Ruby Holler

  One of those jet things. And fly, fly, fly—”

  “What? Like over the ocean?”

  “Fly right out over the ocean,” Dallas said, “and land on a tiny island, wham! Kangadoon! And then hike, hike, hike and search, search, search for the red-tailed rocking bird. Hey, I have a picture of that bird. Want to see it?”

  “What? Here?”

  Dallas rummaged through his backpack. “In here somewhere …” He retrieved a flashlight and a pamphlet and pointed to a picture on the back.

  “What a funny-looking thing,” Florida said. “Little chicken body and that long lopsided tail and all those different colors. It looks like it rolled around in a zillion paint pots.”

  Dallas stared at the picture. “Don’t you wonder why Sairy would want to go all the way to Kangadoon to find this funny-looking bird, when there are funny-looking birds all over the holler?”

  “Maybe they’re both losing their brains a little bit,” Florida said.

  Dallas snatched at the pamphlet and stuffed it deep into his backpack. “We’d better quit talking and get some sleep,” he grumbled.

  “You don’t have to get so grouchy,” Florida said.

  “I’m not grouchy. I’m just tired. Go to sleep.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Boss, but you’d better remember one thing. I don’t like being bossed around so much.” She slipped back into her sleeping bag and scooted down inside as far as she could. “If a rat thing gets me, I hope you’ll beat it to death,” she said.

  “Not listening.”

  Florida tried counting to put herself to sleep. Four hundred and three, four hundred and four, stupid numbers, stupid night. She turned onto her stomach, and as soon as she did so, she thought about the Burgertons.

  She and Dallas were eight when they went to live with the Burgertons. “You must always sleep on your stomach,” Mrs. Burgerton had said. “It isn’t healthy to sleep on your back.”

  Dallas and Florida thought that was a strange thing, but they slept on their stomachs so as not to get in trouble. At least they tried to sleep on their stomachs. They couldn’t help it if their sleeping bodies automatically turned over in the night. Mrs. Burgerton would come into their rooms while they were sleeping and flip them back over on their stomachs. “Can’t you remember anything?” she’d say.

  But except for that, and for Mrs. Burgerton’s insistence that Florida and Dallas dress alike (“Like twins!”), Mr. and Mrs. Burgerton seemed nicer to them than other people had been, and more patient, too.

  “Maybe they’ll keep us,” Dallas had told Florida.

  And then the Burgertons’ sons came home from summer camp. The three Burgerton boys were tall and thin and pale, and they were none too thrilled to find the twins taking up space in their house.

  The Burgerton boys threw rocks through the garage window and told their parents that Dallas had done it. They set fire to the neighbor’s playhouse and blamed Florida. The boys told Dallas and Florida that if they tattled, their tongues would be chopped up into tiny bits.

  One afternoon, Dallas and Florida gathered up dozens of ants, seven spiders, two garter snakes, and a frog, and that evening they deposited these treasures in the beds of the Burgerton boys.

  “If we’re going to get blamed for everything,” Florida had told Dallas, “we might as well actually do something to get blamed for.”

  When the Burgertons took Dallas and Florida back to the Boxton Creek Home, Dallas and Florida were relieved.

  “We were lucky to get out of there alive,” Dallas told Florida.

  “I know it,” Florida said.

  CHAPTER 26

  SHACK TALK

  It was dark in Boxton, and Mr. Trepid was in his hideaway shack in the alley. With him was a man who was known only as Z. Mr. Trepid thought of Z as a shiftless man, slipping in and out of town like a slithery possum.

  Mr. Trepid did not like either the smell of the man or the looks of him: the matted hair, shiny with grease; the rumpled, frayed clothes, thick with grime; the cloudy green eyes behind their half-closed lids. But what he did like about Z was that Z would do whatever Mr. Trepid asked him to do, as long as money was involved.

  Mr. Trepid did not know where Z lived, nor did he want to know. He wanted to know as little as possible about the man. On this cool summer night, all he wanted to know was if Z could get him some information and if he could take on a project down in the holler.

