Anna Was Here

by Jane Kurtz

  I crossed my arms. God had been no help.

  Time for Plan B.

  “Forget it,” I told God. I’d handle things on my own.

  I tiptoed down the hall, out the door, down the steps, and scurried behind a big bush all pink with flowers.

  One-one hundred. Two-one hundred. Sweat trickled down my back, making me itch. How could I itch at a time like this?

  The door opened. The secretary poked her head out and looked all around.

  I stayed folded and silent behind the bush. Something pink was helping me for a change.

  “Anna?” she called. “Did her dad take her after all?” she asked herself. The door closed.

  I started running toward home.

  Actions speak louder than words.

  CHAPTER 31

  The Running-Away Plan

  Safety Tips about Clouds

  1. Gray clouds that look like gravy can bring rain, especially if they look wet.

  2. Puffy gray clouds and warm, moist mornings can bring a thunderstorm late in the afternoon.

  3. When you see an anvil shape, the storm usually moves in the direction the anvil is pointing.

  4. Watch out for flat clouds getting lower or puffy clouds getting higher.

  5. Our ancestors said if you see a thunderhead cloud, it’s time to pause and consider the majesty of God. If the cloud has a funnel coming down, it’s time for a picnic in the root cellar.

  I tore toward my house, wishing that Mae and Slurpee were here with me today. I should have told Slurpee about Isabella. Why hadn’t I said, “Come on over to play”? I hadn’t tried hard enough to help Isabella adjust.

  As I raced over the North Emma Creek bridge, I hoped people weren’t looking out their windows. I hoped the secretary would take a few minutes to find Dad’s phone number. I hoped the door was unlocked, and it was.

  For a moment the silence of the house shocked me. Mo-om, I wanted to wail. Like Isabella.

  I raced up the squeaky stairs to my bedroom and grabbed my backpack and stuffed things inside. Hat. Sunscreen. Safety Notebook. Midnight H. Cat was purring on the bed. I scooped her up, all warm and floppy, and stood there with my arms full of cat.

  She’d hate being in a backpack.

  Slowly I let her back down. Oh, no, Midnight H. Cat. Time for a plan.

  1. Get to Colorado.

  2. Somehow.

  3. Figure out how to get Midnight H. Cat there, too.

  I heard a car sound. Dad? “Good-bye,” I whispered. “I will definitely save you.” I kissed my cat and grabbed my backpack and rushed downstairs and peeked out the door. Not Dad. Yet. Even though Old Kickapoo cannon was slamming in my chest, I pounded up the sidewalk with my backpack bouncing.

  All the way to the sign, I felt like Daniel in the lions’ den and Gandhi on his nonviolent salt march all rolled into one brave—or desperate—girl.

  Un-welcome to Oakwood.

  Then I stopped. What was I doing?

  But I knew how to stay safe. I wouldn’t let any strangers see me. I walked faster with all my senses on alert.

  No sidewalk now. I listened to the crunch-crunch of my shoes on gravel. I caught a faint sound of a car. I hastily shoved through scratchy weeds and crouched.

  One, two, three. Just get to ten. Good thing I’d read about rattlesnakes in my booklet. Gray clouds were stacked on the horizon. Good thing I knew about clouds.

  Eight, nine, ten. The car zipped by. I stood up. My legs itched and stung. I heard a louder rumble. Quick! Back in the weeds.

  This one was slower. A truck. A blue truck. With a dent—I knew this truck. I rushed out and waved. The truck rolled to a stop, and a window squeaked down. “Anna?” Great-aunt Ruth’s voice called. “Need any help?”

  Oh, happy day! Would she lend me money for a plane ticket to Colorado?

  “You remember me?” She tried to get her face out of the sun so I could see her. “When Lydia brought you by the chicken house for a look-see? Where are you trying to get to?”

  I couldn’t say “Colorado.” Instead, I blurted out, “Need some eggs.”

  “Hop in.” She pushed the door open. “Did you think you were going to walk the whole way? I told you to give me a jingle. Why aren’t you in school?”

  “Um . . .” I couldn’t think what to say. “Do you buy eggs from Cousin Caroline every day?”

