“Got a new member in your little gang, I see,” Jelly says, looking at Too Bad, who’s straightening up the blankets in the wagon.
Too Bad beams from ear to ear. “That’s right! I’m in the Diaper Gang now! I saved their lives!”
Pork Chop groans, as if the idea still pains him.
“And guess what?” Too Bad exclaims. “I know the secret formula! It’s cornstarch!”
“Too Bad!” Pork Chop hollers. “First new rule of the Diaper Gang is ‘Shut up, already!’”
Too Bad winces. “Sorry!”
“Cornstarch?” I echo. “Your secret diaper-rash formula is cornstarch?”
“Nobody would believe us if we told them,” Kermit says.
Aunt Minnie comes walking down the lane.
“I didn’t have an accident, Ma,” Buddy says quickly, although he’s squeezing his legs together.
“The day’s young, Buddy,” she says, and looks at me. “Turtle, can you come inside for a moment, please?”
I can’t tell if Aunt Minnie’s still mad at me or not. When we got back to Key West after the storm, her eyes were red like she’d been crying for a long time. She gave me a quick hug and then shook me—shook me so hard that my teeth rattled in my head.
“Don’t you ever scare me like that again! You’re the one who’s supposed to have some sense!” she said.
I go into the kitchen and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I just came from Mrs. Lowe’s,” she says. “Your mother called. She’s in Miami. She’ll be here as soon as she can get a boat in.”
My heart leaps. “I would’ve gotten stranded on an island a whole lot sooner if I’d known that would make her come get me!”
My aunt purses her lips. “Your cat can come back here if you’d like.”
“Really?”
She looks embarrassed. “You were right. It wasn’t Smokey. When you children were on that key, another cat snuck in here and made a mess.”
“The cat happen to look like a skunk?” I ask.
She pauses and then says, “I should have believed you.”
“I know,” I say, and she laughs.
“I’m not sure Nana Philly’s gonna want to give Smokey back,” I say. “She’s sweet on her.”
“Maybe we can trade Buddy for Smokey,” Aunt Minnie says, and grins wryly. “At least until he’s toilet-trained.”
I’m at Pepe’s, drinking a leche with Johnny Cakes and the writer fella, recounting our adventure.
“What happened next?” the writer fella asks me, smoothing his mustache.
I lean forward. “That’s when the rats showed up, Mr. Hemingway.”
His eyes bulge out. “Rats?”
“Hundreds of them! They were crawling all over us. Worst thing you ever saw!”
Slow Poke strolls up. “Hundreds of rats, you say? Strange how that didn’t make it into any of the newspaper accounts,” he muses.
“Writers never get the story right,” I say.
Slow Poke laughs and pops a wide-brimmed hat on my head. “Keep your pretty face from getting burned.”
Kermit runs up to our table.
“Turtle! Turtle!” he says.
“What’s the big hurry, Kermit?” Johnny Cakes asks.
Kermit starts coughing.
“Easy there, son,” Slow Poke says, handing him a leche.
Kermit gulps the coffee and then looks at me. “Turtle! Your mother’s here!”
“Sadiebelle’s here?” Slow Poke says.
“She’s at the house!”
Curry Lane has never seemed longer than when I’m running down it toward Mama. My hat flies off, but I can’t be bothered to stop; nothing’s going to keep me from my mother.
“Turtle!” Mama cries.
She rushes down the steps of the porch, and then I’m in her arms, and I’m home again.
“Oh, baby,” she says, and stands back, looking me up and down. “Just look at you! You’re so tan.”
“I missed you, Mama,” I say.
A deep voice says, “Miss me, too, princess?” and Archie’s walking out the front door, wearing his Panama hat.
“Archie!” I cry, and run to him. He picks me up and twirls me around, putting his Panama hat on my head.
“You can call me Daddy now,” he says.
“You got married?” I gasp.
I look back at Mama, and she waves her hand at me, a thin gold ring glinting in the sun. She’s smiling so wide she’s practically glowing.
“Oh, Mama!” I say, and I feel her happiness like my own. It’s as if a weight has lifted off my heart, and for the first time in my life I can breathe.
Archie sets me down, looking serious. “Nothing like a tragedy to make you realize what’s important. Soon as your mother told me what happened, we started driving.”
Beans, who’s sitting on the porch swing, says, “Say, how’s your pal Mr. Idjit doing, anyhow? His hair grow in yet?”
Slow Poke is loping down the lane. His eyes light up when he sees Mama.
“Sadiebelle,” Slow Poke says, and smiles. “It’s been a long time.”
“Slow Poke,” Mama says, going still.
