Moo
Page 7
Her . . . parents?
Yes, what’s her lineage?
Her . . . lineage? I’m sorry, sir,
but I do not know.
Well, you surprise me.
This looks like a fine young heifer
and I would think you’d want to know
what her lineage is.
My guess is that there’s a champion
in there somewhere.
Oh! Yes, wait. I think that’s right.
I think she comes from
a long line of champions.
You think?
I’m new at this. I’m sorry.
Don’t worry, next time you’ll know,
won’t you?
Yes, sir.
Zora placed fourth out of nine
and received praise from the judge
for her fine proportions
and good lines.
And you, he said to me,
have good posture and a nice smile
and a good relationship with Zora.
But—she bolted earlier—
The judge patted Zora’s back.
Oh, just a little stubbornness.
The important thing is
you didn’t lose your cool
and you tried again.
As we left the ring, I stroked Zora’s head
and whispered to her
Do you hear that?
We have a good relationship.
I was eager to see Zep and my family,
and as I searched the crowd for them,
I spotted a woman with a long, white braid
but
it was not
Mrs. Falala.
I felt sorry that she wasn’t there
but then I told myself
maybe she would have been
disappointed.
In Zora.
In me.
But there were others who were
not disappointed.
My parents’ smiles were so wide
and my mom kept saying
How do you do that?
How did you learn all that?
Luke ran up to me and hugged my waist
and would not let go.
It was so good, Reena. Wasn’t it good?
Was it fun? Did you like it?
Zep followed me
as I returned to the stall with Zora.
He leaned in close to her
and stroked her head
and looked her in the eyes
and said
You were riot good, Zora.
Riot good.
He turned to me and leaned in close
and said
You, too, Reena.
You were riot good.
RIDES
After all the Beltie events, Zora was loaded in the van with Yolanda and with the other animals from Birchmere Farm. Zep promised to resettle Zora and Yolanda back at Mrs. Falala’s, so Mom, Dad, Luke, and I stayed on at the fair.
Luke wanted me to go on all the rides with him, and even though I felt too old for that, I went because Luke begged and because I secretly wanted to go on them anyway.
Roller coaster! Tilt-A-Whirl! Even my parents joined us on the Ferris wheel. We were all laughing and loving the fair and it felt only right to also eat cotton candy and hot dogs. That’s what you do at the fair, right?
It was nearly seven o’clock when we left.
On the ride home, I thought about Zora and how well she’d done—once she got over her first bolting escapade—and I wanted to tell Mrs. Falala that. I asked my parents if we could stop there on the way, but just before we pulled in her drive, I changed my mind.
What if she ruins it? I said.
Mom turned to look at me. What do you mean, Reena?
Well, it’s been such a good day. What if Mrs. Falala isn’t happy about something?
Like what?
I don’t know—like maybe that Zora bolted the first time and then only came in fourth in the breed event.
Luke had been quiet on the ride home, drawing in his notebook, but now he said, It was the best day ever, and you and Zora did the best job ever, and I will tell Mrs. Falala that if she says anything mean.
I love that Lukey boy.
Dad said, Well, let’s take a vote. How many think we should go knock on her door and maybe wake her up and get her mad?
Silence.
Okay, then, how many think we should go on home and wait to see Mrs. Falala tomorrow?
The vote was unanimous. We went on home.
PHONE CALL
Early the next morning, my parents received a phone call from someone named Mr. Colley. He asked if they could meet him at Mrs. Falala’s house.
My dad was hardly awake when he answered the phone, so he agreed without even asking why.
Luke said, Uh-oh, you’re in trouble now, Reena.
Me, why me, Luke? Maybe you’re the one in trouble?
I don’t think so. You’re the one who took her cow to the fair.
Dad wanted to know if we’d been disrespectful again. Mom asked if we knew who Mr. Colley was.
And oh, Dad said, Mr. Colley said that you and Luke should stay home. ‘It would be best,’ Mr. Colley said.
SPECULATION
While Mom and Dad were gone, Luke and I tried to imagine all the possible reasons that they had been summoned to Mrs. Falala’s and who Mr. Colley was.
He could be anybody!
A policeman, a fireman, a plumber
a doctor, repairman, or vet
a lawyer, a salesman,
a relative, a friend.
Maybe Mrs. Falala’s house burned down.
Maybe something happened to Zora.
No, no, no, don’t say that.
Don’t even think those bad things.
