by Jane Kurtz
Some people said God wanted everything: our hearts, our minds, and all the efforts of our hands, which seemed kind of drastic.
I sat completely still and waited to feel something. P.P.S. I thought. Please give me a sign that you heard.
Finally I opened my eyes. It was darker now. Dad must have turned off the porch light. I wished I could look for Midnight. Instead, I crawled over and found my sleeping bag and spread it out on the bed. There. The sleeping bag smelled like home. The sleeping bag said “temporary.”
I thought about Great-aunt Dorcas coming early. Would she bring cousins? I squeezed my eyes tight. People were always better prepared when they had a good night’s sleep. But how could I sleep without my cat?
Then I heard light, pittery feet.
Basically a miracle.
I took off my socks and rolled them into a sock ball and threw it as hard as I could. Midnight H. Cat tore after the ball. I giggled.
Suddenly I was full of good cheer. I didn’t even have to sleep in a pink room if I didn’t want to. I dragged my sleeping bag into the hall and wiggled into it. Midnight curled up on my long hair, purring.
Kids who said cats couldn’t retrieve things were flat out wrong. Kids who said cats freaked out when you took them to a new place could be wrong, too.
All was calm. All was bright.
CHAPTER 9
Totally Unprepared
A moderate earthquake in the Humboldt Fault Zone could turn the sand under Tuttle Creek Dam to quicksand and cause a flood. Dad says the Humboldt Fault Zone isn’t close enough to Oakwood to lose any sleep over it. I say . . .
Safety Tips for Earthquakes
1. Look for something sturdy.
2. Drop.
3. Cover.
4. Hold on.
The first morning in Oakwood, Kansas, I opened my eyes and saw that I was back inside the pink room. I got up and went over to my suitcase. A booklet was lying on it: Kansas Safety Tips.
Dad was the best.
The picture on the front showed a tornado vacuuming up everything. Our class this year had made a wall display with natural disasters of the world. I knew the eye of a hurricane could be up to fifty feet high and twenty to thirty miles wide, and a fourth grader could make a great picture of a hurricane by using cotton balls.
I opened the booklet and read a little bit. Kansas Safety Tips made me feel ready for adventure. I got dressed and went into the hall.
At the top of the stairs I saw a guy walk by in the living room carrying a box. Our furniture had stayed in Colorado, but Mom and Dad needed their books.
I tiptoed down and slipped out the front door to check out that tree. Good thing I was alone—in case I wasn’t as good at climbing as I thought.
I walked over to the rough, big trunk, curled my hands around the perfect branch, and pulled. Whoosh. Up. For a few seconds I wobbled, feeling the humid air around me. Then I tipped back and hung by my knees.
Whee. My hair sailed around me. Sky. Grass. Tree.
I maneuvered myself upright again and climbed into the branches, high enough to see a grassy field between us and the church.
This house was on the edge of town. Across Cole Street, I could see a creek and then the roofs of other houses not far away, which meant there’d be a park with twisty swings for Isabella and kids I could vote into the Oakwood Safety Club.
A squeaking. A boy. Coming down the street on a red bicycle. “Hey,” I shouted.
He put his head down and pedaled faster.
I wasn’t actually prepared for that.
The house door slammed. Dad shook hands with the box delivery guy, who climbed into his truck and rumbled off. Minutes later a car came down Cole Street and turned into our driveway.
A person who had to be Great-aunt Dorcas got out. No cousins. Just a woman with stern hair and a sunflower dress and a big bowl. I had better stay camouflaged for now.
Dad walked up to her, and she gave him the bowl and took his face in her hands. “Micah Nickel,” she said. “You look exactly like your mother.”
Grandma must have been very tall and her hair must have been very short. I tried not to giggle.
The woman took Dad’s arm. “Did you bring this heat with you?”
If Great-aunt Dorcas was old and weak, I was a sweet potato. And if she thought we brought heat, she didn’t know Colorado.
“I was sorry to hear about Uncle Jacob,” Dad said.
“We shall meet on that beautiful shore. I’ve moved in with Lydia.” She steered Dad on the porch. “My dear sister is not long for this world either, I’m afraid. Caroline is back.” Great-aunt Dorcas made a disapproving noise. “I told her it was simply silly to think she can farm those—” Great-aunt Dorcas swept Dad inside.
