Peter said with a chuckle. “It means crazy, but Mama thought pixilated sounded much better.”
“It does,” Ruby agreed, “but I wouldn’t call Granny Butler pixilated. I would call her an albino.”
“A what-o?”
“An albino is a person who was born without any skin pigment,” Ruby informed him. “So they have no color. Granny Butler had snow-white hair even when she was young, and her skin is pale, so she can’t stand much sunlight. And her eyes are . . . well, they’re kinda strange-looking. They’re pinkish.”
“Pink eyes? No foolin’?”
“Sorta pink. She’ll look queer to you at first, but she’s so interesting, once you get to know her, why you won’t even notice her appearance.”
As they spread their dish towels across the sink to dry, Miss Arbutus came out of the pantry with two burlap rucksacks. Each one had four homemade pockets, and tucked into the pockets were empty pint jars. Miss Arbutus strapped one of the packs across Ruby’s back and the other across Peter’s.
Miss Arbutus placed money into Ruby’s hand, which Ruby tucked into her shorts pocket.
In the backyard Lester Horton was petting Jethro, but the goat left him and darted to Ruby as soon as she appeared.
“I like your little beard,” Peter said as he gave the goat’s whiskers a playful tug. “How come you’re not standing on top of a car today?”
“He will as soon as he’s left alone,” Lester said. “He’ll climb up on the woodpile and step across the fence to the top of that Packard. He likes to watch people going to church.”
Then Ruby and Peter said goodbye to Lester and Jethro, went out the gate, and latched it behind them to keep the goat from following.
A wooden sign was staked into the ground where the path began.
WAY UP THAT-A-WAY ↑
The path wound before them, up across the face of the mountain, and disappeared into the trees beyond. The initial climb was very steep, and they didn’t talk much, but instead concentrated on pulling themselves forward.
When the worst was over, Peter said, “When we got home last night, Bird told Daddy that he saw the girl who was eaten by the panther.”
Ruby laughed. “Was he still stuck on that?”
“Yeah, he was. But Daddy figured out what was bothering Bird. It seems he was remembering something that happened on Yonder Mountain a long, long time ago. There was a family living on the other side of the mountain from us, who had a whole bunch of kids. In hot weather they laid quilts out on the front porch and let the little ones sleep there. Nobody dreamed that anything could happen to them. They didn’t think there were any dangerous animals still stalking those hills.
“But one night the smallest girl—her name was Jolene—vanished from the porch. The dark just swallowed her up. The other children didn’t see or hear a thing. A search party was organized, and they combed the area for days, but not a trace of her was to be found. Some people on the mountain said they heard a panther the very night the girl disappeared. Nobody had known of a panther being in those parts for over fifty years, but the people said they knew that’s what it was because of the way it cried. A panther screams like a woman, you know.”
“I’ve heard tell that,” Ruby said.
“So everybody figured little Jolene had been devoured by a panther, just like Bird said last night.”
“How awful!” Ruby said, shivering in the bright sunlight.
“Yeah, I guess it really worried Bird. He had met the girl, and he never quite got over it. Maybe you reminded him of her in some way.”
They paused and looked down at the town below them, nestled in its pocket between the hills. Sure enough, at The Roost they could see Jethro standing on top of the Packard, probably chewing his cud, as he watched the people going to worship, some walking, some in cars.
“It looks like a picture in a storybook,” Peter said.
“Yes, it does,” Ruby agreed. “Did you know there’s a treasure buried somewhere down there?”
“What kind of treasure?”
“A pirate’s treasure. Gold doubloons and pieces of eight.”
“No kidding?”
“That’s what Miss Arbutus told me. She’s a direct descendant of the man who settled this town—Archibald Ward the first. He’s the one who buried the treasure.”
As they continued their hike, church bells from the three churches in the valley began ringing. Almost immediately one dog in town started howling like an old hound hot on a trail. Following his lead, all the other dogs, one by one, began to howl as well. Their chorus grew so loud, you could barely make out the sound of the bells. Ruby and Peter looked at each other and smiled. The day felt good, perfect.
As they crossed over a treeless patch of the mountain, there were wildflowers growing by the path, and blackberry blossoms everywhere. Ruby thought it would be a dandy spot for a picnic next month during berry season.
“Don’t you belong to a church?” Peter interrupted her thoughts.
“No, but I sometimes attend the services here or there. In warm weather I like to go to evening vespers,” Ruby said. “We meet outside under the stars. I love to sing out of doors in the dark. You can hear the voices echoing against the mountainside.”
The dogs had finally settled down, and Ruby and Peter paused to enjoy the bells.
“Speaking of echoes,” Peter said, “that name—you know the name Mr. A. H. Crawford said we should not mention? Well, I dreamed I was in a cave, and that name kept echoing off the walls. Where was he this morning? In his room writing?”
“No, he was sleeping,” Ruby said. “He hardly ever opens his eyes before noon. I think Mr. Crawford has missed a lot because he has never seen a sunrise.”
