Jubilee

  Most of the time I’d take the tiller, guiding us wherever I wanted to go.

  Best of all, Gideon and I were quiet. He didn’t mind my not speaking. Not one bit.

  “Back soon,” he told Aunt Cora on our way out the door. “Unless Red and I decide to head for the Fiji Islands.”

  I put my hand out, in a stay there motion, and Dog closed his eyes.

  Halfway to the wharf, Gideon stopped. “Someone is coming with us tonight, Red. A new partner on our Saturday night ocean voyage.”

  I walked around him and went toward the boat. Saturday nights were Gideon’s and mine, not a new partner’s.

  Gideon followed. “A nice kid. Big family.”

  A girl with a big family?

  The island wasn’t that big. Maybe someone had just moved across from the mainland.

  But suppose she wanted to take the tiller?

  To decide where we’d go?

  To talk when Gideon and I were quiet?

  I closed my eyes and shut out those thoughts. I was looking for a friend, wasn’t I?

  “A good worker too,” Gideon went on. “Scrubbed the deck the other day. Wait till you see it.”

  Scrubbing out the boat. Smelly. Sticky. Gideon and I hated to do it.

  I looked up at Gideon’s face. How old was she?

  Gideon read my mind. “The same age as you, Red. And you need a better friend than an old guy like me.”

  I ducked my head to show him I wasn’t Saturday-night happy, but he didn’t notice. He wasn’t always as good with my signals as Aunt Cora was.

  We stepped onto the wharf; I breathed in the smell of the sea and heard the waves lapping against the pilings. In front of us was Gideon’s shiny boat, the Take It Easy.

  Mason sat on the side bench, waiting for us.

  Mason!

  His leg was bent, and he scratched a mosquito-bitten ankle. He looked like the lone egret that fished at the Ivy Cottage pond.

  I climbed onto the boat, angling past his skinny legs, his knobby knees, and his big feet.

  I sat as far away from him as I could. It wasn’t very far. Gideon’s boat wasn’t that big.

  Gideon jumped in, heavy enough to tilt us sideways, a feeling I usually loved.

  “Mason,” he said. “This is Judith.”

  “Hi,” Mason said to my back.

  Gideon revved up the motor. “Want to take her out, Red?”

  At least he hadn’t asked Mason.

  I wanted to show Mason I could do that easily. But I’d have to scramble past him again.

  I shook my head and looked straight ahead at the small boats docked on our starboard side. As we passed, each one rocked from our wake.

  We motored out on that calm water, Gideon singing in his deep voice. I drew gulls getting ready for the night, one wearing a pair of striped pajamas, the other with a puffy nightcap.

  I turned, just an inch, so I could see what Mason was doing. His head was tilted as he watched a pair of large gray gulls circle, then dive into the water for their dinner.

  Under my feet, the deck was clean. Gideon was right. Mason had done a good job, which made me feel worse.

  Maybe Mason would be around forever: in my classroom, on our boat.

  Maybe even at Ivy Cottage.

  I swallowed, then began a wishing game that Aunt Cora and I played at breakfast. Sometimes they’re silly wishes, like sailing to Antarctica after lunch. But sometimes serious ones, like my mother coming in on the ferry.

  “Judith,” she’d call. “Get your pad, your favorite straw hat, and climb aboard. We’re leaving this minute. Wave goodbye to Mason.”

  A motorboat chugged past us now, throwing up waves that splashed over the side of our boat.

  Mason jumped.

  Without thinking, I looked straight into his eyes. I didn’t care if he could see I was angry.

  Hadn’t he invaded the seat next to me in my new classroom?

  And now he’d taken my favorite seat on this boat.

  What nerve!

  Gideon veered around the side of the island, going west, straight into the sun.

  I squinted at the glowing path the sun sent across the sea. I could almost reach out and run my fingers through the liquid gold water.

  If only my mother could see that water and hear Gideon’s warm voice singing “Red Sails in the Sunset.”

  Maybe she’d want to come back home to our island.

