Summer of the Monkeys

  Papa and I were about halfway to the blacksmith shop when Daisy poked her head out the back door and yelled, “Jay Berry, I’ve been thinking—if you go to live naked in a hollow tree way back in the mountains, you’d better be careful. A woodchopper might come along and chop that tree down with you in it.”

  I turned to yell something back, but before I could open my mouth, she giggled and disappeared in the house. I heard Mama laughing with her.

  “Women!” I grumbled. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand them. They think everything is funny.”

  “Aw, I don’t think you’re mad at the women,” Papa said. “I think you’re mad at yourself. Maybe those monkeys have something to do with it. You’ve been as grumpy as an old settin’ hen lately.”

  “I know, Papa,” I said. “I really couldn’t get mad at Mama and Daisy. I love them too much; but I want that pony and gun so bad, I can hardly stand it. If something happened to those monkeys, it’ll be the end of the world for me and that’s all there is to it. I’ll never get another chance to make that much money again—not ever.”

  Papa didn’t say anything right away. He just walked along looking down at the ground. Then in a low, deep voice, he said, “Son, if you really want that pony and gun—really want them—I’m pretty sure that someday you’ll have them.”

  I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

  “Do you really believe that, Papa?” I said. “Do you really think that someday I’ll have a pony and a gun?”

  “I sure do,” Papa said, nodding his head. “I believe a boy can have anything in life that he wants once he starts working for it. The main thing is not to give up. It makes no difference how tough things get, just bow your back, keep working, and put your heart and soul into it. As you go along your way, live a good clean life, don’t hurt anyone or anything, and always be honest. It doesn’t hurt to pray a little, too. If you do all of those things—someday you’ll have your pony and gun. You’ll get help when you least expect it.”

  “Help?” I said. “Who’s going to help me?”

  Papa looked at me and smiled. “I think I’ll let you figure that out,” he said.

  I was still trying to figure out what Papa meant when we opened the door to our blacksmith shop. Rowdy had followed us from the house. When he saw where we were going, he stuck his tail between his legs and went back. He didn’t like the flying sparks and the ringing anvil. He just didn’t like things like that.

  fourteen

  Thirty minutes later, Papa and I had our old blacksmith shop ringing. About that time, I looked through the open door and saw Daisy come out of the house and start up the trail to her playhouse. Rowdy was with her. He was walking along in front of her, wagging his tail as if he didn’t have a worry in the world. Daisy was hobbling along on her old crutch and was carrying a broom. Every few steps she would poke Rowdy in his rump with the broom and he seemed to be liking it. He was wiggling all over and snapping at the broom straws.

  I stopped turning the handle on the blower. Papa saw me looking out the door and he, too, turned and looked toward the hillside. For several seconds, Papa just stood there, with the tongs in one hand and a hammer in the other, watching Daisy and Rowdy make their way up the trail.

  Papa turned again to the anvil and whammed it with the hammer. “It’s tough to be a poor man, son,” he said, “it’s really tough.”

  “Papa,” I said, “is it true that Daisy’s old leg is getting worse all the time? Mama said it was.”

  Papa whammed the anvil again. “I’m afraid it is, son,” he said, “and there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it right now; but someday I will, or I’ll die trying.”

  “But, Papa,” I said, “Grandpa and Grandma are saving money, and so are you and Mama. How much money does it take to get Daisy’s leg straightened out?”

  “It takes a lot of money, son,” Papa said. “More money than all of us have; a lot of money.”

  Just then I heard Daisy yell from the hillside. I had never heard her yell like that. It was scary.

  “Mama, come quick! Hurry, Mama! Hurry!”

  Mama came flying out the back door. I could see that she was really scared. First, she looked toward the blacksmith where Papa and I were standing in the open door.

  From the hillside, Daisy yelled again, “Hurry, Mama! Oh, hurry!”

  Mama tore up the trail faster than I had ever seen her run. “What is it, Daisy?” she yelled. “Are you all right?”

