Moo

  Her . . . parents?

  Yes, what’s her lineage?

  Her . . . lineage? I’m sorry, sir,

  but I do not know.

  Well, you surprise me.

  This looks like a fine young heifer

  and I would think you’d want to know

  what her lineage is.

  My guess is that there’s a champion

  in there somewhere.

  Oh! Yes, wait. I think that’s right.

  I think she comes from

  a long line of champions.

  You think?

  I’m new at this. I’m sorry.

  Don’t worry, next time you’ll know,

  won’t you?

  Yes, sir.

  Zora placed fourth out of nine

  and received praise from the judge

  for her fine proportions

  and good lines.

  And you, he said to me,

  have good posture and a nice smile

  and a good relationship with Zora.

  But—she bolted earlier—

  The judge patted Zora’s back.

  Oh, just a little stubbornness.

  The important thing is

  you didn’t lose your cool

  and you tried again.

  As we left the ring, I stroked Zora’s head

  and whispered to her

  Do you hear that?

  We have a good relationship.

  I was eager to see Zep and my family,

  and as I searched the crowd for them,

  I spotted a woman with a long, white braid

  but

  it was not

  Mrs. Falala.

  I felt sorry that she wasn’t there

  but then I told myself

  maybe she would have been

  disappointed.

  In Zora.

  In me.

  But there were others who were

  not disappointed.

  My parents’ smiles were so wide

  and my mom kept saying

  How do you do that?

  How did you learn all that?

  Luke ran up to me and hugged my waist

  and would not let go.

  It was so good, Reena. Wasn’t it good?

  Was it fun? Did you like it?

  Zep followed me

  as I returned to the stall with Zora.

  He leaned in close to her

  and stroked her head

  and looked her in the eyes

  and said

  You were riot good, Zora.

  Riot good.

  He turned to me and leaned in close

  and said

  You, too, Reena.

  You were riot good.

  RIDES

  After all the Beltie events, Zora was loaded in the van with Yolanda and with the other animals from Birchmere Farm. Zep promised to resettle Zora and Yolanda back at Mrs. Falala’s, so Mom, Dad, Luke, and I stayed on at the fair.

  Luke wanted me to go on all the rides with him, and even though I felt too old for that, I went because Luke begged and because I secretly wanted to go on them anyway.

  Roller coaster! Tilt-A-Whirl! Even my parents joined us on the Ferris wheel. We were all laughing and loving the fair and it felt only right to also eat cotton candy and hot dogs. That’s what you do at the fair, right?

  It was nearly seven o’clock when we left.

  On the ride home, I thought about Zora and how well she’d done—once she got over her first bolting escapade—and I wanted to tell Mrs. Falala that. I asked my parents if we could stop there on the way, but just before we pulled in her drive, I changed my mind.

  What if she ruins it? I said.

  Mom turned to look at me. What do you mean, Reena?

  Well, it’s been such a good day. What if Mrs. Falala isn’t happy about something?

  Like what?

  I don’t know—like maybe that Zora bolted the first time and then only came in fourth in the breed event.

  Luke had been quiet on the ride home, drawing in his notebook, but now he said, It was the best day ever, and you and Zora did the best job ever, and I will tell Mrs. Falala that if she says anything mean.

  I love that Lukey boy.

  Dad said, Well, let’s take a vote. How many think we should go knock on her door and maybe wake her up and get her mad?

  Silence.

  Okay, then, how many think we should go on home and wait to see Mrs. Falala tomorrow?

  The vote was unanimous. We went on home.

  PHONE CALL

  Early the next morning, my parents received a phone call from someone named Mr. Colley. He asked if they could meet him at Mrs. Falala’s house.

  My dad was hardly awake when he answered the phone, so he agreed without even asking why.

  Luke said, Uh-oh, you’re in trouble now, Reena.

  Me, why me, Luke? Maybe you’re the one in trouble?

  I don’t think so. You’re the one who took her cow to the fair.

  Dad wanted to know if we’d been disrespectful again. Mom asked if we knew who Mr. Colley was.

  And oh, Dad said, Mr. Colley said that you and Luke should stay home. ‘It would be best,’ Mr. Colley said.

  SPECULATION

  While Mom and Dad were gone, Luke and I tried to imagine all the possible reasons that they had been summoned to Mrs. Falala’s and who Mr. Colley was.

  He could be anybody!

  A policeman, a fireman, a plumber

  a doctor, repairman, or vet

  a lawyer, a salesman,

  a relative, a friend.

  Maybe Mrs. Falala’s house burned down.

  Maybe something happened to Zora.

  No, no, no, don’t say that.

  Don’t even think those bad things.

  When will Mom and Dad be home?

  What’s taking them so long?