When will Mom and Dad be home?
What’s taking them so long?
What if we’re in trouble?
Did we disrespect?
Is Mrs. Falala mad at us?
Does she want us never to come back?
Maybe she had a heart attack.
Maybe she fell down and broke her bones.
Maybe she has pneumonia.
Maybe she’s in the hospital.
No, no, no, don’t say those bad things.
Don’t think them.
When will Mom and Dad be home?
What is taking
so
so
longggggggggggggggg?
WAITING
Time time time
someTIMES
an hour is a blink
a flash
a wink, a flicker
a dashing gallop
and sometimes
an hour s t r e t c h e s
thuddingly
second
by
second
by
slow
second
an endlessssssssssssss
eternity
of
d
r
i
p
s . . .
As we waited for Mom and Dad
to return from Mrs. Falala’s
time was not galloping.
It was d
r
i
p
p
i
n
g
so painfully
slowly.
NOTEBOOK
We sat on the porch steps.
We climbed the maple tree.
We tried to fix the broken gate.
Hammer hammer
oops
never mind . . .
We made our beds and cleaned our rooms.
Dripppppppping time . . .
Want to see something? Luke asked.
From his yellow notebook
he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.
Know what this is?
It was a pencil drawing.
Some sort of animal?
&nbs
p; It’s supposed to be a cow, he said.
But you draw better than that, Luke.
I don’t get it.
I didn’t draw it.
Mrs. Falala did.
Oh.
It was one of her first tries.
She crumpled it up
but I found it later and kept it.
Luke flipped to the back of his notebook
where there was a pocket flap.
He pulled out another drawing.
Whoa! That’s really good, Luke.
I’m so glad you’re drawing animals now
instead of zombies and dragons and—
I didn’t draw this, he said.
Mrs. Falala did.
Last week.
Whoa!
It was an elegant drawing
of a Belted Galloway
and not just any Beltie.
It was Zora:
with those inkwell eyes
and that fur-white belt
and that stubborn-sass look
and that flippant tail.
What else does she draw, Luke?
Oh, lots of things now.
She draws Paulie the crazy hog-pig
and China the cat
and Crockett the parrot
and Edna the snake
and you know those seagulls
that are always lining up on the roof?
She draws those, too.
And she draws the barn a lot—
she really likes to draw that barn
and she draws the fenced pasture
and the house
and you know that window way at the top—
like maybe the attic?
She draws that sometimes.
Just the window?
Well, yeah, with different things
coming out of it.
Things coming out of the window?
Like what?
All kinds of things:
flowers and ribbons
and stars and leaves
and musical notes—
—Musical notes?
Yeah, like this:
Luke, have you ever heard flute music
coming out of that window?
Sure. Mrs. Falala plays the flute.
What? How do you know that?
She told me.
When was that?
One day when we were drawing.
I asked her about those notes
coming out of the window.
She said that sometimes she plays
the flute and when the room fills
up with the music and has
nowhere else to go it floats
out
the
window.
What about the stars and flowers
and leaves and ribbons? I asked Luke.
Did she say why she draws those
coming out of the window?
She said that room up there is a
remembering room
and when she is up there
remembering
all those things fill up the room
and when the room is too full
they fly out the window.
Just like the music? I asked.
Yes, I guess, just like the music.
So is it always good things
coming out of the window?
Luke put his hands to his cheeks.
One time she drew lightning bolts
and spiders and bats coming out
of the window. Very creepy.
She was in kind of a bad mood that day.
Mrs. Falala. So much
we did not know
about her.
DRIPPING
D
r
i
p
r
i
p
D
D
r
r
i
i
p
p
D
r
i
p
p
p
r
i
p
p
p
p
Dripping slow time as we waited
and waited
until
finally
we heard
the sound
of
a
car
pulling
into
the
drive.
At last!
PUZZLED
Well? Well? We were all over Mom and Dad like flies. What was that about? Who is Mr. Colley? Where was Mrs. Falala?
I tried to read the expressions on their faces. They looked, I suppose, puzzled, more than anything else.
Did something happen to Mrs. Falala? Luke asked.
Dad spread his arms. No one knows. She’s gone missing!
Missing? I said. How could she go missing? And who is Mr. Colley?
Mr. Colley is her neighbor and he’s also her attorney. He was supposed to meet with her last night, but she wasn’t home—or at least she didn’t answer the door. He thought that odd, so he went inside—she never locks her doors—but no sign of her. He went back again this morning, figuring she’d have to be up early to feed the animals, but the house was still dark and still quiet and no sign of Mrs. Falala.