  Papa looked at me. I could see the scare in his eyes. His face turned a pasty white. He dropped the hammer and tongs from his hands and snatched a pitchfork from the wall. He shouted, “Snake!” Then he tore out of the blacksmith shop in a loping run.

  When Papa shouted “Snake!” my old heart jumped clear up in my throat. I could just see a big diamondback rattler up in Daisy’s playhouse, all coiled up, buzzing and ready to sink his poison fangs into anything that moved; maybe he had already bitten Daisy.

  Papa was halfway across the barn lot before I caught up with him. We didn’t take time to open the gate. We just jumped the rail fence and headed up the trail to the playhouse.

  A little bell kept dinging in my head and seemed to be saying, “Something isn’t right. Something isn’t right.”

  When I finally figured out what it was, I said in a loud voice, “Papa, it’s not a snake.”

  “How do you know it’s not a snake?” Papa shouted.

  “Rowdy, Papa!” I said. “If there was a snake up there, you could hear him bawling all over these hills. You know that. It’s not a snake, I tell you.”

  Papa slowed down. “I guess you’re right,” he said, “but I wonder what it is.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but I know it’s not a snake.”

  When Papa and I came puffing up to the playhouse, we found Mama, Daisy, and Rowdy, all standing in a row, looking at the ground.

  Papa was holding the pitchfork out in front of him. “What is it? A snake?” he asked.

  No one said a word. It was as still as a sleeping ground hog around there.

  I looked down to see what they were looking at on the ground. I couldn’t see anything but a few little toadstools that had jumped up through the damp earth.

  “What is it?” Papa asked again, in a loud voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “Look, Papa!” Daisy said as she pointed with her hand. “It’s a fairy ring!”

  “A fairy what?” Papa asked.

  “A fairy ring, Papa,” Daisy whispered.

  Then I saw it—the snow-white circle of little toadstools in a ring that looked about ten feet around. Each toadstool was about the same height. I looked closer and could see that the little stools were the same distance apart—about eight inches. The snow-white ring, the height of the stools, and the distance between each stool was so perfect I could have sworn that someone had planted them.

  All my life I had heard stories of the fairy ring: how rare it was, one of the rarest things ever to be found in the Ozark Mountains, and how lucky it was to find one. I knew there was a legend about the ring but I was so stunned I couldn’t remember it. I just stood there with my mouth open.

  I looked at Mama. I had never seen such an awed expression on her face, or such a warm, tender glow in her eyes. She knelt down, reached out, and touched one of the little toadstools with her hand.

  In a low voice, Mama said, “A fairy ring! Oh, how wonderful! So very few have been found. It’s a miracle—that’s what it is—a miracle!”

  Then I noticed something that I hadn’t noticed before. A strange silence had settled over the hills. No birds were singing. No squirrels were chattering. I couldn’t hear a thing. It was so quiet.

  I couldn’t remember a day that you couldn’t hear something around our home: a cackling chicken, a grunting hog, or a mooing cow. I kept listening and waiting to hear something—any kind of sound. But there was nothing—absolutely nothing—just silence all around us.

  “Isn’t there a legend ab
out the fairy ring?” Papa said, in a low voice. “Seems like I heard something about it once.”

  “There is, Papa,” Daisy said. “It’s an old, old legend—hundreds of years old—and I believe it, too.”

  “Tell us about it, Daisy,” Papa said.

  If Papa had gone all over the world, he couldn’t have found a better storyteller than my little sister. They just didn’t make them any better.

  “All right, Papa, I will,” she said.

  “According to the legend, fairies make the ring so they’ll have a place to dance. Some of the fairies sit on the toadstools and clap their hands while the other fairies dance in the circle.

  “Whoever finds a fairy ring is very, very lucky. If you step in the center of the ring, kneel down and make a wish, the wish will come true.”

  Papa looked at Mama. “Say, I remember now,” he said. “Not long after we came here from Missouri, someone found a fairy ring. Don’t you remember that?”