“Never?”
“Probably never. Sad people seem to need a lot of sleep.”
“How many hours do you think he sleeps?”
“It’s hard to say,” Ruby said. “He gets up and goes to The Boxcar Grill for dinner, and he might take a nap before supper. He has a record player, and he plays the same sad song over and over. He goes to his room around nine or so at night. Then he probably reads for a while.”
“When does he write?” Peter wanted to know. “I’m anxious to read his book.”
Ruby shrugged and did not answer his question. Instead she said, “Miss Arbutus says that sleep is more important for the soul than for the body. She says when a person sleeps a lot like Mr. Crawford does, they are trying to work out their problems.”
“And how does sleeping help?”
“Because, according to Miss Arbutus,” Ruby said, “God is in that place where sleep takes us. Way down deep inside, where all the answers lie.”
12
“**!!^^##**!!~~**!!”
Ruby had heard a few bad words in her day, but nothing to compare with this string of offensive language coming from somewhere on the trail behind them. It
made her ears burn.
She and Peter were approaching a clearing at the top of the mountain, where a patch of new corn was growing. Now they stopped to look back at a clump of scrubby trees they had just passed under.
“Uh-oh,” Peter said glumly. “I should have known he would follow me.”
“Who?” Ruby said.
At that moment a barefooted, shorter version of Peter appeared on the path. He was tugging angrily at his clothing.
“**!!^^##**!!~~**!!” He repeated his litany.
“Cedar!” Peter scolded him. “Will you watch your language? There’s a nice girl here.”
“It’s these **!! beggar-lice!” Cedar shot back. “They are all over my britches!”
He came up beside Peter and Ruby, pulling the prickly burrs off his raggedy pants. “And every **##!! time I pull two off, three more pop up someplace else!”
“What are you doing here?” Peter asked heatedly.
“Pulling off these @@**!! beggar-lice!” Cedar replied. “What are you doing?”
The two brothers stood facing each other, both seeming plumb put out.
“Who is looking after Bird and the kids?” Peter asked.
“Daddy, that’s who.”
“You should be helping him,” Peter scolded.
“And so should you!” Cedar responded. “You slipped off from me last night, and I didn’t say a **!! word. So I was hoping you’d ask me to go with you today. Why didn’t you?”
“Because I don’t want to hear your mouth!” Peter said angrily. “You embarrass me with your cussing!”
“Maybe I won’t cuss today,” Cedar said nonchalantly as he looked Ruby up and down. “Who are you?”
Ruby opened her lips to answer, but Peter stopped her by saying, “We’re not going to tell you until you promise! Maybe is not good enough.”
“Okay,” Cedar agreed sulkily.
“Okay what?” Peter said.
“I promise.”
“This is Ruby June,” Peter said grumpily. “Ruby June, my brother Cedar.”
“I know she’s not your sweetheart,” Cedar said. “She’s too pretty for you.”
“I oughta wop you a good one up the side of the head!” Peter hollered.
Cedar just laughed. “Where y’all going to, anyhow?”
Peter was too aggravated to answer. He continued walking, and Ruby fell in behind him, Cedar behind her.
“Where y’all going to?” Cedar repeated, but nobody answered him.
Now the corn grew on both sides of the path. Ahead of them under a giant tree sat a picturesque cabin, built from the pale wood of the surrounding hills. A slate walkway led to the front door.
Before they could reach the entrance of the cabin, the door opened, and Granny Butler stepped out, wearing a frilly apron over a blue gingham dress. She was short and thin, with skin as pallid as cream.
A pair of thick wire-rimmed spectacles balanced on Granny Butler’s small nose. As they drew near her, they could see that the whites of her eyes were somewhat pink, as Ruby had said, while the irises were a very light blue.
“!!—” Cedar started to swear at sight of the lady, but instead clamped both hands over his mouth, and held them there.
Granny Butler seemed not to notice.
“Ruby June!” she said, grinning all over. “I knew you were coming!”
“How did you know, Granny Butler?”
“Aristotle told me last night when I was trying to go to sleep. He told me that somebody’s coming to see me tomorrow. Then he said, ‘Guess whoo? Whoo?’
“And I said to him, ‘I can’t imagine. Whoo? Whoo?’
“And he said back to me, “Rooo-beee Jooo-oon.’ ”
“But I didn’t know myself until this morning,” Ruby said.
“Well, what can I say? Aristotle is the wisest of the wise.”
“Who’s Aristotle?” Cedar wanted to know.
“He’s a smart old white owl,” Ruby said.
Granny Butler adjusted her glasses and squinted at the boys. “Who you got there with you?”
Ruby introduced Peter and Cedar to Granny Butler, and she motioned for the three of them to follow her around to the back of the cabin, toward the springhouse, where she kept her honey cool.
A narrow path snaked through tall tufts of broom straw and dropped out of sight over the edge of the hill. Ruby, Peter, and Cedar followed Granny Butler single file.