  “Depends,” Z said, “on what I gotta do and how hard I gotta work to do it.” He slid his fingers through his gnarled hair, tugging at a knot. “And it depends on the, er, er—”

  “I know, I know,” Mr. Trepid said. “The salary.” He pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket. “Now this here is for the first part—finding out when they’re leaving town. That should be simple enough.” Mr. Trepid shoved the bills at Z.

  Z looked over the money. “I don’t know about it being so simple.”

  Mr. Trepid shoved more money at Z. “There. I’m sure that will be quite enough for your efforts.”

  Z smiled, and as he did so, Mr. Trepid turned away from the crooked teeth.

  “What about the second part?” Z asked. “The surveying part? And what is it exactly I gotta survey?”

  “When you get me the first part of the information, we will discuss the second part in more detail.” Mr. Trepid opened the door, indicating that it was time for Z to leave.

  “Whatever you say, boss,” Z said, and he slipped out of the door, down the alley, and across the railroad tracks, disappearing into the trees on the far side.

  When Mr. Trepid was sure that Z was gone, he closed the door of the shack and paced inside, back and forth across its tiny interior. He pressed his fingers to his lips. An adventure, he thought. An adventure in Ruby Holler.

  CHAPTER 27

  TRIALS

  Burrowed deep inside her sleeping bag, Florida wondered if it was morning yet. Her stomach felt like a pitiful empty sack. She’d been hungry last night when they were scrabbling through the woods, and she’d been hungry when they stopped for the night, but she’d been afraid to mention it because she hadn’t remembered to pack any food. What if that had been her job, to pack the food?

  Dallas was twisted upside down in his sleeping bag. He’d gotten out of it in the night and crawled in headfirst and then twisted the opening around his feet. He figured that if any rat things tried to get him, they’d have to get his feet first, and he’d wake up if that happened, and he’d be able to kick those rat things. He didn’t want them messing with his face.

  Lord, he was hungry, hungry, hungry. It was a bad thing, he decided, getting used to all that good food that Sairy and Tiller heaped on the table. Now it was all he could think of. Before he’d come to Sairy and Tiller’s, he’d been able to go a couple of days without food. You just turned your stomach off. You turned your brain off. You moved a little slower. But now he was hungry, hungry, hungry, and he was mad at himself for forgetting to pack food, and he was wondering when Florida was going to mention it.

  When Florida heard Dallas moving around, she unwrapped her head and blinked at the soft gray light sifting down through a gap in the leaves overhead. She loved the smell out here, of earth and bark and pine and … and … what was that other smell? That delicious smell?

  She leaped out of her sleeping bag as Dallas came out of his feetfirst.

  “Dallas!”

  He was ready for her. “I know, I know, don’t start on me,” he said. “The reason I didn’t pack any food was because—”

  “Dallas, take a whiff—what do you smell?”

  He sniffed. “Trees. I smell trees and—hey! What’s that other smell?”

  Florida inhaled deeply. “Either I’m out of my noodle or else that’s bacon I smell, Dallas. Bacon.”

  “It can’t be bacon,” Dallas said. “It must be something that smells like bacon, and I wish it didn’t because it’s made my stomach wake up, and my stomach is saying it wants food right now, right this minute.”
He sniffed the air again. “It does smell an awful lot like bacon. Maybe it’s some old codger who’s living in the woods and he’s making his breakfast.”

  “And maybe,” Florida said, “it’s some convict who’d just as soon shoot us as feed us.”

  “Why’d you go and say that?”

  “’Cause it might be true. Let’s be real quiet.”

  They set off through the trees, slowly, quietly. The smell of frying bacon drew them on, closer, closer.

  Out of the brush came a booming “Hey there!”

  Dallas and Florida leaped toward each other.

  “Tiller?” Dallas said. “Is that you, Tiller, or am I dreaming?”

  “Howdy, kids. Didn’t mean to scare you. I was just out here getting more kindling for the fire. Follow me.”

  Tiller led them through a clump of bushes and there, on the other side, was Sairy, seated on a flat gray stone, her hand stretched toward a big black skillet full of bacon.