  Cuddled under my quilt on Sunday morning, there was just enough time to draw a cartoon of Dog. He lay on his back, tongue lolling, all four paws in the air.

  “Ah, no school today, I’m free as a bird,” said the bubble over his head. Me too!

  Aunt Cora and I walked to church. On the way, we heard the organ playing and Gideon singing “Bread of Angels.” Inside, there were chrysanthemums in silver vases and green bows on the altar.

  I prayed, Let me open my mouth. Let me sing. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

  That was what happened every Sunday.

  But after church, I remembered: homework!

  It was a day filled with sunshine, a sky that was totally blue; leaves fluttered in the breeze. But I went to my room to find the yellow homework paper that rested under my bed with a few dust balls.

  Choose one living thing from the island. Can you tell something about it? We want to know.

  Actually not such a bad assignment. I might sit under the wharf and find a sea star, or maybe a killy that’d escaped from the bait man’s trap.

  But suppose Mason was there?

  I leaned forward. “We’ve had enough of Mason, right?” I whispered to sleeping Dog.

  He opened one eye.

  I tucked the paper into one pocket and my cartoon book into the other and went down the hall with Dog behind me, yawning.

  Aunt Cora pattered back and forth in the kitchen. She was beginning to fix dinner for later: ham and beans thick with molasses, and a spinach salad with apple slices from the tree in the garden. It would be hours before we ate.

  “Love you, Jubilee,” Aunt Cora said as I headed for the door.

  I grinned at her and tapped the molding. Sometimes the tap meant I love you too. Sometimes it meant I’m on my way out. And sometimes it didn’t mean anything more than It’s a great day. Aunt Cora could always figure it out.

  Outside, the day was warm, but I could feel fall in the air. As I walked, a single orange leaf fluttered from a maple tree, and two perfect red leaves lay on the path. I reached down and tucked one inside my pad.

  Summer was almost over.

  I stopped in front of Ivy Cottage, remembering the shoe print I’d seen on the sandy floor.

  I moved the rock and took the old broom from the ruined steps. Someone had rested it against the wooden railing a long time ago, and most of the straw must have become part of some bird’s nest.

  I took it inside, and tried not to look at the print. But my eyes went toward that mark…

  It was gone.

  The grains of sand had rearranged themselves. Maybe a cool wind had come in through the broken window and changed the pattern.

  I swept anyway.

  Down the hall.

  In the corners…

  And glanced in the living room.

  Another print.

  I stood still, listening.

  The caw of a crow sounded outside. Inside, it was silent except for the swish of the broom and my sneakers as I swept over the print in the living room. A drift of sand remained in the doorway.

  But that was all right.

  Sand belonged.

  “Let’s go to the pond,” I whispered to Dog, and we headed outside, sinking down beside each other in the oozy grass on the edge.

  An egret swooped in on the other side. It was fierce-looking, with its crested head and eyes like shiny blue jewels. Eyes that saw all those poor fish under the surface. They’d never have a chance against that egret.

  Egret was not going to be on my yellow paper!

  Gideon sa
id everyone had to eat. True. But the egret was very sneaky about it.

  I leaned forward, my fingers dabbling in the cool water. Maybe I’d known all weekend what I wanted to write about.

  Two years ago, during a storm, a branch had fallen into the pond. Pieces of the wood had decayed so one end of it looked like lace. And now, in the center, a bale of turtles sunned themselves.

  As soon as they saw my shadow, they slid into the water and disappeared.

  I wrote about them: their shiny dark shells, their terrific night vision. I said that turtles had been around for more than a hundred million years, and the best part, some of them liked to play.

  I knew about them from a library book I read last year. I thought more about what Ms. Quirk had said. If you knew about something, maybe you appreciate it.

  I certainly liked turtles. Was it because I understood them?

  Once Gideon said that a snapping turtle had eyes close to the top of its head. At the bottom of the pond it could look up and watch the rest of the world go by.

  I poked my toes into the water. It was colder than it had been all summer. Turtles were cold-blooded, their temperature the same as the water. I tried to pretend I didn’t mind the cold either.