“And where y’all from?” she called over her shoulder to Peter and Cedar.
“Yonder Mountain in Virginia,” Peter replied. “We just moved to Way Down Deep yesterday.”
“Oh, I reckon it was your daddy who tried to rob the bank?”
Ruby could see Peter’s ears turning red.
“He wadn’t serious or nothing,” Cedar explained. “He had a toy gun.”
“I know it,” Granny Butler said. “Ripple the red fox told me all about it. He was stealing eggs from Mayor Chambers’s henhouse when he overheard the mayor and his wife through the open kitchen window, talking. Ripple got so excited, he streaked away and forgot the eggs. So he came to me begging for supper that night.”
“A **!! fox told you?” Cedar cried out with disbelief. “Owls telling you stuff. Foxes talking to you. That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard!”
Granny Butler came to an abrupt standstill, causing the threesome to tumble all over each other. The old woman swung her body around to face Cedar. For a long moment she gazed at him, and Cedar seemed to wilt like a morning glory at high noon.
“Young man, you are going to meet somebody,” Granny Butler said to him, “who will set you straight about your bad mouth. And you will be wise to listen.”
Then she went on as if nothing had happened. Cedar followed with his chin on his chest.
Granny Butler’s springhouse was located down in a small hollow under a cluster of trees. When she opened the door, a whiff of cold air rose up from inside, laden with the odor of wet earth and toadstools. She carefully descended three broken steps and tiptoed around the edge of the spring inside.
“How much you want today?” she said to Ruby.
“Eight pints,” Ruby said.
“I’ll reach them up to you,” Granny Butler said, “so you won’t have to come down in here.”
She took a pint of honey from a shelf in the wall and handed it up the steps.
“The bees send their greetings. They made this special for Ruby June. And lucky for you, I’m running a sale this week—buy one, get one free.”
“That’s good news,” Ruby said as she removed an empty jar from Peter’s rucksack and replaced it with the full one. “A quarter a pint, right?”
“Oh, no,” Granny replied, as she peeped around the doorframe, holding the second jar. “I had to go up to fifty cents a pint. That’s the only way I can afford to run a buy-one-get-one-free sale.”
As Granny Butler ducked back inside for another jar, Ruby and Peter looked at each other. They both smiled, then looked away quickly and bit their lips to keep from laughing out loud.
Cedar sat down on a rock to watch. Ruby loaded honey into the pockets of the rucksack on Peter’s back. When his pack was full, Peter began to fill Ruby’s.
At last Ruby and Peter had four pints each, and the empty jars lay on the ground. Granny Butler would clean them and refill them with honey. Granny Butler came out of the springhouse, and Ruby gave the honey money to her.
“Thank you, Ruby June. You can tell Miss Arbutus I appreciate her business, and pretty soon I’m gonna start making and selling molasses.”
“Okay. How much will you charge for it?”
“One pint for thirty cents, three pints for a dollar.”
13
AFTER ENJOYING A COLD GLASS OF BUTTERMILK WITH Granny Butler on her front porch, Ruby, Peter, and Cedar said goodbye to her and started back the way they had come.
But before they had gone far, Granny Butler called out, “Ruby June, let me have a private word with you.”
�
�Go ahead,” Ruby said to the brothers. “I’ll catch up.”
The two boys continued toward the corn patch.
“Aristotle told me something else about you,” Granny Butler said softly to Ruby when they were alone.
“Really? What?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘The mystery of Ruby June is about to unravel.’ ”
Ruby’s blue eyes grew round and large. “No! He didn’t!”
“Yes, he did. I would not tell you a lie.”
“Oh, I know you wouldn’t. I’m . . . well, shocked, surprised. I don’t know how to take it.”
“Just take it as it comes, and don’t let it worry your pretty head,” Granny Butler said.
“How does Aristotle know so much?”
“He is older than the hills, and he knows everybody and remembers everything.”
“Is that all he said?”
“To tell you the truth, Ruby June, getting information from Aristotle is like trying to eat soup with a fork. Just ever’ once in a while he gives you a morsel. He wouldn’t say more than that, but he did say he heard it all from a panther.”
“A panther! There aren’t any panthers in these hills!”
“No, but there usta be, my girl. There usta be.”
Granny Butler abruptly disappeared into her cabin, leaving Ruby alone, her mind racing with questions. She hurried along the path through the corn, only to find Peter and Cedar quarreling.
“**!!^^##**!!~~**!!” Cedar was hollering.
So much for promises.
Later Ruby could not recall much of the trip back down the mountain. She did vaguely remember Peter asking her once more why she lived in a boardinghouse, but she said she didn’t feel like talking about it.
“It’s okay,” Peter said quickly. “Some things are personal, and I didn’t mean to get nosy.”
Back in the kitchen of The Roost, Miss Arbutus unstrapped the rucksack from Ruby’s back, then Peter’s. Cedar had stayed outside. Peter was saying goodbye at the door when Miss Arbutus tried to press a quarter into his hand.