My stomach growled.
Squeak. The boy on the red bicycle. Coming toward me again. Third grader, I predicted.
I scooched farther out on the branch toward Cole Street. “Hey,” I called again.
He looked up—like a feral hog about to charge. “Preacher’s kid!” he shouted.
Maintain cool.
That’s what I was thinking until the water balloon exploded right in my face.
CHAPTER 10
Live by the Sword, Cry by the Sword
I blinked water out of my eyes and swung down from the tree. I grabbed a stick and held it out like Moses. “I smite you,” I hollered as he rode away.
What was wrong with that kid anyway?
If Dad had heard me, he would have said that smiting was living by the sword and the problem with living by the sword was dying by the sword. I marched into the house, using my shirt to wipe my face and neck.
Dad was a peacemaker. If he had been around when Samson was alive, he would have pointed out that Samson should try a little negotiation with the Philistines instead of sending foxes with burning tails into the Philistines’ fields. Still, I needed his help.
I hurried past a stack of boxes. In the next room was a table piled with casserole dishes and plates covered with plastic wrap. Great-aunt Dorcas’s voice blared out. “Mercy, Micah! The Budget and Finance Committee won’t take it well if you’re late.”
A door swung open, and Dad rushed through. I pretty much tackled him. “Dad . . .”
He slid me off. “Be helpful to Mom, okay? We’ll wait for tomorrow to enroll you in school. Why is your shirt damp?” He didn’t wait for answers.
Outrageous!
He hurried out the front door. I shut it tightly behind him, went up to change my shirt, and came back down to see if I’d have more luck talking to Mom.
I peeked into the kitchen and saw Isabella hanging on to Mom’s leg. Great-aunt Dorcas was saying, “You’ll feel better, dear, once we get those casseroles into the freezer.”
Uh-oh. What Great-aunt Dorcas obviously didn’t know was that Mom would feel better only when her books were put away.
Great-aunt Dorcas opened a drawer and murmured, “Mercy, mercy.” She pulled out a handful of spoons.
I stepped into the kitchen. “Can I visit Dad?”
Great-aunt Dorcas gave Mom a head shake. “Believe me. If Micah gets off on the right foot with the Budget and Finance Committee, it will be a blessing.” She waved the silverware. “Anna can give these spoons a good scrub.”
“Anna,” Mom said, “please introduce yourself to Great-aunt Dorcas officially and politely.”
Great-aunt Dorcas turned. I was going to explain how much Dad liked having visits from me. I was going to explain that the spoons were perfectly clean enough for Mom and for me. But I knew from my great-aunt’s expression she would definitely have her own opinion.
As I saw her gaze go around the kitchen, I also knew she was seeing other things that needed a good scrub.
Right then I felt exactly like our classroom caterpillars must have felt—trapped in a big cage with no way out.
CHAPTER 11
The Angel
After I officially and politely met Great-aunt Dorcas, I officially
and politely asked Mom if she would like me to baby-sit Isabella. I felt sorry to leave Mom with Great-aunt Dorcas. I really did! But I had to get out of there as fast as my legs and prolegs would go.
Isabella and I got one oatmeal cookie each from a plate on the table. Oatmeal cookies were practically the same as granola.
As we ate on the porch, I checked to see if Isabella remembered stop, drop, and roll. Then we practiced run, duck, and cover, which was for tornadoes. “Now,” I told her, “let’s get to work on the new safety plan.”
Back inside, where Mom and Great-aunt Dorcas had unfortunately taken the cookie plates away, we found the basement. At the bottom of the steps sat Midnight H. Cat. “Is this a safe place?” I asked her. “What do your cat instincts tell you?”
She rubbed against my ankle, which I thought meant yes. “First we need emergency supplies,” I told Isabella.
Upstairs we opened closets until we found blankets. I counted out four, and we carried them into the basement. “We need canned goods,” I said. “And water in a jug.” Did water ever go stale?
Isabella and I practiced the steps to the basement with our eyes closed in case the lights got knocked out. “Want to walk over to the church and see if Dad has a flashlight?” I asked.