  “Yes,” Mama said, “I remember all about it. There’s a story about that fairy ring—quite a story.”

  “Oh, Mama, tell us,” Daisy said. “Please, Mama.”

  Mama smiled and glanced at Papa and me. She could see by the looks on our faces that we wanted to hear the story, too.

  “It happened not long after we moved here from Missouri,” she said. “I’ll never forget it. You children were just little things at the time.”

  For a few seconds, Mama stopped talking.

  Never taking her eyes from that snow-white ring, she said, “Up the river a way, there’s a place called Hanging Rock Bluff. Just this side of Hanging Rock, there’s a big hollow called Pea Vine Hollow. At the head of it lived a family by the name of Garland. They had a young daughter by the name of Luann, who was in love with a boy by the name of Johnnie George. They were to be married and had already set the wedding date.

  “Luann and Johnnie were such a nice young couple and so well liked that people from all over the hills started making up a dowry for them. They were given a team of mules, a milk cow, chickens, pigs, and all kinds of farm machinery; even a little money. It was going to be a big wedding and everyone in the hills was invited.”

  Mama paused and again she reached out and fingered one of the little toadstools.

  “About a month before Luann and Johnnie were to be married, something terrible happened,” she said. “Johnnie George was called away to war. Luann’s heart was broken but she went right on with her wedding plans as if nothing had happened. She even made her wedding dress.

  “Luann got one letter from Johnnie. He told her that he was serving with Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders. Then months went by and not another word was heard. The Garland family felt so sorry for her. Everyone in the hills felt sorry for her. But Luann wouldn’t give up. She told everyone that her Johnnie would come home and they would be married.

  “Then one day Old Man George came to the Garland home. He had a letter from the War Department—Johnnie George was missing in action.

  “People said when Luann heard Johnnie was missing she went out of her mind. From that day, she never spoke one word to anyone—not a word. She walked around as if she were in a daze, and started taking long walks in the hills. People said that many times, on moonlight nights, she would put on her wedding dress and go walking in the hills all alone—just walking along with her head bowed. It was so sad.

  “One morning, right after a rainstorm, while she was walking in the hills, she found a fairy ring. She had heard the old legend and so she stepped into the center of the ring, knelt down, and made a wish—a wish that God would send Johnnie George home to her.

  “Three days later, in the twilight of evening, just as the Garlands had seated themselves at the supper table, they heard someone singing. All excited, Luann got up from the table. With tears in her eyes and a smile on her face, she looked at her mother and said, ‘Mama, Johnnie’s coming home!’

  “Those were the first words that Luann had spoken in a long, long time.

  “The Garlands rushed out onto the porch of their home and looked down the road. Sure enough, it was Johnnie George coming. He was wearing his army uniform and had a white bandage around his head. He was walking along so proud; tall and straight; and with his shoulders thrown back. At the top of his voice, he was singing the old mountain song ‘It’s Whippoorwill Time.’ ”

  Mama hesitated and said, “Let’s see, I used to know the words of that old song. Let’s see—oh, yes—I remember.

  “In the twilight of evening

  When everything’s still

  A song can be heard

  In the Ozark hills.

  It’s whippoorwill time. It’s whippoorwill time.”

  “I know of no music

  That has such a thrill

  As the twilight song

  Of an old whippoorwill.

  It’s whippoorwill time. It’s whippoorwill time.

  “Children stop playing

  And old ones stand still

  And listen to the song

  Of an old whippoorwill.

  It’s whippoorwill time. It’s whippoorwill time.

  “In the peaceful silence

  While lightning bugs glow

  All work is forgotten

  For the mountain folk know

  It’s whippoorwill time. It’s whippoorwill time.

  “When I leave this old world

  And climb that steep hill

  I hope I am followed

  By an old whippoorwill.

  It’s whippoorwill time. It’s whippoorwill time.

  “I know he’ll be singing

  As I walk along

  His song of the hills

  The whippoorwill song.

  It’s whippoorwill time. It’s whippoorwill time.”

