Thimble Summer (11 page)

All the same she would have ridden on one if she had had a nickel. A wave of longing swept over her for her home. No noises there but natural ones, like crickets and cows and roosters in the morning.

Down and down the sloping street she walked; passing again all the windows full of treasure. And over and over she said to herself like a poem:

“A dime for the book and a nickel for the plane;

A dime for father's handkerchief,

A dime for mother's ruby ring.”

But then of course she had to add: “And a nickel for a hot dog for me!”

And there was nothing for Eric. Oh she felt ashamed of herself. She should have known better at her age, but that half dollar had looked so big. She had never had all that money to spend before. How disgusted Jay would be! Now there was nothing to do but try to get a free ride home.

Somehow it seemed easier to ask somebody on a country road than right in the middle of a town like this. She walked and walked. The afternoon burned with a deeper light; soon it would be time for supper. Home seemed as far away as Egypt.

The houses grew smaller and shabbier and fewer as she walked, and now she could smell the sweet soft smell of fields. Think of it! In a few hours she had forgotten how they smelled, and how still they were except for the crickets.

Every time a car went by she turned and raised her hand, but always the car whizzed past her scornfully.

The strapped shoes hurt worse and worse, and she was just going to take them off and go barefoot, when she heard another car coming. She straightened up, raising her hand. She saw that it was a truck, with a big load of something.

The truck slowed down and stopped, and the driver looked at Garnet.

“Want a lift, kid?” he asked.

He had a nice kind of face Garnet thought, so she said, “Yes I do!” and climbed in beside him. The air around them was full of cluckings and hen sounds, and when she looked out of the little window behind her head she saw that the truck was loaded with crates of chickens.

“Where are you taking them?” she asked.

“Wholesale market over to Hanson,” said the driver. “Each one of them chickens was born and raised to be somebody's Sunday dinner.”

“Oh,” said Garnet. She didn't look at the chickens again, but she couldn't help hearing them.

“Where are you going, kid?” asked the driver.

“I live in a little place called Esau's Valley,” she said anxiously. “It's three miles this side of Blaiseville, do you go anywhere near it?”

“Sure do,” said the driver reassuringly. “Drive right through it on my way to Hanson.”

Oh the good smells of fields in the country! They could have their trolley cars, those city people. Yes, and they could have their green stoves and fur coats, and hot dogs and everything else.

“Been shopping?” asked the driver looking at her bundle.

“I certainly have,” said Garnet laughing. “That's why I'm hitchhiking home; I spent every penny I had!”

Then she told him all the things she'd bought, and all about her family.

When they drove down the main street of Hodgeville Garnet heard a sort of crash, and she saw a boy yelling and pointing. She stuck her head out of the window. Behind them there were chickens running all over the street.

“Stop!” shouted Garnet to the driver. “One of the crates fell off and it's broken.”

“Them doggone chickens,” sighed the driver as he stopped the truck. He sounded as if this had happened to him before. “I tell you I'd rather be hauling a load of wild bull elephants!”

Garnet hopped out too, and began chasing hens. Cars honked and could not pass; heads poked out of upstairs windows, and people stopped on the sidewalk. Hodgeville's one policeman, Gus Winch, appeared from nowhere and gave advice. People laughed and laughed.

Garnet grabbed at and caught a rust-colored hen by its feet. She reached for another on the radiator cap of a car. The truck driver already had three wildly clucking scrambling bundles of feathers in his arms.

“How many more are out?” panted Garnet, holding onto the hens.

“Let's see. We've got five; must be one more someplace.” The truck driver was very red in the face. He picked up the broken crate, set it right side up and dropped the protesting chickens into it. Then he put another crate on top and ran into a hardware store to borrow a hammer.

Garnet saw some bushy black tail feathers disappearing into the open door of a furniture store. She ran after them. What a chase she had! The chicken scrambled under rocking chairs and flapped noisily over tables and upholstered sofas. Half a dozen times her fingers touched its feathers, but each time it got away. Finally she crawled under a wicker settee in a corner and caught it. The furniture store man was upset.