“Can we?” Isabella asked as I led her outside. “Is it safe?”
I considered. I hadn’t made any plans for being attacked. But the mean kid should be in school by now. I hopped onto the sidewalk and back onto our grass. “Look. Nothing scary.”
“How will we know our way back?” Isabella asked.
“We could throw bread crumbs. Like Hansel and Gretel.”
Isabella sniffled. “The witch put Hansel in the oven.”
I was sorry I had brought up Hansel and Gretel. “Come on. Dad is straight ahead with no turns.”
As we got close, I showed Isabella sheep in the stained glass window. I read her the sign by the parking lot where Cole Street met up with Sycamore Street. POTLUCK WITH PIE! HELP US WELCOME OUR NEW PASTOR AND HIS FAMILY.
“That’s us,” Isabella said. “Do I like pie?”
I had gotten distracted by the other side of the sign. HOW MUCH IS SEVENTY TIMES SEVEN? Someone was trying to plant a mystery that might make people curious so they would come to church. Most people liked mysteries, although not me.
From here I could see plenty of yards and houses. About 5,000 people lived here, according to Dad, and I hoped 4,999 of them weren’t mean.
A church door opened, and Dad came out—all frowny face. I glimpsed people behind him. Maybe the committee. Maybe people who would hold it against Dad if we interrupted. “We’ll ask about the flashlight later,” I said, and hustled us out of there before Isabella could say something loud.
By the time we reached the field, I was thinking of how proud Mom would be that we hadn’t interrupted and also that in Colorado everyone thought Dad was fun and funny and perfect—and I never thought anyone would think otherwise—when something shot up from behind a line of trees. “Duck and cover!” I shouted, flinging Isabella down and myself over her.
Whoosh. Then silence. I tried to remember what I’d seen, but the brightness of the sun had washed out everything except long, gangly legs and huge, flapping wings.
Wow.
An angel? Every Christmas we had a church play and some kid played Angel Gabriel bringing good news of great joy.
We ran the rest of the way to the house. Great-aunt Dorcas and Mom were standing at the bottom of the steps, and Isabella headed straight for Mom’s knees. “You get some rest,” Great-aunt Dorcas was saying. “People will want to chitchat and say their welcomes.”
“Wonderful,” said Mom faintly. “You could let them know—”
Great-aunt Dorcas nodded. “They know you need a day or two to catch your breath.”
Mom ran a hand through her sweaty hair, and it stood up in spikes. In Colorado, people knew she wasn’t big on chitchat or potlucks. I was feeling sorry for her when Great-aunt Dorcas said, “Why don’t I help you out and take Anna with me to the farm for a few hours?”
“No,” I mouthed to Mom behind Great-aunt Dorcas’s back.
“She’ll be a help with the pies.” Great-aunt Dorcas reached for my arm. “I’ll never forgive myself if we run out at the potluck.”
Mom said, “That’s kind—”
Nononono.
“These old hands are not what they used to be.” Great-aunt Dorcas was steering me toward the car now.
“Well,” Mom said, “if you need the help . . .”
I wondered what Great-aunt Dorcas’s hands used to be. “No, thank you,” I said.
I said it nicely. Even so, next thing I knew, I was sitting in the front seat of Great-aunt Dorcas’s car with my seat belt on, listening to her say the ants were getting her rhubarb this year but last year’s apples would do nicely if we skinned them.
Abduction! Dad! Jericho, I shouted in my mind. Help!
CHAPTER 12
Meeting the Great-Aunts
The car rolled past the Oakwood sign and out of town. Dad popped into my brain. “Maintain cool. She’s your great-aunt,” he said. Jericho popped in behind him. “Be brave and look for opportunity,” she said.
The car rolled past the mysterious wooden horse and cowboy kneeling by the side of the road. I took a deep breath. “Do you by any chance happen to know who could have ridden a bicycle by our house before breakfast?” I glanced at Great-aunt Dorcas out of the corner of my eye. “A kid, I mean? By himself?”
“Red bicycle?” She gave me a pinch-mouth look. “What has Simon Stucky done this time?”
Stucky? “So he’s related to me?”
