The Best Bad Luck I Ever Had (29 page)

 

 

 

ME AND EMMA STOOD SILENTLY ON THE tracks early the next morning, waiting for the train. The Walkers had all their belongings packed in a few neat, leather trunks. Emma clutched her own small suitcase. Pearl, Earl, Raymond and the rest of our family waited nearby.

It was gonna be a hot July day, but I felt cold. The train whistle made me shiver. When the eagle on the top of the locomotive flew into the station, for the first time ever I didn’t feel a thrill. I wanted to shoot it down out of the morning air.

The train lumbered to a stop and people began pouring out.

“Bye, Dit,” Emma said.

I swallowed hard. “Bye, Emma.”

There wasn’t time to say nothing else. Her parents bundled her onto the train. Emma turned to wave goodbye, then ducked into the car. A moment later the train pulled off.

“There’s the new postmaster,” said Pearl, pointing.

A white family stood on the platform. They had three children, a girl who was almost eleven, just like Pearl, and two boys, both thirteen. One of the boys carried a baseball glove.

“Hi, I’m Billy,” the boy said brightly. “That’s Tommy.”

“We’re twins,” said the other boy.

“But I’m older,” said Billy.

“Only by ten minutes.” They both had dark hair and light eyes, and if Billy hadn’t been carrying a glove, I wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart.

Mama made me carry their trunk home in my wagon. The twins chattered like chipmunks the whole way. I didn’t say much, and they didn’t seem to notice.

“Do you have your own glove?” Billy asked. “I do. See.” He held it up.

“I have one too,” said Tommy, “but mine’s in the trunk.”

“Well, do you?” asked Billy.

I just shook my head.

Soon as I could, I snuck off, leaving Billy and Tommy behind. In front of Mrs. Pooley’s store was a group of men, registering for the Fourth hunt. Mrs. Pooley carefully wrote down their names and took their money. I stood off to the side and watched them, but I didn’t join in. Didn’t even feel an urge to take the two dollars out of my pocket.

Instead, I went to the top of our mound and lit a small campfire. I carefully fed it bits of kindling. A train whistle sounded in the distance. I looked up.

Far off, a train was twisting along its track through the forest.

I pulled my flip-it out of my pocket and touched the carefully carved wood. A bird twittered in the branches of a nearby tree, a sparrow sitting on a low branch.

I put a rock into the flip-it and fired. The bird fell to the ground, dead. Gently, I scooped it up and put it down on a large flat rock. Then I tossed my flip-it into the fire.

The fire began to smoke. I picked up an old blanket and began to shake it over the fire, creating great billows of smoke. Probably wasn’t doing it right, but I hoped she could see them from the train. Smoke signals telling her how much I would miss her.

 

 

I sat on the mound all day till the fire had burned down and I didn’t have no more wood. Finally, as the sun was about to set, I saw Mrs. Pooley struggling up the hill, carrying the eagle in its cage.

“I couldn’t come till the hunt was over,” said Mrs. Pooley. She put the bird down and walked over to me. “Two dollars, we agreed on.” She held out her skinny hand.

I carefully smoothed the wrinkles out of the two dollar bills and laid them gently on her palm.

She looked at me suspiciously. “You didn’t steal this money, now, did you?”

“No.”

“All right, then. Don’t know why you want this old bird, but it’s yours.” She turned and hobbled back down the hill.

I looked at the eagle in the cage. She looked sad, worn down. I approached the cage carefully and unlocked the door. It swung open with a small squeak.

The eagle was surprised. I could tell she was thinking, This has never happened before, not in all the years I’ve been trapped in this cage. She pushed herself into the bars at the far end of the cage and cowered there.

I picked up the small dead sparrow and put it on the ground, just outside the cage door. “Come on, baby,” I said softly. “I killed one last bird, just for you.”

The eagle smelled the bird and hopped forward. She poked her beak out and snatched the sparrow back inside, eating it in two large gulps.

“Come out,” I coaxed her. “You’re free. Fly away.”

The eagle looked at me and cocked her head. At that moment, I would have sworn that she understood. She hopped out of the cage.

I felt the smile on my face, mixing with the tears.

The eagle hopped around once or twice, stretching her wings. Then all at once she jumped into the air. A wind picked up and sent her soaring, far into the rosy evening air, off into the sunset.

I WISH TO THANK THE FOLLOWING PEOPLE for their help with this project. First, a big thank-you to my wonderful agent, Kathy Green, and my talented editor, Stacey Barney, for making the process of completing my first book such an enjoyable experience.

Thank you also to the many people who read this story in all its different stages: Matt McNevin, Neil Conway, Kate Revelle, Sonja Levine, Roseann Mauroni, Ruth Williams and my other friends at Tuesdays at Two; Debbie Gaydos, Kristie Kehoe, John Douglass and my test “kid” readers, Karen and Claire Adler and Ciara Flosnik.

An extra-special thanks to my grandfather, Harry Otis Sims, for writing down his memories of his childhood in Moundville, Alabama. His recollections inspired this story. Thank you also to my grandmother, Maurine Sims, for typing those handwritten pages and to my aunts and uncle, Judy Reed, Joanmarie and H. O. Sims for copying those pages and giving them to all of the grandchildren.

Finally, I want to thank my family: my parents, Tom and Marlene Walker, my sister, Erika Knott, my daughter, Charlotte, and especially my husband, Adam Levine. Without their love and support this book would not have been possible.