  After Mama had finished the song, it was very quiet for a few minutes.

  Then Daisy said, “Oh, Mama, it’s such a beautiful story. Did Luann and Johnnie get married?”

  “Yes,” Mama said, nodding her head, “Luann and Johnnie got married. It was one of the biggest weddings ever held in these hills. They live in Pea Vine Hollow and have a wonderful family. I met them once at your grandfather’s store.”

  I looked at Daisy. She was standing there, leaning on that old crutch and looking at the fairy ring. Two big tears were slowly rolling down her cheeks.

  Again I noticed that strange silence that had settled over the hills. I looked up into the branches of the big red oak. There on a limb sat a gray squirrel. He wasn’t making a sound. He was just sitting there as still as a rock, peering down on us. Even his bushy tail wasn’t jumping and that was very unusual.

  A little wren flew in from the mountains and lit on a low branch of the red oak. I had never seen a wren that could sit still for very long. They seem to be such nervous little birds and are always hopping around and making a racket. That wren never moved or made a sound. It just sat there on the limb as still as a broken fiddle and seemed to be looking at Daisy.

  I glanced to my right just as a chipmunk darted to the top of an old hickory stump. He sat up on his tail end, as stiff as a broom handle, with his small front paws bent downward. He never made a squeak. He just sat there as still as the stump he was sitting on, peering at us with his beady little eyes.

  Papa had noticed the silence, too. I could tell by the way he looked around.

  I couldn’t stand that silence. I knew if I didn’t say something I was either going to bust wide open or start bawling.

  “Boy,” I said, in a quavering voice, “it sure is still around here. Why doesn’t somebody say something?”

  “Well, if finding a fairy ring means you can make a wish and it will come true,” Papa said, “I think we should step in this one and make a wish.”

  “I do, too; and I think Daisy should make the first wish. She found the fairy ring,” Mama said.

  “Oh, no, Mama,” Daisy said, “you make the first wish. Please, Mama.”

  “Go ahead, Daisy,”
Papa said. “Make a wish. After all, you were the one that found it.”

  “Go ahead, Daisy,” I said. “Make a wish. You found it.”

  I knew what my wish was going to be. That was no problem. I was going to wish that I could catch those monkeys, make all that money, and get a pony and a .22.

  Daisy smiled. “All right,” she said, “I will.”

  She closed her eyes and said, “Let’s see now. What can I wish for? What can I wish for?” Then, clapping her hands together to show her delight, she said, “I know what I’ll wish for—I know exactly what I’ll wish for.”

  Just before Daisy stepped into the center of the ring to make her wish, she turned her head and looked straight at me. Her blue eyes were as bright as the morning star and a warm smile tugged at her lips.

  When I saw my little sister kneeling in the center of that snow-white circle, and that old crutch laying on the ground beside her, I forgot about ponies and .22s. I wanted my little sister to get that old leg of hers fixed up. I wanted that more than anything I had ever wanted in my life. That was going to be my wish.

  Once I had made up my mind, I felt pretty good about it. In fact, I had never felt better in my life. I looked at Mama and Papa. They were watching Daisy as she knelt in the center of the fairy ring.

  I had never seen such tender, longing looks on their faces. I was pretty sure I knew what their wishes were going to be. They were going to wish for the same thing I was.

  Mama and Papa tried to get me to make the second wish but I out-argued them. I told them that I wanted to be last.

  All my life I had been wishing for things. Everything you could think of. I had made a million wishes. But the morning I knelt in the center of the fairy ring, I wished harder than I ever had before. I put all my heart and soul into that wish.

  After we had made our wishes and were standing there looking at the fairy ring, Mama said in a low voice, “I’ve been hoping and wishing for so long. I hope the good fairy grants me this one wish—just this one wish.”

  “Don’t tell anyone what you wished,” Daisy said. “If you do, the wish won’t come true.”

  “Well,” Papa said, “it looks like we’ve done about all we can here, and there’s a lot of work to be done. All we can do now is wait and see if our wishes come true.”