“A mistake,” he said sorrowfully. And then the whole sad tale was told over again, and John David explained how he hadn’t meant to do it, and Curtis offered his opinion on the subject and described the explosion in dramatic terms, and John David said that it hadn’t been nearly as bad as that, and Mrs. McFaddin told her version, which was somewhere between the other two. And in the middle of all this, there was a knock on the front door.
It was Hank.
“Elvira tells me y’all are havin’ a little trouble over here,” he said, when Miss Ivy opened the door. “I thought maybe I could take a look.”
“Oh, Mr. Trumbull, that’s so nice of you!” Miss Ivy cried. Elvira wished she had remembered to call him Hank, but then that probably wasn’t all that important. She figured she really couldn’t complain about such a little detail, considering how well things were going.
Hank was a big hit that night. He did everything right. First, he disconnected the television. Then he found the breaker box in the utility room and got the electricity on again. Then he went back to the television, took it apart, removed the magnet, and put the set back together. Then, when it still didn’t work, he took it apart a second time and fiddled and fumed and fooled with it until he finally got it going. And all the time he was working, John David was following him around respectfully, asking hard questions about wires and tubes and nuts and bolts, which Hank did his best to answer. Elvira felt so proud of him she could have popped. When he was done, Miss Ivy wanted to pay him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He said friends don’t pay each other for helping out in a pinch. Elvira thought that about proved how much he liked her, as badly as he needed money. And then Miss Ivy wouldn’t hear of the Trumbulls leaving without having supper first. Elvira could scarcely believe her good fortune.
They were eating hamburgers on the porch a little later when she suddenly shivered all over, in spite of the warm evening air. This was it—her family—sitting around the table having a quiet supper together. As if this was just like it always was, same as any old night.
She felt so close to having her dream come true, she could almost taste it.
She looked at the way John David was watching Hank and imitating every move he made: the way he sat and leaned his chin on his hand…the way he scratched the back of his neck every so often…the way he’d tucked his napkin under his chin, just like Hank had tucked his. John David was in the bag. Elvira was sure of it. He was already on her side, without even knowing it.
She looked at Curtis. Curtis was sitting next to his mother with a polite, but bored, expression on his face. Curtis wasn’t going to be so easy; Curtis was always harder about everything. Ever since Hank had arrived, Curtis had kept his distance. He appeared to think it was his duty to be tough and standoffish, to show how he could generally take care of things himself. He was the man of the house, after all.
I’m just gonna hafta do somethin’ here, Elvira decided. There ain’t enough time left to sit around and hope things’ll happen all by theirselfs.
“Hey, Curtis—you ever go fishin’?” she asked, blundering in headfirst.
Curtis looked up from the French fry he had been twiddling between his thumb and his index finger. “Sure,” he said, a little defensively, as if he thought it would have been shameful and unmanly to say no.
Elvira pressed on. “You like it?”
“Sure, I like it all right.”
“My daddy’s a real good fisherman. Ain’t you, Daddy?”
Hank looked surprised. “Well, I don’t know that I’m so good anymore,” he said. “I used to do quite a bit of fishin’, but somehow I ain’t got around to it much lately.”
“Well, I was just thinkin’,” Elvira continued. “I was thinkin’ maybe we all ought to go fishin’ sometime. What do y’all think about that?”
“Oh, boy, that’d be great!” cried John David. “When can we go? Will you take us, Mr. Trumbull?”
Good old John David, thought Elvira.
Hank looked even more surprised. He hemmed and hawed. “Well, er, uh…like I said, I ain’t been in a good while.…”
“Oh, now, John David,” put in Miss Ivy, shaking her head, “Mr. Trumbull doesn’t have time to take you fishing.”
“Sure he does,” said Elvira, turning imploring eyes on her father, who looked as if he didn’t quite know what to say. “You got time on the weekends, don’t you, Daddy? We could all go next Sunday.” She tried to emphasize the “all.” It was important that the five of them go—Curtis and Miss Ivy, especially.