“His grandfather was my brother.” She launched in—and it didn’t sound like a short story. “He was born four years after Lydia, when our parents were helping with the old Miller place and . . .”
Eventually I tuned out and started making up my own predictions. Had my grandma and Simon’s grandpa maybe started some ancient family feud?
Now Great-aunt Dorcas was talking about how Simon’s grandpa became a bank president. I waited to hear the only thing important to me: what she meant about “What has Simon Stucky done this time?”
On the radio an announcer said Kansas was having record temperatures for April. In other news, someone’s dog had started acting weird, and it turned out the dog’s animal instincts were telling him a hay bale was on fire. Somewhere a creek had flooded. “But we were lucky,” a man’s voice said. “Only one house with serious structural damage.”
Lucky. Unless it was your house.
I saw a sign: LAVENDER FIELDS FOREVER. Great-aunt Dorcas turned in. The driveway curved around, toward rows of green plants leaning into a steep hill, then a red barn with tall cylinders behind it. Gravel crunched like granola under our wheels, and the car stopped.
I hopped out.
We were in the middle of nowhere. I saw fences and trees and lumpy hills as if a giant dog had flopped down and rolled around, flinging dirt and stones with its back paws. I looked at the old house. A ramp stuck out to one side. I followed Great-aunt Dorcas up crumbly cement steps between green bushes covered with white starfish flowers.
Had Dad run up these steps when he was my age? Had Grandma?
In the living room a ceiling fan whirred with a soft, creaking noise, and a white-haired elfish woman in a wheelchair snored softly.
“Micah asked after you.” Great-aunt Dorcas raised her voice. “I brought Anna back to help with the pies.”
This must be Great-aunt Lydia.
Great-aunt Dorcas kept talking, even though the elf woman was asleep. “You’d better change your mind and plan to come to the potluck.”
The elf woman’s eyes fluttered under her lids.
Great-aunt Dorcas marched me into the kitchen and proceeded to have no mercy on me. She sent me into the ooky-spooky musty-dusty basement for apples, and when I came dashing back up with a big shudder, she said, “The Lord loves a cheerful giver.”
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br /> I almost mentioned that in case she hadn’t heard, Abraham Lincoln had freed the slaves.
She opened the ancient refrigerator. “Mercy!” she said. “I don’t have the eggs I thought I did.”
Saved! I’d get to see the Oakwood grocery store.
“The chicken house is right close by, Anna.” Great-aunt Dorcas walked over and opened the front door. “Take an empty carton from that shelf.”
What?
She must have seen the horror on my face because she said, “You can’t get lost. The paved path starts at the white eye-zalias. Head for the trees. Holler for Morgan, and she’ll help you.”
“I can’t holler to someone I don’t know,” I politely explained.
“Mercy, Anna. Everyone around here is related to you.” She waved at the corner. “Take Lydia. She’ll be happy to keep you company.”
How much company could a sleeping person be?
Luckily, I’d helped with wheelchairs plenty of times in church, so I walked bravely up to the elf woman. I set the egg carton in her sleeping lap.
Great-aunt Dorcas held the door open. “I promised the Good Lord as long as he gives me the strength, I would give every aid and comfort to Lydia.” She sighed loudly. “Lydia, this is Anna. Micah’s girl. Remember?”
I released the brake and eased the wheelchair across the room and over the door bump. I started down the ramp. The door banged softly shut behind us.
The elf person turned. Her face was as wrinkled as carrot roots. “And you know what the Lord loves.” She winked. “A cheerful giver.”
CHAPTER 13
TJ, Bob-Silver, Morgan, and the Monkey
Someone who was easy to startle might have let go of the wheelchair. When I got safely to level ground, Great-aunt Lydia said, “You come around and hug me like you mean it.”
I wasn’t used to hugging pure strangers. Her eyes looked up at me, blue-gray like Dad’s. “Little Katherine’s granddaughter,” she said.
What burst out of my mouth was “How old are you?”
“Eighty-one.” She gave a snort of laughter. “How did I get so soon old and so late smart?” She reached into her pocket, handed me a lemon drop, said something, and translated it: sweets for a sweet mouth.