  What if we’re in trouble?

  Did we disrespect?

  Is Mrs. Falala mad at us?

  Does she want us never to come back?

  Maybe she had a heart attack.

  Maybe she fell down and broke her bones.

  Maybe she has pneumonia.

  Maybe she’s in the hospital.

  No, no, no, don’t say those bad things.

  Don’t think them.

  When will Mom and Dad be home?

  What is taking

  so

  so

  longggggggggggggggg?

  WAITING

  Time time time

  someTIMES

  an hour is a blink

  a flash

  a wink, a flicker

  a dashing gallop

  and sometimes

  an hour s t r e t c h e s

  thuddingly

  second

  by

  second

  by

  slow

  second

  an endlessssssssssssss

  eternity

  of

  d

  r

  i

  p

  s . . .

  As we waited for Mom and Dad

  to return from Mrs. Falala’s

  time was not galloping.

  It was d

  r

  i

  p

  p

  i

  n

  g

  so painfully

  slowly.

  NOTEBOOK

  We sat on the porch steps.

  We climbed the maple tree.

  We tried to fix the broken gate.

  Hammer hammer

  oops

  never mind . . .

  We made our beds and cleaned our rooms.

  Dripppppppping time . . .

  Want to see something? Luke asked.

  From his yellow notebook

  he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

  Know what this is?

  It was a pencil drawing.

  Some sort of animal?

&nbs
p; It’s supposed to be a cow, he said.

  But you draw better than that, Luke.

  I don’t get it.

  I didn’t draw it.

  Mrs. Falala did.

  Oh.

  It was one of her first tries.

  She crumpled it up

  but I found it later and kept it.

  Luke flipped to the back of his notebook

  where there was a pocket flap.

  He pulled out another drawing.

  Whoa! That’s really good, Luke.

  I’m so glad you’re drawing animals now

  instead of zombies and dragons and—

  I didn’t draw this, he said.

  Mrs. Falala did.

  Last week.

  Whoa!

  It was an elegant drawing

  of a Belted Galloway

  and not just any Beltie.

  It was Zora:

  with those inkwell eyes

  and that fur-white belt

  and that stubborn-sass look

  and that flippant tail.

  What else does she draw, Luke?

  Oh, lots of things now.

  She draws Paulie the crazy hog-pig

  and China the cat

  and Crockett the parrot

  and Edna the snake

  and you know those seagulls

  that are always lining up on the roof?

  She draws those, too.

  And she draws the barn a lot—

  she really likes to draw that barn

  and she draws the fenced pasture

  and the house

  and you know that window way at the top—

  like maybe the attic?

  She draws that sometimes.

  Just the window?

  Well, yeah, with different things

  coming out of it.

  Things coming out of the window?

  Like what?

  All kinds of things:

  flowers and ribbons

  and stars and leaves

  and musical notes—

  —Musical notes?

  Yeah, like this:

  Luke, have you ever heard flute music

  coming out of that window?

  Sure. Mrs. Falala plays the flute.

  What? How do you know that?

  She told me.

  When was that?

  One day when we were drawing.

  I asked her about those notes

  coming out of the window.

  She said that sometimes she plays

  the flute and when the room fills

  up with the music and has

  nowhere else to go it floats

  out

  the

  window.

  What about the stars and flowers

  and leaves and ribbons? I asked Luke.

  Did she say why she draws those

  coming out of the window?

  She said that room up there is a

  remembering room

  and when she is up there

  remembering

  all those things fill up the room

  and when the room is too full

  they fly out the window.

  Just like the music? I asked.

  Yes, I guess, just like the music.

  So is it always good things

  coming out of the window?

  Luke put his hands to his cheeks.

  One time she drew lightning bolts

  and spiders and bats coming out

  of the window. Very creepy.

  She was in kind of a bad mood that day.

  Mrs. Falala. So much

  we did not know

  about her.

  DRIPPING

  D

  r

  i

  p

  r

  i

  p

  D

  D

  r

  r

  i

  i

  p

  p

  D

  r

  i

  p

  p

  p

  r

  i

  p

  p

  p

  p

  Dripping slow time as we waited

  and waited

  until

  finally

  we heard

  the sound

  of

  a

  car

  pulling

  into

  the

  drive.

  At last!

  PUZZLED

  Well? Well? We were all over Mom and Dad like flies. What was that about? Who is Mr. Colley? Where was Mrs. Falala?

  I tried to read the expressions on their faces. They looked, I suppose, puzzled, more than anything else.

  Did something happen to Mrs. Falala? Luke asked.

  Dad spread his arms. No one knows. She’s gone missing!

  Missing? I said. How could she go missing? And who is Mr. Colley?