Mom was gulping down a cup of coffee. Reena, do you and Luke have any idea where she might have gone?
The only place I could think of was the fair, and I said so. But if she’d gone to the fair, we would have seen her and she would’ve come back last night, right? And why did Mr. Colley call us?
Good question, Reena. I asked the same thing, Mom said. Apparently, Mr. Colley knows all about you and Luke helping out over there, and our phone number is written in three places in her kitchen. But right now we need you to go back with us and tend to the animals and have another look around—maybe through the pastures in case she went out walking and fell down or something.
And so we did, we went back to Mrs. Falala’s, in search of her.
THE SEARCH
Mr. Colley was a short, square, bald-headed man, and I recognized him. Several times in the past weeks he had stopped in to see Mrs. Falala, and each time, he had brought something: a basket of vegetables, a pot of soup, a stack of folders, even a bucket of crabs once. On this day, he was in the barn, along with Mr. Birch and Zep.
Just checking the barn one more time, Mr. Colley said.
The animals were agitated, mewing and mooing and squealing and squawking. I went straight to Zora, who was complaining loudly:
Moooooomoooooomooooooooo.
There, there, Zora girl, it’s okay, shhh. I gave her water and filled her grain pail and combed her back. There, there. Where is she, Zora? Mm? Where’s Mrs. Falala?
Mooooomoooooomooooooooo.
Zep joined me in Zora’s pen. I didn’t think to check on Mrs. Falala when we brought Zora and Yolanda back yesterday, he said. He put his hand on my shoulder. I should have told her how good you did with Zora at the fair.
Aw—aw—
And how good Zora did, too. Well, after that first jumpabout!
I wanted to kiss that Zep boy, right there in the barn.
The grown-ups headed out to the pasture and fields while Zep, Luke, and I tended to the animals. Zora seemed to want extra attention, nudging me with her big head, nuzzling my arm.
Moooooomoooooomooooooooo.
Paulie settled down quickly once Zep dumped some slop in his trough; the cat picked at her food petulantly; and Crockett kept squawking even though he had ready access to his seed and water all the time.
We were about to join the others out in the fields when I happened to look up at the house, at that third-floor window. It was wide open.
I called out to Mr. Colley: Has anyone looked in the attic?
What? he said. The attic? Never thought of it. He must not have thought that s
ounded promising because he turned back to his trek across the pasture.
Luke seized my arm. We’ve gotta, Reena, we’ve gotta check up there.
Zep offered to go with us, so the three of us went inside the house.
I don’t know about this, I said. Mrs. Falala might be mad if she found us prowling around her house.
But, Zep said, she might be grateful if she was injured and needed help and was waiting for someone to find her.
Mr. Colley had said he’d already checked the rest of the house, so I suggested we go straight to the attic. It was eerily quiet inside. The rooms were sparsely furnished with old but comfortable-looking sofas and chairs and dark wooden tables.
On up we went, up the central staircase, and down a long hall, with closed doors on either side. Not knowing which might lead to the attic, we opened each one: a bedroom that looked like it must be Mrs. Falala’s, as her clothes were folded on a dresser and a stack of books and a water glass were on a table beside a made-up bed; next, a storage room, with boxes and suitcases; and a third room seemed to be a guest room, with its simple bed, table, and dresser.
The last door opened on a flight of stairs. We all stood at the bottom looking up.
Mrs. Falala? I called. Mrs. Falala? Are you up there?
Silence.
Up we went: me, then Zep, then Luke.
The room was smaller than I expected. Standing at the top of the stairs, I could see it all: the desk and bookshelves and table on the left, the open window in the middle, the cot at right, with Mrs. Falala lying on it, her eyes closed, her hands folded around a silver flute.
Shh, I whispered to Zep and Luke. I went closer.
Mrs. Falala? Mrs. Falala?
It was warm in the room and the breeze from the window was welcome.
Mrs. Falala? I don’t want to frighten you, but—but— I touched her arm lightly. Oh. Oh. I looked up at Zep and Luke and felt so utterly sad.
Luke came up behind me and patted my back. Then he leaned over and patted Mrs. Falala’s hand. It’s sort of stiff, he said.
Zep said, I’ll tell the others.
Thanks. We’ll wait here.
I didn’t want her to be