  “Almost.” She chuckled. “An egg is the perfect food.”

  She shifted a gear and started the truck rumbling again. As I watched her steer and felt the tape on the seat cover scratch the back of my legs, I got Plan B.

  There were plenty of egg customers like Great-aunt Ruth. Cousin Caroline could hire me to help and pick lavender and make pies and feed chickens. It probably wouldn’t even take that long to earn money for a ticket.

  Great-aunt Ruth dug out her phone. “They know you’re on your way?”

  “Cousin Caroline said come anytime.”

  “There you go then.”

  “Thank you,” I breathed, full of Gratitude Attitude.

  Great-aunt Ruth and I discussed clouds until we chugged right by the sign, LAVENDER FIELDS FOREVER. Wait! Then I realized Cousin Caroline must have her own driveway. Sure enough, I saw another sign. BUY FRESH EGGS, it said. COMING SOON????? “What’s coming soon?” I asked.

  Great-aunt Ruth winked. “If you don’t know, I won’t spoil the mystery.”

  I wanted to tell her I didn’t like mysteries.

  By the time she pulled into the parking place by the chicken house, I had my speech planned out. Cousin Caroline opened the truck door. “Everything okay?” Great-aunt Ruth asked. She looked from my face to Cousin Caroline’s face and back.

  “Thanks,” Cousin Caroline said. “I can take it from here.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Anna Versus the Preacher

  Great-aunt Ruth blew me a kiss and walked off with her egg carton. Cousin Caroline led the way to her house. It looked like it should be sitting in the middle of prairie grass with buffalo roaming nearby, not next to a garden of corn and lettuce and peas.

  In third grade I had written a report about the greater prairie chicken with its gray-brown feathers and orange head. That’s what this house reminded me of. When the deep snows came, greater prairie chicken dived into snow to stay warm.

  Too bad they were almost extinct.

  Cousin Caroline gave me a stern ex-cop look as we headed inside. First, I saw the schoolroom—big paper taped to the walls and an oak table with claw feet that looked like they could kick me.

  The kitchen was connected through an inside window. As we walked into it, I saw bunches of herbs dangling from the rafters. It smelled like yeast and cinnamon and sweet grass. A sign on the wall said DON’T KISS THE COOK.

  Cousin Caroline pointed me to a chair. She grabbed her phone. Was she calling Dad? School? The police?

  My speech drizzled away. “I—” I forced the words out. “I really think I should go with Mom and Isabella to Colorado.” It sounded kind of pathetic.

  She glanced up. “And you took matters into your own hands maybe? Did something dangerous perhaps?”

  Cousin Caroline had definitely interrogated criminals.

  I dug my notebook out and held it up so she could read the title. “I’m pretty prepared. But if you have any suggestions, I’d be happy to take them.”

  She put the phone in her pocket. “Follow me.”

  I followed her into her basement. Canned goods. An emergency radio. A flashlight that didn’t need batteries. While Cousin Caroline took down a box, I studied something called a Screamer that let loose with a 120-decibel signal every five minutes. Cousin Caroline glanced up. “That’s in case you’re trapped under debris,” she said.

  “What kind of debris?”

  “From an earthquake. Tornado. Flood. Water is full of surprises. Creeks flood, and so do streams. Rivers. Lakes. Thunderstorms fill up underpasses.”

  “Do you ever think about when the tornado almost hit the farm?”
>
  “My mom said she and Katherine wrapped their arms around each other so they’d go to heaven together.” She dug through the box. Outside, car tires crunched on gravel. “Are you expecting a visitor?” Cousin Caroline asked.

  Maybe Dad. I should have known Great-aunt Ruth would call him.

  “Here we are.” She handed me a whistle. “If you’re ever tempted to wander off again, at least keep this with you.”

  I hung it around my neck. It was good to have, even if it was a pity whistle.

  We climbed back upstairs and sat at her kitchen table. When the door opened, I saw that my dad, who never got mad, looked mad. My heart thumped like a bad tire.

  “Anna!” Was he ready to smite me? “You scared people this morning.”

  “Who called you?” I whispered.

