“I only was once, by pure accident . . . Eleanor Roostevelt, where’d you go now?”
The crackle of a walkie-talkie interrupted us. We knew by the clomping sound of boots, plus the walkie-talkie, that it was Deputy Danforth.
“Girls, hang on a minute. We may have a lead . . .”
I turned to face AC, and when I did, the beam of light from my headlamp hit her square in the eyes.
“Ow! Turn your lamp off, you ninny.”
“Sorry.” I stifled a laugh and looked down.
Deputy Danforth spoke into his receiver. “Go ahead, Eagle.”
“Uh, yeah. We have a report of some hens roosting on top of an outbuilding at number twenty-seven Maple Lane.”
Ava Claire turned to me, this time shining her light into my eyes. “That’s the O’Dells’ old horse shed! It backs up to the Willoughbys’.”
“Ow.” I shielded my eyes. “Great! Let’s go.”
We cut through the yard, the hens’ likely path, and found Mrs. Willoughby dressed in a plaid bathrobe and bunny slippers, her hair in huge curlers, giving Mr. O’Dell an earful. Ransom was halfway up the building on a metal extension ladder, the kind Daddy used to fetch Leon’s Frisbees off our roof. Which I guess was exactly what Ransom was doing, only fetching chickens while wearing a hard-hat headlamp.
“You be careful up there, son. We can’t have you falling and breaking your neck. The night’s already got enough worries.”
Mr. O’Dell left to move his truck, so its headlights illuminated the hens on the rooftop. Deputy Danforth steered his cruiser around and did the same. That’s when Mrs. Willoughby spotted us.
“Oh, girls. What a wild night. First, someone—not my boys, of course, they’re far too responsible—goes shooting off bottle rockets well in advance of the festival. Did you hear the girls’ horrible screams?” She closed her eyes. Her voice broke. “I’ll never be able to forget it as long as I live. Had to bust the door in with a crowbar to let them out. Thank God they all escaped, but now they’re scared out of their minds and won’t come home. I can’t say I blame them.” She took a shaky breath. “I got there right as the roof caved in.”
“Holy Chihuahuas,” I whispered.
Mrs. Willoughby wiped away a tear. “Yes, sweet Dolley is in shock. A fireman found her running headlong into trees and shrubs.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, at a loss for what else to say.
“She’ll survive. My priority now is to get the rest of the brood to safety before a predator eats them for dinner.”
Mrs. Willoughby took a sip of coffee from a Thermos, never taking her eyes off Ransom and his brother Rory, who held the ladder steady. Ransom took his first step onto the roof and slid a few inches. Mrs. Willoughby drew a sharp breath. “Nice of you gals to come out and help. Especially with the festival tomorrow.”
“We want to help,” I said. I didn’t mention it was 100 percent our fault her hens were homeless. “Any sign of Eleanor?”
“Not yet, but it’s hard to see in the dark. We’ve counted seven birds in all. So that’d be all of them, but it’s hard to say if we’ve counted anyone twice. The boys will have to catch them one at a time and hand them down.” In the glow of my headlamp, I saw her eyes water.
“I’ll catch her, don’t you worry.” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Mrs. Willoughby really looked at me for the first time since we’d walked up. “That’s mighty kind of you, Vi. But there’s no way I’ll let you on top of that shed in the dark. Your daddy would never fry fish for me again. Maybe you and AC could hold the ladder so that Rory could climb on up.”
“Sure.” I shrugged and walked over as Ransom inched his way across the roof toward Jackie Kennedy.
“Hey, Rory.”
“Hey,” he replied, keeping his eyes on his brother’s progress.
“Your mama said I could hold the ladder if you want to help Ransom. He’ll need someone at the top to hand the hens to, won’t he?”
“I guess. If he can catch one.”
“He’s a Willoughby. Catching chickens is in your DNA.”
Rory looked at me and smiled. I repeat, Rory Willoughby smiled.
At me.
Good thing it was dark, as my face turned redder than an heirloom tomato. I tried to look like I was telepathically helping Ransom nab Jackie. By the cheers, I could tell he’d gotten her too. Those Willoughbys were stealth.