“We ain't used to having poultry loose in here,” he complained, and glared at Garnet as though she had done it on purpose.

Garnet tucked the chicken under her arm, begged the store man's pardon, and went outside again.

But no sooner was she outdoors than the hen gave a lurch and a wriggle, and half flying, half running, went skittering down the street. Hands reached for it, feet pursued it, but the bad black chicken was a match for them all. It sped and dodged along the pavement, clucking furiously, spread its wings and with a last despairing leap landed heavily on top of the swinging sign above a restaurant door.

People laughed and laughed. The street echoed with laughter. The black hen did look funny on its precarious perch, grumbling and muttering and arranging its feathers; and printed in red letters on the sign below it were the words: “Chicken Dinners Our Specialty.”

“
Now
what in time am I going to do!” said Garnet.

The truck driver ran out of the hardware store with a ladder; and no sooner had he set it against the wall than Garnet was halfway up it with her pigtails flying. She was bound that she would get that chicken. And before the chicken could do more than stand up and cluck and prepare to depart, she had it by the leg.

She looked down triumphantly at the truck driver's face. She felt proud.

“Well here it is,” she said. “My goodness, I never saw such a chicken!”

She held it close to her and climbed carefully down the ladder. Now that she had it she felt half sorry that she'd caught it. You couldn't blame a chicken for not wanting to be a dinner.

“Well, by gosh,” said the truck driver admiringly, “you sure did a good piece of work that time, kid.” And bystanders laughed and congratulated her. She heard an old man saying, “That little girl skinned up that ladder like the devil was after her. Quickest thing I ever seen.”

The driver put the chicken in the crate with the others. Then he nailed down the top. Garnet noticed that he left the ends of two laths unnailed.

They got back into the truck again and started off. People waved and called good-bye, still smiling. You could see that they were grateful for having something unexpected to laugh at like that.

It was funny, thought Garnet. This morning Jay had scolded her for doing work badly; and now the truck driver had praised her for doing work well. It sort of made things even.

The driver mopped his hot face with a blue handkerchief, and Garnet brushed off her dress. It was dirty from scrambling around after chickens, and there were pecked places on her arms, but she felt wonderful.

“Does this happen often?” she asked politely.

The driver laughed. “Well, not so often,” he said. “But once two dozen of my hens got loose in Chicago in the Loop District. Boy, we had city traffic tied up for half an hour. Didn't lose a hen though. Found 'em in buses and barber shops and I don't know what all.”

He smiled at Garnet. “They're good hens though. I've won plenty of prizes on 'em up and down the state, and next month I'm going to exhibit them at the New Conniston fair and see what I get.”

He reached into his pocket and tossed a little book into Garnet's lap. On the cover was printed:

PREMIUM LIST

Rules and regulations of the

SOUTHWESTERN

WISCONSIN FAIR

New Conniston, Wisconsin

September 9-10-11-12.

The back cover was more interesting. It said:

SPECIAL ATTRACTIONS

THE GREAT ZORANDER

3    ACTS    3

The most daring and miraculous feats of balance 75 feet in mid-air. No safety devices!

THE JEWEL GIRLS AND BRUNO

2    acts    2

Two ladies and a man who are sure to please with acrobatics and clean comedy

HANK HAZZARD and his HAYSEEDS

Musicians  and  dancers  who have staggered Broadway with their versatility.

ALSO  many  other  acts  of distinction  and  merit  too numerous to name!

Garnet decided not to miss the fair this year if she could help it; she opened the book and looked at the list of entries. It seemed as if you could exhibit anything in the world, from cows to cross-stitch, from swine to sweet pickles!

As she glanced at the livestock lists something caught her eye: some words in a column under “Class D — Swine Department.” She read: “For best boar under six months, first prize — $3.50, second prize — $1.50.”

After all Timmy would be four months old by the ninth of September, and he was certainly the handsomest little pig Garnet had ever seen (thanks to her care). Imagine if he won a prize!

“May I keep this?” she asked.