  “Who didn’t?” He frowned. “The school secretary and the school principal and Mae, who saw you from her classroom, and two church members, who happened to be watching as you passed by, and Mae’s mom—because Mae called her to get my number—and my aunt Ruth! When I get back, I imagine I’ll listen to messages from all the people those people told, too.”

  Wow. Everybody sure knew our business here. Was Dad scared for me? Or was he worried about what the church would think?

  Me, I thought. I want it to be me. In Colorado it would have been me. “I don’t want to go to school,” I said. “I want to help Mom.”

  “Anna, even the Gold Ribbon Safety Citizen doesn’t have to take care of everything.”

  Yes, I do, I thought. Why didn’t he listen?

  Cousin Caroline pulled out a chair, and Dad sat down with a thump. “Everything is hard already,” he said. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

  Why do you have to be so stubborn? I thought.

  Cousin Caroline took a pitcher out of the refrigerator. “Lavender lemonade. It’ll cool us down.” She poured three glasses. Outside, the dogs started barking. “Morgan runs them everywhere,” Cousin Caroline said.

  “They’re good dogs,” Dad said. He was calmer.

  “School . . .” My voice cracked. He wouldn’t understand. “Anyway, the year is almost over.”

  Cousin Caroline sipped her lemonade, very calm. “I still have Morgan’s fourth-grade books. Anna is welcome to join Morgan and me in school. I could use help with the farm, and I have a cot.” Cousin Caroline smiled at Dad. “Remember when you and I had cousin sleepovers with Grandpa and Grandma?”

  “Apparently I chased you with frogs.” Dad sucked on his straw, and the lemonade rumbled. “What about your cat?” Dad asked me. “She’ll miss you.”

  I crossed my arms. I felt reckless and frightened at the same time. If only I were holding Midnight H. Cat.

  “Sometimes,” Cousin Caroline said, “people need a little time.”

  I closed my eyes. I knew what was coming next. A squishing hug and Dad telling me to think it over and make the right decision. I squeezed my eyes fiercely. I felt his arms around me. One. Two.

  The arms were gone. The screen door banged. What? I opened my eyes. He was really going? Leaving me?

  Morgan burst in with the dogs. “What’s going on?”

  “Anna is going to stay with us a while.” Cousin Caroline poured a glass of lemonade for her. “All set with the eggs?”

  I wanted her to say, “Good. Two cousins, two together.”

  “You’re letting your dad go away?” Morgan’s expression said that was the most unsavory thing she could imagine. Maybe her dad had driven away with her standing there wanting to shout, “Come back.”

  The dogs crowded around me, and I patted them, glad for their faces—not mad, not disappointed, not puzzled, with big, warm, all-sympathetic eyes that looked the way Dad’s eyes used to look in Colorado.

  CHAPTER 33

  Hanging On to the Plan

  Cousin Caroline set up a cot for me in the basement, and I made up the thin pad with sheets and blankets. My heart felt wrung out like a washcloth.

  When I went back upstairs, Cousin Caroline got me on the phone with Mom. It wasn’t a good connection, but I heard, “Oh, honey,” and “Thank Caroline for me, okay” and “Grandpa and Grandma miss you.”

  “How is Grandpa feeling?” I asked. I wanted to say, “And Isabella,” but I was nervous to hear if Isabella was still mad at me.

  “Itchy to get out of the hospital,” Mom said.

  “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

  “Nope.” She laughed. “He’s studying hiking maps.”

  How I wanted to be in Colorado listening to that old moose story he always told! My brain made a perfect picture of Jericho with chopsticks in her hair, sitting in a tent with Grandpa and Grandma and Mom and Dad singing “Happy birthday to you.”

  After we said good-bye, I went to join Morgan, who had a big book open at the oak table. “What subject is your worst?” Cousin Caroline asked.

  “Math,” I said. “My best is science. Did you know salamanders can regrow limbs?”

  Cousin Caroline lifted a math book from the pile. “See if you can figure out where you are.”

  She went into the kitchen. I started to flip pages.

  I had to admit to Jericho in my brain that I didn’t even really have a plan. When I tried to come up with one, all I could think of was this.