“Well, I, uh, I don’t know about all of us, Elvira. Miss Ivy prob’ly don’t care that much for fishin’.” Hank looked over at Miss Ivy—kind of shyly, Elvira judged. He’s askin’ her for a date, she thought, her heart thumping. That’s what he’s doin’.…
“Well, as a matter of fact, Mr. Trumbull,” Miss Ivy said, “I’m not too bad a fisherman myself. Fisher-person, I guess I should say.” She smiled. “I used to go with my father when I was a little girl.”
“Well, ain’t that somethin’,” Hank said softly.
He’s thinkin’ she’s really somethin’, Elvira told herself. He’s thinkin’ she’s smart and pretty and knows how to fish, too.
“Mama, can we go then?” John David was jumping up and down now, tugging impatiently on his mother’s arm.
“Oh, I don’t know, John David.…” Miss Ivy looked around helplessly. “Does everybody else really want to go?”
“Yes, ma’am!” cried Elvira—maybe a little too enthusiastically, but she couldn’t help it. “We sure do, don’t we, Daddy?”
Hank grinned. “Sounds good to me.”
Oh, boy, he’s a goner, thought Elvira, trying not to look too triumphant.
“What about you, Curtis?” Miss Ivy asked, turning to her older son. “Would you like to go?”
Curtis shrugged. “I don’t care.”
Aw, c’mon, Curtis! Elvira shouted at him in her head. You can do better than that—
But apparently, that was good enough.
“Well, all right,” said Hank. “Sunday morning, then.”
It was all Elvira could do to keep from shouting out loud.
They watched Bugs Bunny and the Roadrunner after supper, just to make sure the television was still working okay. At least, that was Hank’s excuse for hanging around. But Elvira felt certain that it wasn’t the television he cared about so much. She was on top of the world. It seemed to her that Bugs Bunny had never been so clever or Elmer Fudd so funny or the Coyote so wonderfully stupid. She laughed till it hurt.
They lingered a little while on the front steps when it was over. It was a beautiful night—soft and warm and sweet smelling, with the stars shining their hearts out way up high and the katydids singing their summer song down below and the fragrance of Miss Ivy’s flowers floating all around—just the right sort of night for falling in love. Not that Hank and Miss Ivy’s conversation was very loverlike. But Elvira could read between the lines.…
“Well,” said Hank, “we really ought to get an early start on Sunday. Daybreak’s the best time to catch fish.”
He wants to spend every second of the day with her, Elvira told herself.
“Whatever you think, Mr. Trumbull,” said Miss Ivy. “It’s so nice of you to take us. The boys are just thrilled.”
She means that she’s thrilled, thought Elvira. No question about it.
“Well, how ’bout if we pick y’all up about four-thirty, then,” suggested Hank, “unless that’s too early for you?”
Oh, he’s just crazy about her, thought Elvira. That’s for durn sure! Listen how considerate he’s bein’.
“No, no, four-thirty’s fine,” said Miss Ivy. “No sense in going too late and missing the fish.”
She respects his judgment, Elvira concluded. And look how her face kinda lights up all over when she talks to him.… Oh, it’s love all right—it’s just bound to be love!
15
It was still pitch black when the alarm went off
at four o’clock Sunday morning, but Elvira was already awake. She had hardly slept; she was way too excited to sleep. But she felt just fine. She liked the feel of the early morning wrapping around her—the dark and the quiet and the secret of it—as if the whole, silent world was waiting for something big to happen.
A bird began to sing outside—a clear, two-noted warble. Elvira whistled back. She was full of music this morning. Hope was singing in her heart like a crazed canary.
She dressed quickly, but Hank was even quicker. He was already in the kitchen fixing himself some coffee when she walked in.
“You better have some breakfast,” he told her. “No tellin’ when we’ll stop to eat again.”
“I ain’t hungry.” She was too excited to be hungry.
“Well, have a little somethin’, anyhow. I don’t want you gettin’ faintified. We got a long way to go.”
“Where are we goin’?” Elvira asked. She hadn’t thought to find out before.
“I thought we’d try the jetties over in Galveston. The fishin’ used to be real good over there. Acourse, I don’t know how it’ll be anymore; it’s been a long time since I was there.”
“I bet it’ll be just fine,” Elvira said happily. Galveston was perfect. Everything was perfect.