“Sure thing,” said the driver cheerfully. “Are you planning on exhibiting something?”

“A young hog,” explained Garnet, and told him about Timmy.

“Well, I hope they pin a ribbon on him for you,” said the truck driver. “Sounds like they might, too.”

They came into Esau's Valley, now. Garnet's valley too. As long as she lived and wherever she lived this valley would belong to her in a special way because she knew it all by heart.

“Where to, kid?” asked the driver.

“I'll get off at that side road by the mailboxes,” said Garnet.

But when she had thanked him and jumped down, she was surprised to see that he too had gotten out and was walking around to the back of the truck.

“Wait a minute, kid,” he commanded; he was pulling out the broken crate. Then he swung the two loose-ended laths apart and put his hand in. There was a scuffling and clucking in the crate; and when he brought his hand out again it was holding the bad black chicken by the legs.

“Here's a present for you,” said the driver coughing. “I'd never of been able to round up all them hens if it hadn't been for you.”

‘Oh I
couldn't!
” cried Garnet. But she knew very well that she could, and that she probably would, because she wanted that chicken terribly.

“Now listen to me,” said the truck driver. “You'll be doing me a favor by taking this hen off my hands. She's a born troublemaker and she don't like me. Why I wouldn't be surprised if she pushed that blame crate off the truck all by herself! And I have a feeling she's tough besides and nobody will buy her for Sunday dinner. So how about it?”

“We—ll,” said Garnet, and she put her hand out to take the chicken. “Oh you don't know how glad I am to have her! I hated to think of her on a platter with mashed potatoes and gravy.”

“Okay, kid. So long,” said the driver, jumping into his truck. And before she could thank him properly, or say good-bye, he was half a mile away in a cloud of dust.

Garnet held the chicken under her arm. Now after all she had a present to give to Eric, and one that he would like better than anything else; a live thing that belonged to himself alone, that he could feed and take care of and build a little house for.

“Nobody will eat you, poor chicken,” said Garnet to the hen, who looked tired and dejected, with her red comb drooping.

The road was striped with late afternoon tree shadows. She saw someone walking towards her; it was Mr. Freebody.

“Hello, Mr. Freebody,” shouted Garnet, but she couldn't wave because of the bundle in one arm and the hen in the other. And she couldn't run to meet him because her shoes hurt her so badly.

“Look at my chicken, Mr. Freebody!” said Garnet, “and look at my bundle. It's all presents!”

Mr. Freebody didn't say anything.

“I hitchhiked too, just like Eric,” she continued.

Still Mr. Freebody didn't say anything. It was queer. Garnet looked at him.

“Are you mad, Mr. Freebody?” she asked.

Mr. Freebody was silent for a second or two longer; then he said, “Garnet, it's a funny thing. I ain't related to you in any way. But I've known your mama since she was littler than you. And I've known your dad longer than that; and you folks having a farm right next to mine and all of us being good friends has made me feel like I'm an uncle to you or a granddad or something of the sort. And I've had more worry from you than any young-one I ever knew. Why you wasn't more'n a year old when I took a safety pin out of your mouth. When you was about three I hauled you out of the crick all muddy and half-drowned. When you was a little older than that you climbed up a tree in my orchard and couldn't get down again; I had to fetch you down with a ladder. And then when that mean bull over to Hausers' got after you, who was it pulled you over the pasture fence by the skirt of your dress? I did. And who gave you mustard and water when you et a bite out of that big pink toadstool you found in the woods? I did. And who picked you up and took you to the doctor the time you fell off that heifer you thought you could ride on? I did. Yes, and not so long ago you had us all scared white-haired when you and that little Hauser girl got locked in the liberry. Now. Here you get all upset over a squabble with Jay and off you go hitchhiking to the Lord knows where.”

“To New Conniston,” said Garnet in a small voice. This was terrible.

“All right, New Conniston,” said Mr. Freebody. “Eighteen miles away all by yourself, without a word to no one. I knew you was up to mischief when I saw you had shoes on. And that dress.”