  I’m brave, I told myself, and Dog tilted his head, watching me.

  I tucked the turtle paper under a rock. I hoped Ms. Quirk wouldn’t mind the splotches of water from my wet fingers.

  Then I dashed into the pond, clothes and all. I dived underneath, and came up sputtering.

  It was freezing!

  I began to swim, taking long strokes until I was warm. Then I floated on my back, watching the clouds make patterns in the sky.

  Dog barked and I raised my head, but he’d turned away from me, staring at the trees and the dirt path that led away from the pond.

  Was someone there?

  I dived, swimming fast underwater, and in moments I was out of the pond.

  Dog had stopped barking; he wasn’t even looking toward the trees anymore.

  I was shivering. I wiped my hands on my jeans, picked up the yellow paper with two fingers, and started down the path.

  Halfway down, I saw what Dog had seen.

  Travis was curled up underneath a sycamore tree, turning the pages of a picture book.

  He’d escaped from Sophie again.

  I went quietly, so I wouldn’t bother him. Maybe he needed a little time alone, like the turtle. Besides, Sophie didn’t want me near him.

  Back home, with the sweet smell of molasses wafting through the house, I sat on the back porch, the sun drying my damp clothes.

  After dinner that night, Gideon scraped back his chair.

  “You’re the world’s best cook,” he told Aunt Cora on his way out. “And you’re the best artist, Red.” He tapped the cartoon I’d drawn of her, with a huge flowered apron tied around her waist. Then he went off to captain the ferry to the mainland.

  Aunt Cora and I slid bowls into the refrigerator, stacked the plates and put them in the dishwasher.

  I swiped the cloth over the table in huge, satisfying swirls and Aunt Cora whistled while she swept the floor. She sounded happy, almost as if she might be a rare bird that had appeared in our kitchen.

  When I was in my bedroom, I peered into the mirror and whistled too….

  Whistled quietly, but Dog would be able to hear me now.

  “It’s almost dark,” Aunt Cora said in her soft voice. “Let’s take a walk and watch the stars come out over the water.”

  I pulled our sweaters off the hook in the back hall, and draped her sweater over her shoulders. I wrapped mine around my waist, and snapped my fingers so Dog would know I wanted him to come too.

  Outside, the katydids’ song was loud as they rubbed their forewings together from the treetops. “They’re telling us fall is coming,” Aunt Cora said.

  We passed the wharf and trudged through the sand in our bare feet, cold now without the daytime sun to warm it. “Look up, Jubilee,” Aunt Cora said. “There’s a sliver of moon, making friends with one bright planet called Venus.”

  I smiled thinking about it. I loved the way she talked; I always knew what she was thinking. If only I could tell her that.

  I looked out at the shimmering water, the gentle waves brushing the shore, and the boats tied up against the wharf.

  I saw something else. Dog saw it too.

  Someone was hiding in one of those boats, a neat little one with a furled red sail and a name painted on the stern in large black and gray letters: Escape from the Shore.

  That boat belonged to a friend of Gideon’s, another ferry captain. A friend who was much bigger than the person crouching in the stern!

  I kept watching, my hand on Dog’s head so he wouldn’t bark.

  Who could it be?

  Ah! It was Mason, hiding in a boat that didn’t belong to him.

  Was he going to steal it?

  Dog gave the tiniest warning, a short gruff sound under his breath.

  Someone was running fast along the sand in back of us.

  I spun around and Aunt Cora turned.

  A barefoot teenager, wearing cutoff jeans, stopped. “I’m looking for my brother, Mason. That kid is such a mess.” He bent over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. “I told him he could borrow my best sneakers, and now they’re green. Covered with seaweed. Wait till I get him.”

  My finger was ready to point. But when I glanced at the boat, I couldn’t see Mason. All I saw was the boat rocking gently.

  Aunt Cora and the boy looked toward the line of boats. But my eyes were better than theirs. I saw Mason’s hands curled around the side of the boat. He was in the water, head submerged.

  How long could he hold his breath?

