Prairie Evers
Authors: Ellen Airgood
EVERS
ellen airgood
NANCY PAULSEN BOOKS
A division of Penguin Young Readers Group.
Published by The Penguin Group.
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Copyright © 2012 by Ellen Airgood.
All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, Nancy Paulsen Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014. Nancy Paulsen Books, Reg. U.S. Pat. & Tm. Off.
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Published simultaneously in Canada.
Printed in the United States of America. Design by Ryan Thomann. Text set in Minister Light.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Airgood, Ellen. Prairie Evers / Ellen Airgood. p. cm.
Summary: “Ten-year-old Prairie is happy being home-schooled and raising her flock of chickens, so transferring to regular school is a big change, but fortunately she meets a wonderful friend”— Provided by publisher. [1. Farm life—New York (State)—Fiction. 2. Family life—New York (State)—Fiction. 3. Chickens—Fiction. 4. Schools—Fiction. 5. Friendship—Fiction. 6. Grandmothers—Fiction. 7. New Paltz (N.Y.)—Fiction.] I. Title. PZ7.P28114Pr 2012 [Fic]—dc23 2011046789
ISBN: 978-1-101-57531-4
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
For my mother,
Anita Ann Airgood,
the backbone of my happy childhood.
CONTENTS
10. Bye-Bye, Miss American Pie
11. The Best of Times and the Worst of Times
36. Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained
39. The Longest Minutes in the History of the World
40. The Air During a Thunderstorm
42. She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain When She Comes
44. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
THE OLD SHOE
Just exactly
one year ago, right after midnight on New Year’s Eve, my grammy told me, “Prairie, I have ushered in the new year with you, and that is all I can do. A body as old as me has only got so much time left. I’ve got to go home.”
I stared at her, my hand hanging above the Monopoly board. I was the top hat and Grammy was the old shoe. Those are the pieces we always chose. I’d thought she seemed a little distracted—she let Reading Railroad go without a peep, and normally Grammy wouldn’t let a railroad go for
anything—but I’d put it down to the lateness of the hour. The big hand on the kitchen clock had already clicked past twelve with a little hop like it always does, and Mama and Daddy had tromped off to bed the very next instant. So it was just me and Grammy at the table, drinking RC Colas and playing Monopoly while outside the wind gnawed at the corners of the house and sent darts of cold in at the windows.
“You are now ten years of age. You’re well grown and have your mama and daddy to look after you. I’m going back to North Carolina where I belong.”
I could not believe what I was hearing. “But we just
got
here.” I didn’t feel that way really. We’d lived in New York State for three months so far and it already felt like a hundred years to me, but I had to try and talk her out of this idea any way I could.
“I’m sorry, child.”
“You
can’t
go. Where would you live?” Mama and Daddy sold our house on Peabody Mountain when we left North Carolina, and Grammy had always lived with us.
“I’ll go to Vine’s Cove. My roots are there, and here I’m withering like a tree yanked out of the earth.”
I thought, You are my earth. How will I grow up any more without you?
Grammy read my thoughts plain. “You’ll do all right. You have a good mama and daddy to help you along. But this life up north in New York State is not for me.”
“It’s not for me either,” I declared. “I’ll go with you.”
I felt a great gust of relief at that idea. Of course it was the answer. Vine’s Cove was the next closest thing to home, after Peabody Mountain. Grammy’s brother, Great-Uncle Tecumseh Vine, lived there, and I liked him. He lived way back in the mountainy woods in the cabin he was born in, a little old shack made of pine logs and plank floors. It didn’t look like much, but it had withstood the test of time for over one hundred years. That’s what Grammy always said anyway.
“You can’t do that, child. You have to stay here with your mama and daddy.”
“Maybe Mama and Daddy will move back too, if we’re there.”
“Prairie, child, use your head. You know they’ve just got started here. You know they could never get this much land down home. It’s only because your mama’s folks passed on to their greater reward that they’ve got this now.”
“Well, they may’ve gone on to their greater reward, but it hasn’t turned out so good for me,” I muttered. Then I ducked my head and hoped the Lord would not strike me down. Mama’s folks had perished in a car accident, and it was very tragic. I knew that the way you know something in your head, but I always felt guilty I didn’t feel it more in my heart. But the thing was, I never really knew them. They never got down to North Carolina and we never got up to New York State. Until now.
“Prairie, Prairie,” Grammy said, sounding sorrowful.
“But I don’t like it here. If you’re going home, I’m going too.”
“You can’t.”
“But—”
“You’re young, you’ll adjust. But my heart is broke, you see. I miss the smell of the mountains too much.”
“It smells like mountains here.” I couldn’t believe I was defending this place, but it was true. It did smell like mountains here, a little different from home but still mountains—rocky and mossy and shadowy and good. If that was her reason for going, I couldn’t let her get away with it.
Grammy gave me a sad, crinkly smile. “The plain fact is, I’m feeling old. My bones ache and my eyes are dim and my grinders have become few.” She meant that she didn’t have many of her own teeth left. She was grinning to take the sting out of all this, but it didn’t work.
“Grammy.”
“I’m not going to kick the bucket tomorrow. But I can’t live the last of my life up here, so far from the sights and sounds I grew up with. I expected I could make this change but I cannot. My heart has turned toward home and I have got to follow. I’m sorry.”
“But who will teach me?” I cried, my last stab at changing her mind.
“Your mama and daddy will finish out this school year.” There was something odd about the way she said it, something unfinished that made me uneasy for a moment, but I didn’t pay attention. My heart was so sad and surprised by what she was saying, I couldn’t think straight.
Grammy frowned and smooched her lips out and frowned some more—it was to keep any tears from escaping, I knew—and then she rolled the dice and marched the old shoe down the board three spaces. She said, “Look there now, I’ve landed on your railroad. What is it that I owe you?”
I wanted to say “nothing” and shove away from the table and go to bed without another word. But I didn’t. I stared at the board for a long time and then I said, “It is twenty-five dollars,” as she well knew, being the railroad magnate that she was.