Night bugs were still fluttering drunkenly around the porch light when Hank’s pickup truck pulled into Miss Ivy’s driveway. Miss Ivy and the boys were waiting outside. John David looked as if he might bust wide open any minute, he was so keyed up.
“I’m gonna catch the biggest fish of all—maybe even a shark!” he shouted, as Hank and Elvira climbed out of the truck.
“Hush up, John David,” said Curtis. “You’re gonna wake the whole neighborhood.” But he didn’t really look all that mad.
I bet he’s excited, too, Elvira decided, only he’s tryin’ not to show it.
“Well, what do you think, Mr. Trumbull?” Miss Ivy smiled at him. “Does this feel to you like the right kind of day for catching fish?”
Hank grinned. “You never can tell. All we need’s a little luck.”
We got luck, Elvira told herself. We got plenty of luck.
The front of the truck was too small for everybody to scrunch in together, so the children got to ride in back with two big grocery sacks that Miss Ivy had packed with food and an ice chest full of cold drinks and four fishing poles and Hank’s old tackle box and some nets and a big bucket. John David waved to every car they passed and shouted, “We’re goin’ fishin’!” to anybody who might happen to be listening. Curtis was mortified.
“Cut that out, John David! Everybody’s gonna be lookin’ at us,” he told him.
But Elvira didn’t mind people looking. She didn’t mind it one bit. I bet they all think we’re a family, she thought contentedly. A regular family.
She wished she could hear what Hank and Miss Ivy were saying to each other up in front. She could see them pretty well through the back window; they seemed to be getting along just fine. They weren’t really talking all that much, but every now and then one of them would say something, and the other one would smile and nod, or maybe laugh. They look real natural together, Elvira assured herself. Real natural. They sure do.…
They had to take the ferry across the bay from Bolivar. The sun was just coming up. There was a rosy glow in the sky that turned the water an iridescent blue-black, with silvery tips. The gulls were awake, filling the air with their cries and swooping down close to the ferry to catch the pieces of potato chips that the children flung to them. The air smelled good—salty and fishy. Elvira leaned out over the edge of the boat and let the spray hit her face as they splashed through the gentle waves.
Galveston was just waking up as the pickup truck rolled off the ferry. They stopped for bait at a place called Will’s and got a bucketful of mud minnows. Hank said that minnows were better bait than shrimp, but Elvira suspected that the real reason they were better was that they were cheaper. Then they headed on out past the seawall and over to the south jetty.
The jetty was a long line of huge rocks that had been piled up a hundred years ago on the ocean side of Galveston. It pointed out into the water like an old, gray finger, craggy on the top and full of barnacles on the bottom.
“Now, y’all watch your step,” called Hank, starting out onto the rocks. “Sometimes it gets pretty slippery out here.” He looked back over his shoulder. Elvira was making her way cautiously, and Miss Ivy had John David by the hand, in spite of his protests, but Curtis was acting pretty cocky. He was leaping along recklessly from rock to rock.
“Whoa, fella! Slow down there,” Hank hollered, turning around and walking back. “If you fall in, you’ll scare all the fish away.”
“I won’t fall in,” said Curtis. “I’m used to this kind of thing. My dad takes me places like this all the time.”
Sure he does, thought Elvira, but she kept her mouth closed.
“Well, maybe,” Hank said steadily, “but it won’t hurt you none to watch your step, all the same.”
Curtis shrugged, but he slowed down. Elvira felt proud of Hank. He had showed who was boss without losing his temper.
They went out pretty far on the rocks, past most of the other fishermen, and found a nice, flat place to put their stuff and get set up. Curtis tried to act like he knew how to bait a hook, but he stuck himself twice and finally had to let his mother help him. Hank was busy getting John David and Elvira squared away.
“Y’all ought to stick to fishin’ over here on the calm side,” said Hank, when everybody was ready. “The rough side’s a little too dangerous. If you fell in over there, you’d have to fight a bad current, and it’s deeper, too.”
“I’ve been takin’ swimmin’ lessons at the Y,” said Curtis. “My dad wouldn’t mind if I fished on the rough side.”
Hank looked as if he was thinking about getting mad, but then he seemed to change his mind. It was his turn to shrug.