  “There you are,” she said. “Mornin’.”

  Florida leaned toward Dallas. “We’re dreaming, right? We died in the middle of the night and now we’re dead and our dead brains are dreaming, right?”

  Sairy handed her tongs to Tiller so that he could take over the frying of the bacon. “You two are about the smartest kids I ever met,” she said. “Coming up with such a good idea, to try out our equipment before we set off on our trips. I don’t know why we didn’t think of that ourselves, do you, Tiller?”

  “Erm—”

  “But how’d you know we were gone, and how’d you know where we were?” Dallas said. “How’d you find us?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Sairy said, “and so I went up to check on you, like I do every night—”

  “You’ve been checking on us every night?” Florida said.

  Sairy looked sheepish. “It’s just a mother thing,” she said. “Kids in the house, I check on ’em. When I saw you were gone, I figured you must’ve decided to try out these sleeping bags and stuff. I thought that was the most brilliant idea. So me and Tiller, we decided to join you.”

  “But how’d you find us?” Florida said. “I mean, not that we were hiding or anything, but—”

  “Sairy has a nose for where kids go,” Tiller said.

  “And then,” Sairy said, “when we saw where you were camping, we went back and got some food and the skillet, because we knew we’d all be hungry this morning. Ready to eat?”

  Tiller passed around tin plates, which Sairy heaped with eggs and bacon and warm biscuits. “Anyone want honey?” Sairy asked.

  Accepting a generous spoonful, Dallas said, “I suppose we should have told you we were going—”

  “—out in the woods,” Florida said. “To try out our things, like you said. We probably should have told you.”

  “No call to do that,” Sairy said. “I can see what you were thinking. You were thinking, Let’s not disturb Tiller and Sairy. Let’s just try out this stuff without bothering anybody. Kids ought to have a little choice, that’s what I think. They ought to be able to do stuff without someone watching over their shoulders every minute.”

  Florida licked the honey from her fingers. “Well, ma’am, that’s a mighty interesting way to think.”

  “So,” Sairy said, “what’s the verdict? Think those sleeping bags work okay?”

  “Well,” Florida said, “we think maybe the sleeping bags should have some sort of thing over the head part.”

  “Like what?” Tiller asked.

  “Something to keep out the crawly bugs.”

  “Ah,” Sairy said. “Now that’s a brilliant observation. We’ve got some mosquito netting, and I could sew some of that around the top, find some way to fasten it so you could open and close it.”

  Tiller waved his hand in the air. “You’re not going to make it too loopy and fancy, are you? I don’t want a bunch of lace or anything around my head.”

  “Maybe you won’t have anything whatsoever around your head,” Sairy said. “Maybe we’ll let the bugs get you.” She turned to Dallas and Florida. “Anything else you think of while you were trying out the equipment?”

  “Yeah,” Dallas said. “I was thinking we ought to be sure and have enough food—you know, in case we get stuck somewhere, or lost or—”

  “Yep,” Tiller agreed. “I can’t hardly think without food in my stomach. We didn’t plan too much about food yet.”

  “I’m sure glad you two had the genius idea to make this trial run,” Sairy added.

  “Aw,” Florida said, “it was nothin’.”

  While Dallas and Florida went back to get their sleeping bags, Tiller and Sairy packed up the breakfast things.

  “Well,” Tiller said. “How’d I do?”

  “You did fine,” Sairy said.

  “Only because I kept my mouth pretty much closed.”

  “Keeps you out of trouble,” Sairy said.

  “I guess you were right,” he said. “They weren’t out here stealing our money, like I thought.”

  “Of course they weren’t.”

  “And I guess you were right, too, about them running away.”

  Sairy stood with her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what got into them, I really don’t. Are you sure you didn’t say anything to scare them off?”

  “I’ve been on my best behavior, honest,” Tiller said.

  “I’m just glad we found them. I don’t know what I’d have done if we hadn’t.” Sairy pressed her hand against the middle of her back. “Sleeping on the ground isn’t so easy anymore, is it?”

  “Nope,” Tiller said.