“Well? Aren’t ya going up?” I asked.
It was Rory’s turn to blush. “I’m not a fan of heights, to be honest.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
My mouth dropped. “Well, you hold the ladder steady, ’cause I’m climbing.”
I adjusted my headlamp and gripped the first rung, then the next. The metal creaked beneath me. Don’t look down. Don’t. Look.
I looked.
Lights and people and Howard County’s news crew swirled under my feet. “They called the news?” Sweet pugs. I shut my eyes and counted to twenty, because ten wasn’t high enough for this nonsense.
“You’re almost there, Vilonia. Two more steps.” Rory might be a prankster, but he could be your biggest cheerleader, too.
I hoisted myself as high as the roof.
“Welcome to the party.” Ransom met me at the top, holding a rattled hen.
“How many more are there?” I asked, stretching my hand out for Jackie.
“Six. You okay to carry her down?”
“I carried myself up here, didn’t I?”
“Yeah you did, but I need your help catching them.” He turned his head and motioned to Dawson, the O’Dell boy who’d been an extra in too many films to list. “Dawson, think you can carry this bird down?”
Dawson nodded, pulled a comb from his back pocket, and ran it through his hair.
Oh brother.
I stepped onto the roof, and Dawson disappeared down the ladder with Jackie.
Ransom rolled his eyes. “Some people aren’t cut out for hen management. Okay. Here’s what you need to know. Chickens are virtually blind at night, but you’ve got to move quiet and slow. You can’t startle them. Keep your light dim and pointed down, like this.”
“Got it.”
“Grab them gently over their wings and hold them close, like you’re protecting a—”
“Football.”
“Or baby.” He laughed. “You’ve got this.”
And that’s how I ended up on top of the O’Dells’ horse barn well past my bedtime, catching chickens. We nabbed them one by one and passed them down the ladder to waiting volunteers. First there was Martha Washington, then Mary Todd Lincoln, Frances Cleveland, Rosalynn Carter, and Harriet Lane.
“Harriet Lane? Don’t you mean Lois Lane?” I asked.
Ransom snorted. “Lois Lane was first lady only to Superman. Harriet Lane acted as first lady for her uncle, President James Buchanan. He never married.”
Seeing how Ransom talked sweet and low to his runaway hens, I predicted he’d never have that issue if he was elected president.
He wiped sweat from his brow and grinned at me all sheepish. “We got one more to catch. And she’s a runner.”
“Eleanor Roostevelt,” I guessed, and scanned the rooftop. “Where is she now?”
“That way.” He pointed to the far side. “She’s ruffled and awake.”
“Perfect,” I said. “So am I.”
Chapter Eighteen
Remembering Ransom’s advice, I crept along the roof like a ninja assassin.
“Hey, Ellie,” I whispered as I stole close. She flapped her wings and clucked a string of curses. “Simmer down. I know your universe has imploded, but that’s no way to speak to someone—especially someone trying to save your tail. And I’m sorry, but the great outdoors is not the safest place for a hen to spend the night.” I stretched out my hand. Another flurry of wings and feathers cut the night. I turned to Ransom. He shrugged. Eleanor wasn’t going without a fight.
Think, Vilonia. You earned her trust once.
“Ransom! Throw me your shirt.”
“What? No.”
“Trust me.” I held out my hand.
He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “There are cameras down there.”
“Come on. Do it.” I waved my fingers to signal I was waiting. “Your mama will never forgive you if you leave her best laying hen behind.”
He huffed but peeled off his shirt and threw it my way. The soft fabric smelled of sweaty socks and fresh-cut grass. I nodded thanks and inched forward, my legs getting the shakes. Eleanor, however, stared straight ahead. Maybe she was night-blind. In one swift move, I wrapped her wings in Ransom’s shirt like I had with my softball towel the week before.
And when she laid her feathery head against my chest as we made our way down the ladder to cheers and flashing cameras, I’d like to think she forgave me for burning her coop to the ground.
• • •
Once the hens were put in the garage for the night and the fire truck had rolled away, Leon, AC, and I told Deputy Danforth the honest truth of how Max’s memorial skyrocketed from glowing to explosive.