“Mama,” I say, tugging on her arm. “Slow Poke’s the one that rescued us.”
“He is?” she asks.
Archie wraps an arm around my shoulder and looks at Slow Poke. “In that case, I owe you a debt, sir, for looking after our little girl here.”
Slow Poke’s smile slips.
“This is Archie,” Mama says. “My husband.”
“You’re married?” Slow Poke asks.
“Newlyweds,” Archie says, and sticks his hand out to Slow Poke. “Archie Meeks. Pleased to meet you.”
Slow Poke doesn’t shake his hand.
“Huh,” Slow Poke says in a hollow voice, “too late again.” And then he turns and walks quickly down the lane.
“What a funny fella,” Archie says with a laugh. “And what kind of name is Slow Poke?”
I look up at Mama. “What did he mean, ‘again’?”
“Nothing, I’m sure,” she says, and smiles a little too brightly. Then she links her arm in mine and says, “Come on, baby. I’m dying to show Archie Duval Street.”
It’s like the happy ending of a Hollywood picture: Archie and Mama and me strolling arm in arm along Duval Street, a perfect family.
“On the way down here, we passed a nice piece of land in Georgia,” Archie says to me.
“Georgia?” I say.
“Good lot. Peach trees. A little brook.”
“The perfect place for the Bellewood,” Mama finishes.
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” he says.
“What about Mrs. Budnick?” I ask.
“I quit,” Mama announces with a laugh. “No more scrubbing floors for me!”
“We’ll be hiring the help from now on, thank you very much,” Archie says.
“Long as we’re nice to the housekeeper’s kid,” I say.
Archie looks down at me from under his Panama hat. “I told you we’d be here someday, princess.”
“Duval Street?” I ask.
He smiles. “Easy Street.”
18
Paradise Found
Something’s been bothering me about Little Orphan Annie. After she was adopted by Daddy Warbucks and went to live in his mansion, did she ever miss the orphanage? Late at night, when she was lying in her soft new bed, did she ever think about the orphans she left behind?
I’m starting to feel like Little Orphan Annie. I’ve got my very own fancy room next to Mama and Archie’s in the Key West Colonial Hotel on Duval Street. The sheets are crisp, and the pillows are plump. It’s probably the nicest bed I’ve ever slept in. But that’s just the problem: I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about Aunt Minnie and Uncle Vernon and Nana Philly and Miss Bea and the Diaper Gang and Slow Poke and Johnny Cakes and Mrs. Soldano, and even Too Bad, who turned out not to be so bad after all. Seems to me like he should get a new
nickname.
At breakfast, Archie asks, “You ladies all packed?”
“Yes, indeed,” Mama says.
“Aren’t we gonna say good-bye to Aunt Minnie and Uncle Vernon?” I ask Mama.
“Of course,” she says.
Archie nods in agreement. “I’ll check out of the hotel and arrange to get the luggage over to the docks. I’ll meet you at your sister’s place at noon. That should leave plenty of time to say your goodbyes and for us to make our boat.”
“That sounds perfect,” Mama says. “Don’t forget to stop at the bank, Mr. Meeks.”
He tips his hat. “As if I would forget, Mrs. Meeks,” he says, and she giggles.
After he’s gone, Mama turns to me and gives herself a little shake.
“Isn’t this like a dream come true?” she asks. “I feel like Cinderella!”
“She scrubbed floors, too,” I say, and swallow. “Mama, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, baby,” she says.
“How well did you know Slow Poke?”
Her smile doesn’t falter, but her voice trembles a little.
“Not very well at all, as it turned out,” she says, and that’s when I know.
I know that my father doesn’t have three eyes and isn’t a murderer, unless you count sponges. He’s kind. And he likes the funny pages.
Just like his daughter.
“Enough about that,” Mama says briskly, and stands up. “We better hurry along and say good-bye to Minnie. I wish we’d been able to stay for a longer visit, but Archie is anxious to start our new life together.”
“I want to say good-bye to Smokey. She’s at Nana Philly’s,” I say. “You should see her before we go.”
Mama takes a deep breath and looks down.
“My grandmother, I mean,” I say.
“She said I wasn’t her daughter anymore,” Mama says. “She said I was a disgrace.”
“Oh, Mama,” I say. “I’m sure that’s not the meanest thing she’s ever said.”
Nana Philly looks just the same as when I first saw her: she’s sitting in her chair wearing her long white nightgown, the silly red cloche hat on her head. Except now she’s reading a new fashion magazine that I bought her and Smokey’s sitting on her lap, content as can be.