  1. Hang on.

  2. Be miserable.

  3. See if missing us would bring Dad back to his old self.

  I flipped more pages. My brain kept asking, “Where are Mom and Dad and Isabella and Midnight H. Cat?” Like the day the wildfires came into the city. One minute people were getting haircuts and going to the dentist, and the next minute the roads were clogged with cars and exploded schedules.

  Morgan took out notecards. “Here’s a good idea,” she said to her mom. “Maybe B should be a king who died boringly in his bed, surrounded by his loving wife and children.”

  “What about beheaded?” Cousin Caroline was mixing bread dough at the connecting window.

  “H is already heads of queens.”

  “What are you doing?” I tried to see.

  “Alphabet book of death for my kings and queens unit.” Morgan bent over her paper, blocking me. “Don’t look until I’m done.”

  “Do you have any other gruesome ancestor stories?” I asked her. Silence. “Is there any way to prepare for feral hog attacks?” I asked Cousin Caroline.

  She held her finger to her lips to say shh.

  I did one fractions problem. I folded a piece of my notebook paper into a teeny envelope.

  Boom-boom. That eerie sound. “Hey.” I flipped the envelope at Morgan. “You never showed me the interesting thing.”

  That did it. The story tumbled out as if I were watching a play.

  Morgan: “I told Mom if we were going to move to the farm, I wanted animals.”

  Cousin Caroline: “I said, ‘We need animals we can sell.’”

  Morgan: “I said, ‘What about cows?’”

  Cousin Caroline: “Farm families name their cows. Do you have any idea how cute a calf is? I don’t know who cried harder when the cows had to be sold—me or Grandpa.”

  Morgan: “I wanted a horse.”

  Cousin Caroline: “Horses get into your heart. Buy a horse, it has a home forever.”

  Morgan slumped on her elbows. “I really wanted a horse.”

  Cousin Caroline plopped the dough in the bowl. “I said we needed something so ugly only its mother would love it. Want to see what we found?”

  She started for the door. Bob-Silver and TJ scrambled up, barking. Morgan and I followed. “I saw an ostrich in a movie at school,” Morgan said.

  Cousin Caroline herded everyone outside. “I researched ostriches. They’re fragile. I refused to use my savings to buy expensive birds that would fall over dead.”

  We headed in the opposite direction from the barn and over a rise. This was what Morgan meant by “our part of the farm.”

  “How far—” I said, but Morgan pointed, and I saw the f
enced-in area. Blobs of gray and brown with long necks. “What is that?” I asked. As we got closer, the blobs turned into huge birds that ran away on flapping legs. One arched its neck and opened its triangle mouth in astonishment.

  So this was the interesting thing!

  Morgan tugged my whistle playfully. “Ask us if they spit. That’s what people asked at the rest stops when we were driving them here.”

  “Do they spit!” Cousin Caroline and Morgan started laughing. The birds bobbed back to check us out. Their bodies were round and feathery.

  “Um . . .” I grinned. “I don’t think they spit.”

  “Correct.” Morgan fisted the air. “An emu is a bird, not a llama.”

  “Wait.” I picked up a feather. “You didn’t get ostriches, but you did get emus?”

  “Correct,” Cousin Caroline said. “Ostriches look for a reason to die. Emus look for a reason to live. This is the big-kid pen.”

  Who said Cousin Caroline didn’t have the sense God gave geese? “They’re perfect,” I said.

  “I hope you’re right.” She gave me a thin look. “I’d hate to lose this land.”

  The land that her bones missed? That would be terrible. “You don’t have to pay me for being a hired hand,” I said.

  She smiled. “Thanks, Anna. I’m hanging on by my fingernails.” She sounded all desperate and jolly and determined.

  Morgan pulled me through a shed to long, narrow pens with one big emu in each. “The adult females make that booming sound whenever they spot something that makes them uneasy, like a coyote.” She glanced at me. “Or I guess like a feral hog.”

  These emus didn’t even need a whistle.

  We talked all the way back to the house. Cousin Caroline had used her savings and bought two breeder pairs. “Raising them is easy,” she said. “Making money hasn’t been. Yet. But everything they produce is healthy, and wait until you see how gorgeous the eggs are.”

  Morgan grinned. “Wait until you see a big kid emu give a karate kick with both feet.”