After a few questions, he flipped his notebook shut. “That should do it,” he said. “Why don’t you kids hop in, and I’ll give you a lift home.”
None of us had ridden in a cop car before, but we were too tired to appreciate the excitement.
Daddy met us out front with ice-cold glasses of water. His beard looked grayer, and his eyes wore tired like one of Mama’s faded sweatshirts. Maybe the light from the stars played tricks, but I bet not.
We hopped out, and he and the deputy exchanged a few words.
After the cruiser pulled away, Daddy said, “I don’t know how or where to begin.” A vein in his forehead pulsed. “You guys got lucky. Someone could have been hurt, bad.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, taking my drink. The others nodded. We were too thirsty, tuckered, and plumb terrified to speak.
“Deputy Danforth just filled me in about the fish. A fish!” He sighed like he couldn’t believe a tiny goldfish could cause such calamity.
“Sorry, Daddy,” I whispered. Sweat ran down my back, and I took another sip.
For the first time all evening, I noticed the full moon overhead. It looked distant and small, like an approaching train at the far end of a dark tunnel. A ring of light encircled it.
“Moon halo,” Daddy said. “Rain’s coming.”
The screen door creaked and a voice called, “Hello?”
I could barely make out Mama standing under our flickering porch light. One of Nana’s quilts engulfed her. “Are the kids all right? I’ve made toast.”
My stomach perked up at that magic word, and I licked my lips. One thing Nana had taught Mama that Mama taught me was to never underestimate the comforting powers of perfectly toasted toast.
“They’re fine, Janet. We’ll be right in.”
The door banged shut, and Daddy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. “We’ll talk about the fine mess you’ve made in the morning, once I’ve calmed down and everyone’s rested. Now grab some toast, brush your teeth, and hop to bed.”
While my parents discussed our fate on the front porch, we did as we were told. Leon must have felt rotten for firing the rockets in the first place, because he skipped toast altogether, went straight to his room, and locked his door.
Ava Claire took her toast and nicely folded pajamas down the hall to the bathroom. “I’d better bathe first. Neely’s going to be so mad if she hears I’m still awake and filthy.”
I sunk onto my bed, nibbling my toast, not caring whether I brushed my teeth tonight or not. I was exhausted and my heart felt like a wrung-out sponge.
I wasn’t prepared for how tired and angry Daddy would be. Usually he could keep his cool in front of AC, but tonight he had fallen apart like shattered glass. The Willoughbys’ chicken coop was now a smoldering pile of debris and would need to be completely rebuilt. And that cost money we couldn’t spare. And Dolley. Poor Dolley, I hoped Mrs. Willoughby was right that she’d recover.
I tugged off my muddy jeans and slipped into my pajamas. Only when I was tossing my clothes into the hamper did I remember the adoption flyer.
Ray Charles.
I bit my lip. Did I even deserve him after all the damage I’d caused? I took another bite of toast—thick, buttery sourdough, doused in cinnamon and brown sugar. Maybe I no longer deserved Ray Charles, but my mama did. She deserved to get better. We needed her to get better.
And Ray Charles needed a forever home. Shoot, we all needed each other.
The paper crinkled as I smoothed its creases. I studied the phone number, a local one. It clearly stated to call if interested, but the alarm clock on my nightstand said 9:47 p.m. Did I dare call? I hadn’t filled out a proper adoption application, because, well, my parents were against it. And with my luck, the people who’d ripped off the other numbers were in line ahead of me. But this was Ray Charles. At least, I think it was. Would the person who answered the phone even take the time to talk to a kid?
There was one way to find out. As Nana always said, “Here goes something.”
Grabbing the phone, I crept down the stairs and into the laundry room, pulling the door shut behind me. The dryer rocked back and forth, tossing a load of towels. The mechanical whine provided the right amount of humming to mask my voice, good since my parents were still up. I hopped on top of the machine and took a deep breath. My fingers shook as I dialed each number. Pressing the phone to my ear, I waited for the ring. My heels kicked the front of the machine. Thud, thud, thud. A ring.