  Sairy gathered up the pans. “Now look, Tiller, you be extra nice to those kids, you hear?”

  Tiller bowed. “Yes ma’am, whatever you say.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I know you do,” he said. “And I will try my best to become Mr. Personality.”

  CHAPTER 28

  MRS. TREPID

  Mrs. Trepid was standing by her bedroom window, staring at two empty trash cans rolling against the curb. Clank, clank, clank. She wished someone would pick up those cans and stop that annoying noise. Clank, clank, clank.

  A young woman walked past, her arms swinging loosely, oblivious to the clanking trash cans. Look at her, Mrs. Trepid thought, walking along without a care in the world. She wanted to throw something at the woman, to jolt her out of her little dream world.

  Mrs. Trepid’s gaze shifted to the porch below. It was on that same porch that the twins had first appeared in a box. She’d even seen the woman who left them. From this very window where she stood now, Mrs. Trepid had spotted the woman, bundled in a tattered and faded green dress, bending over the box. The woman had leaned down so close to the box, and then she had rushed down the walk, her hands pressed to her face.

  And then Morgan called up the stairs to say that it was babies in the box, two babies. Twins!

  Mrs. Trepid talked her husband into ripping up the forms they were supposed to submit to the authorities, reporting the twins’ arrival. “Let’s not tell, yet,” she said. “Maybe these could be our babies.” The more she thought about that, the more she feared that the woman in the tattered green dress would return and claim them. When Mrs. Trepid was out walking the babies in the buggy, she was always watching, terrified that the woman would appear and snatch the twins away.

  When people came to the Home to meet the other children, Mrs. Trepid tried to keep the twins hidden. Once, when a couple saw the twins and inquired about them, Mrs. Trepid said, “They’re already taken.”

  Even as infants, Florida was the squirmy one, and Dallas the quieter, dreamier one. Mrs. Trepid was intrigued by the way they clung to each other, and the way they responded to each other’s gurgles, and the way they reached for each other when they were separated. Two babies who came into the world at the same time. Sometimes Mrs. Trepid felt a little jealous of them. They’ll always have each other. They’ll always have one person who understands them completely.

  A
t first Mrs. Trepid didn’t want Morgan or Mr. Trepid to help care for the twins. She wanted to do it all herself. But she had so little patience, and always one of them needed attention, and she hated when they howled and squirmed. So much trouble every single day.

  She started wishing the woman in the tattered green dress would come back and claim her twins. After one particularly trying day, Mrs. Trepid snared her husband. “File the forms!” she ordered. “Tell the authorities that these twin kids just arrived and are available!”

  To her surprise, though, people were wary of taking on twins. “Twins?” they’d say. “Who would want to take two at once? Lovely idea, but no thanks.”

  By the time the twins were toddlers, Mrs. Trepid couldn’t bear their stumbling and falling and screaming and banging and breaking and spitting. Everything they did was louder and messier than what other kids did, or at least that’s how it seemed to Mrs. Trepid.

  Now, as she stood at the window looking down on the street, Mrs. Trepid thought about all the long years ahead and wondered how she could live through more children and more running and spitting and banging and leaving.

  Clank, clank, clank. The garbage cans bashed against the curb below.

  Mrs. Trepid leaned out the window. “Somebody pick those up!” she pleaded. “They’re driving me crazy.”

  CHAPTER 29

  DECISIONS

  Dallas, Florida, Tiller, and Sairy had packed up the breakfast things and retrieved the sleeping bags and returned to the cabin, and now Dallas and Florida were out running through the hills.

  “Go on,” Sairy had urged. “You two need a day off from work. Why don’t you go run awhile?”

  “Holler a bit, too, while you’re at it,” Tiller said. “I like to hear a bit of hollering in the holler every now and then.”

  “Most people don’t like hollering,” Florida said. “Some people would lock us up in a cobwebby basement for hollering.”

  “Tell you what,” Tiller said. “If I ever lose my brains and lock you up somewhere, you bust out and then you—you bite me and kick me and tie me up and throw me over the cliff, y’hear?”