  I curled my own fingers against my sides.

  Aunt Cora shook her head. “I haven’t seen anyone. Just the two of us looking at stars.”

  The water would be much colder than the sun-warmed pond. I was glad when I saw his head pop up to the surface.

  On Monday morning, I was out of bed in a flash, starving. Downstairs, I put kibble into Dog’s bowl. Aunt Cora poured orange juice into glasses and spooned raspberries on top of my cereal.

  “Make a wish, Jubilee.”

  I pictured staying home from school forever, wandering around Ivy Cottage and the pond, as Dog and I grew old as redwood trees.

  Instead I drew a cartoon of a girl and a dog slurping a dripping ice cream cone. “Yum!” said the balloon over their heads.

  “Too early for me,” Aunt Cora said, and we grinned at each other.

  I remembered the permission slip then and ran to get it. “Lovely field trip.” She signed her name. She dropped a kiss on my head and was off to work at the church.

  I had at least ten minutes before school, a good feeling. I walked out back and helped myself to a plum from a low-hanging branch. Then I walked slowly along the road with Dog.

  Sophie was coming out of her house with Travis. I remembered the stone houses we used to build, and felt that pain in my chest. Nobody wants you.

  She saw me and would have kept going, but Travis pulled hard on her hand. “There’s my friend, the No-Talk Girl.”

  “Shhh.” Sophie gave him a gentle push. “She doesn’t talk to us; we don’t talk to her.” They walked in front of me, Travis waving over his shoulder.

  I made fists, my nails digging into my palms, dropping my papers and Dog’s blanket. I picked them up slowly, telling myself I didn’t care.

  Didn’t care!

  At the maple tree, I flapped the blanket in the air, then let it settle. Dog settled too.

  I headed for the school door and turned to look at Dog, but someone was bending over the blanket.

  Mason!

  I went back to them, almost running. But Mason had disappeared into the trees.

  A thick biscuit lay on the edge of the blanket. Dog scarfed it up in two seconds, his tail waving wildly from right to left. That meant he was happy.

  Why had Mas
on done that?

  I hated to leave Dog with Mason still outside somewhere, but the bell would ring soon.

  Inside, teachers walked along the hall, calling hello to each other.

  My classroom door was still closed, so I backed up, trying to decide whether to go outside again. But Ms. Quirk padded along in sneakers. A canvas bag was slung over her shoulder, and her arms were loaded with books and small notepapers: blues and pinks, plaids and purples.

  The folded notes slid onto the floor that was shiny as an ice skating rink, the notes like small birds. “Help,” she said when she saw me.

  We scrambled for them, bumping heads. “Sorry.” She smiled. “All my partner papers.”

  She threw open the door, and kids piled in behind us.

  “It’s too beautiful to be stuck in Room Fourteen all day.” She held up her hand. “Drop your permission slips on my desk, and don’t forget your homework. And then you’ll each get a note with the name of your partner.”

  I put my turtle paper and the signed permission slip on the corner of her desk and saw my partner note. I opened it.

  Sophie!

  My mouth went dry.

  I spun around; she was right behind me. I watched as she picked up her paper. It had to have my name!

  She shook her head, her lips tight.

  I went back to my seat, holding my head up. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mason come in.

  He slid into his seat. “Thanks.”

  What did he mean?

  “For not telling that I was in the boat.”

  I raised one shoulder just a bit.

  All the notes were taken now. Everyone had a partner. Ms. Quirk clapped her hands. “You’re going to work together for the first time today. But now let’s get out of here.”

  Chairs were scraped back. Harry and Conor raced to the door.

  “Do you want the whole school to hear?” Ms. Quirk asked, finger on her lips.

  We stood still as statues.

  “We’re going to the field near the water,” she said. “Take pencils and paper. We’re out to find life.” She grinned. “Wild or otherwise.”

  She gave out cardboard boxes. “We’ll collect treasures at the dunes. Shells that once housed creatures. We’ll wave safe trip to the red-winged blackbirds that are ready to fly south. Sad for them to leave this beautiful island.”