  Mr. Colley is her neighbor and he’s also her attorney. He was supposed to meet with her last night, but she wasn’t home—or at least she didn’t answer the door. He thought that odd, so he went inside—she never locks her doors—but no sign of her. He went back again this morning, figuring she’d have to be up early to feed the animals, but the house was still dark and still quiet and no sign of Mrs. Falala.

  Mom was gulping down a cup of coffee. Reena, do you and Luke have any idea where she might have gone?

  The only place I could think of was the fair, and I said so. But if she’d gone to the fair, we would have seen her and she would’ve come back last night, right? And why did Mr. Colley call us?

  Good question, Reena. I asked the same thing, Mom said. Apparently, Mr. Colley knows all about you and Luke helping out over there, and our phone number is written in three places in her kitchen. But right now we need you to go back with us and tend to the animals and have another look around—maybe through the pastures in case she went out walking and fell down or something.

  And so we did, we went back to Mrs. Falala’s, in search of her.

  THE SEARCH

  Mr. Colley was a short, square, bald-headed man, and I recognized him. Several times in the past weeks he had stopped in to see Mrs. Falala, and each time, he had brought something: a basket of vegetables, a pot of soup, a stack of folders, even a bucket of crabs once. On this day, he was in the barn, along with Mr. Birch and Zep.

  Just checking the barn one more time, Mr. Colley said.

  The animals were agitated, mewing and mooing and squealing and squawking. I went straight to Zora, who was complaining loudly:

  Moooooomoooooomooooooooo.

  There, there, Zora girl, it’s okay, shhh. I gave her water and filled her grain pail and combed her back. There, there. Where is she, Zora? Mm? Where’s Mrs. Falala?

  Mooooomoooooomooooooooo.

  Zep joined me in Zora’s pen. I didn’t think to check on Mrs. Falala when we brought Zora and Yolanda back yesterday, he said. He put his hand on my shoulder. I should have told her how good you did with Zora at the fair.

  Aw—aw—

  And how good Zora did, too. Well, after that first jumpabout!

  I wanted to kiss that Zep boy, right there in the barn.

  The grown-ups headed out to the pasture and fields while Zep, Luke, and I tended to the animals. Zora seemed to want extra attention, nudging me with her big head, nuzzling my arm.

  Moooooomoooooomooooooooo.

  Paulie settled down quickly once Zep dumped some slop in his trough; the cat picked at her food petulantly; and Crockett kept squawking even though he had ready access to his seed and water all the time.

  We were about to join the others out in the fields when I happened to look up at the house, at that third-floor window. It was wide open.

  I called out to Mr. Colley: Has anyone looked in the attic?

  What? he said. The attic? Never thought of it. He must not have thought that s
ounded promising because he turned back to his trek across the pasture.

  Luke seized my arm. We’ve gotta, Reena, we’ve gotta check up there.

  Zep offered to go with us, so the three of us went inside the house.

  I don’t know about this, I said. Mrs. Falala might be mad if she found us prowling around her house.

  But, Zep said, she might be grateful if she was injured and needed help and was waiting for someone to find her.

  Mr. Colley had said he’d already checked the rest of the house, so I suggested we go straight to the attic. It was eerily quiet inside. The rooms were sparsely furnished with old but comfortable-looking sofas and chairs and dark wooden tables.

  On up we went, up the central staircase, and down a long hall, with closed doors on either side. Not knowing which might lead to the attic, we opened each one: a bedroom that looked like it must be Mrs. Falala’s, as her clothes were folded on a dresser and a stack of books and a water glass were on a table beside a made-up bed; next, a storage room, with boxes and suitcases; and a third room seemed to be a guest room, with its simple bed, table, and dresser.

  The last door opened on a flight of stairs. We all stood at the bottom looking up.

  Mrs. Falala? I called. Mrs. Falala? Are you up there?

  Silence.

  Up we went: me, then Zep, then Luke.

  The room was smaller than I expected. Standing at the top of the stairs, I could see it all: the desk and bookshelves and table on the left, the open window in the middle, the cot at right, with Mrs. Falala lying on it, her eyes closed, her hands folded around a silver flute.

  Shh, I whispered to Zep and Luke. I went closer.

  Mrs. Falala? Mrs. Falala?

  It was warm in the room and the breeze from the window was welcome.

  Mrs. Falala? I don’t want to frighten you, but—but— I touched her arm lightly. Oh. Oh. I looked up at Zep and Luke and felt so utterly sad.

  Luke came up behind me and patted my back. Then he leaned over and patted Mrs. Falala’s hand. It’s sort of stiff, he said.

  Zep said, I’ll tell the others.

  Thanks. We’ll wait here.

  I didn’t want her to be