I hung up.
“Chicken,” I said to myself. “Okay, this time’s for real.”
I dialed again. I closed my eyes, waiting. It rang. Once. Twice. I wiped my sweaty palms on my pajamas.
“Hello?” a lady answered. She sounded youngish. A television blared in the background.
“Uh. Hi,” I said. Don’t be a dork. Don’t be a dork. “I’m calling about the flyer at Pete’s Pets? For the dog?”
“Yes,” she said. The background noise stopped. “About Izzy? What would you like to know?”
“Well, is he still available?” I asked, pretty sure I sounded exactly like a dork.
“Yes. But he’s not quite ready for a new home.”
“Oh?” Something in the back of my mind told me I knew this voice.
“Still needs his shots, and his mama rejected him, so he’s bottle fed.” She gave a big sigh, like this last bit of information annoyed her and kept her from painting her nails or finishing her favorite show. Or maybe she was put out that the mama rejected her own pup. “But he’s a sweetheart. He even has a heart-shaped button nose.”
Ray Charles! I knew it.
“Right.” I tried to not get my hopes up. “How would I go about adopting him?”
“Well”—her voice took on a friendly tone—“for starters, you’d need to come in and meet him and fill out an application either in person or online, if you haven’t already. And at least one adult member of the family must visit him too. Preferably, we’d like to see how he gets along with the entire family, but someone over the age of eighteen must be present.”
“Okay,” I said, like that was no big deal. “What if my parents work?”
“We have weekend hours. And I’ll have a booth with a few of our dogs at the Catfish Festival.”
The Festival! My heart picked up.
“Will Izzy be there?” I scrunched my face up at the name they’d given him. Ray Charles was so not an Izzy.
“Hmm. It will depend on how he’s doing that day, and if anyone else adopts him between now and then. But probably not.”
“Oh.” My voice deflated. “So you’ve had other calls.”
“A few. And some forms in the queue. But Izzy’s small, and it’s our job to match him with the best home.”
“Yeah. I was hoping that’d be ours. My parents are working the festival, and I know
once they saw him, they’d see his potential.”
The lady didn’t say anything for a moment. “Maybe he can visit for a few moments, later in the evening.”
“Oh, that’d be great!” I tried not to squeal. It was hard.
“I’m not making any promises, though.”
“Gotcha. And what website has the application form?”
“The Howard County Animal Shelter dot org.”
“Got it. Thanks!” I said, a little too chipper.
“No problem,” the lady said. “What did you say your name was?”
My name! “Oh. My friends call me Vi.”
“Well, Vi. Do you have any other questions?”
“Probably, but it’s past my bedtime. Kids my age need ten to eleven hours of sleep a night for optimal health and growth.”
“Well, thanks for calling. Buh-bye.”
Click.
Buh-bye? Hadn’t I heard that somewhere before?
“Good-bye,” I replied, even though she’d already disconnected. “And by the way, the best home is ours.” I slid off the dryer and marched upstairs to bed, happy and full of hope. If I couldn’t bring Ray Charles home to Mama and Daddy, then maybe I could bring them to Ray Charles. I now had two missions to complete at the Catfish Festival. 1) Win a goldfish. 2) Adopt a dog.
Chapter Nineteen
The smell of bacon frying woke me. I rubbed sleep from my eyes, and the early Saturday sun peeked through my window. It looked to be a beautiful day for a festival.
Ava Claire snoozed next to me, wearing her scratchy-looking pink pajamas and a frilly satin sleeping mask. She said the mask blocked out any trace of light and was infused with aromatic lavender oil to reduce stress and encourage relaxation. I told her that’s what curtains and ice cream were for. I sat up, slowly, to keep from creaking the bed (and disrupting her beauty sleep) and slipped out from under the covers. Ava Claire didn’t even roll over when I tripped over a pillow and bumped my knee. Maybe she slept in therapeutic earplugs as well.
“Good morning, Frog,” Daddy said, and plopped a steaming waffle onto a plate. “Feel like waffles today?”
Vilonia Beebe Takes Charge Page 9