“Suit yourself, then.…”
Miss Ivy looked embarrassed. “Curtis, we’re with Mr. Trumbull today, and if he says the rough side is too dangerous, then we’ll just stick to the calm side,” she said firmly.
“Yes, ma’am,” Curtis said. But he didn’t look too happy about it.
Oh, come on, Curtis, Elvira wanted to yell at him. Quit actin’ like such a pill. You’re gonna spoil everything.
Hank and Miss Ivy spent the next little while showing Elvira and John David how to cast and reel in and cast again. Curtis, naturally, pretended to already know all about how to do it, but Elvira could tell that he was paying attention, too. They all got the hang of it pretty quickly. There were only a few snarled lines, and pretty soon there were five corks—“poppin’ corks,” Hank called them—bobbing in the gentle water on the calm side of the jetty. The sun was well up now, but it still wasn’t as hot as it would be back in Calder by this time. The air was fresher and cooler, blowing off the water. It all felt just right. Everyone was quiet; there was no sound but the wind and the waves and the cry of the gulls. Elvira watched Hank out of the corner of her eye. She felt positive that he kept stealing admiring glances at Miss Ivy, and that it wasn’t just her fishing he was admiring.
All of a sudden, Curtis let out a yell. “I’ve got one!” he cried. “My cork went under!”
“Okay—reel it in,” said Hank. “Here, Miss Ivy, bring that net over here—easy, now…”
Curtis’s hook popped out of the water, minus its minnow. His face, which had lit up in excitement, went dark again. “I lost him.”
“I bet it was crabs,” said Hank. “If it’d been a fish, you’da got him for sure. Do you remember—did your cork go under all at once, or did it kinda bob in and out?”
Curtis looked humiliated, but before he could answer, there was another shout—John David’s this time.
“I think it’s a shark!” he yelled. “Look at my fishin’ pole!” Sure enough, the pole was bent down nearly double, and the reel was spinning wildly.
Hank hurried ove
r to him, put his big hands on top of John David’s little ones, and helped him get hold of the reel.
“That’s right—you’re doin’ fine—just keep reelin’.… All right, now, Miss Ivy, bring that net under him.… Well, look at that—you got yourself a speck, buddy!”
It was a beautiful fish—whitish on the belly, bluish-gray on top, with a lot of black spots along its sides and tail.
“He’s a dandy, John David!” Miss Ivy exclaimed.
“And he was a fighter, too,” said Hank. “I don’t believe he was too keen on the idea of gettin’ caught.”
“But I caught him, anyhow,” John David said proudly. “And I’m gonna eat him for dinner. Can we have him for dinner tonight, Mama?”
“We certainly can! We’ll have a celebration—a fish fry—how’s that?”
“Way to go, John David,” said Curtis. “You got the first fish. But I’m gonna get the next one.”
Now he’s jealous, Elvira worried. Oh, come on, Curtis. I hope you do get the next fish.…
But he didn’t. For a long time after that, nobody caught anything. The sun got higher and hotter, and Miss Ivy went around putting globs of white sunscreen on everybody’s nose. A little later, they took a break and had some of the sandwiches and soft drinks. That perked everybody up quite a bit. And then, for some reason, the fish decided to start biting. Hank caught two good-sized mackerel, and Miss Ivy caught a silly-looking thing that had both its eyes on one side of its head—Hank said it was called a flounder—and Elvira caught something he called a ladyfish. They had to throw it back, because Hank said ladyfish weren’t good eating, but Elvira didn’t care. She was having a wonderful time—the best time she had ever had in her whole life. If only Curtis would catch a fish and be happy, then everything would be perfect.
But it looked like it just wasn’t Curtis’s day. There wasn’t a fish that would come near his hook, no matter what he did, though the crabs were only too glad to drop by and gnaw on his bait. And his fingers ached, from when he had stuck them, and he was hot and tired and sweaty and sick of the whole thing. It wasn’t right, you could see him thinking, that some strange man should be taking his family fishing. It ought to be his own daddy who did that. He didn’t say it; he didn’t have to. Elvira could tell easily enough.
The 25¢ Miracle Page 10