“I’ve come to say good-bye,” I say. “We’re going to Georgia.”
She looks up from the magazine.
“Maybe you can come visit sometime. I bet there’s lots of kids you can be mean to there.”
The corner of her mouth curls up.
“Take care of Smokey for me,” I say, and hug her tiny body. She’s just a bag of bones. “I’m gonna miss our lunches.”
Her shaky hand smooths my hair.
“Me thoo,” she says.
“There’s someone else who wants to say goodbye,” I say, and turn to the doorway. “Come in, Mama.”
Mama steps into view.
Nana Philly looks startled.
“Mother,” Mama says in a stiff voice.
Nobody moves for a moment.
Tears start falling from my grandmother’s eyes, and then Mama starts crying, too. The next thing I know, Mama’s on her knees in front of Nana Philly and they’re hugging each other like nothing ever happened.
A Hollywood writer couldn’t have imagined a sappier scene.
I sit on the porch with Beans, Kermit, Buddy, and Ira. Mama’s in the kitchen with Aunt Minnie and Uncle Vernon. Her happy laugh floats out the open window.
“Will you play marbles with me, Turtle?” Buddy asks.
“I don’t have time, Buddy. We’re leaving any minute.”
“You think you’ll come back and visit?” Kermit asks.
Beans smacks Kermit. “Don’t give her any ideas. I just got my room back.”
Pork Chop comes riding down the lane on his new bicycle.
“What are you doing here?” he asks me.
“I’m not gonna miss you, either,” I say.
“No,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “I mean, what are you doing here? I saw your new daddy leave.”
“What?” I say.
“Dark hair? Panama hat? I saw him get on a boat hours ago. I figured you were with him.”
The blood rushes in my ears, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Buddy inches away from me. “Are you gonna puke, Turtle?”
Archie’s words ring in my head.
“Princess, everybody’s got a dream.”
And I know it’s true. I’ve been had.
Archie sold me a dream—Mama happy, a home, a family at last—and I bought it hook, line, and sinker. Turns out I’m as much of a sucker as anybody.
“Do you know where the boat was headed?” Kermit asks Pork Chop, but he shakes his head.
“Easy enough to find out,” Ira says.
I pull the five-dollar bill out of my pocket and stare at it. Then I crumple it.
“I need to know where he went,” I say, and look in Beans’s eyes. I was wrong. They’re not the color of snot; they’re the color of alligator pear.
Beans sets his cap low and nods grimly.
“Leave it to us,” he says.
Mama and Aunt Minnie and Uncle Vernon are laughing over sweet tea in the kitchen when I walk in with the boys an hour later.
“Mama,” I say.
She looks up at me, her eyes sparkling. “Archie outside?”
Now I know why those men jumped off roofs. They couldn’t bear to see the light go out of a loved one’s eyes—to know they’d let the person down.
“Archie’s not coming, Mama.”
“What?” she asks, still smiling.
I look across the table at Aunt Minnie. She knows at once what I’m saying.
“Oh, Sadiebelle,” she murmurs.
“I don’t understand?” Mama asks anxiously. “Did something happen to him?”
“He’s gone, Mama,” I say.
“Archie’s dead?” Mama screeches.
“Well, Mami always says that Cuba is her idea of heaven,” Pork Chop says.
“Cuba? What are you talking about?” she asks, bewildered.
Uncle Vernon sighs and looks down.
“Aunt Sadie! He took Turtle’s part of the treasure and hopped a boat to Cuba!” Beans blurts out. “He’s a no-good crook!”
Mama turns so pale I think she’s going to faint.
“No,” she whispers, staring past us like we’re not even there.
“Please, Mama,” I say, and I get that same feeling I get right before everything falls apart.
“I don’t believe you!” she shouts at everyone, and then she’s gone, running out the front door.
I leap up and chase after her. She’s halfway down the lane when I catch up.
“Mama, stop!” I plead, grabbing her skirt. She whirls around, her face anguished, and collapses right in the middle of the muddy lane, tears running down her face.
“But he promised! He promised he’d take care of us!” she says, sobbing like she’s dying. I feel her hurt like my own; it’s the worst feeling ever. Uncle Vernon was right—I do have a soft underbelly.
It’s Mama.
“Everything’ll be fine,” I tell her, but I’m lying.
There’s never going to be a happy ending for us, and I feel a horrible pain in my chest and I know it’s my heart, ripping open like a pair of Buddy’s pants. And I can’t help it; I start crying. I cry for everything—for poor Smokey getting burned up by those boys, for every mean word some kid said to me, for all the times one of Mama’s fellas raised our hopes and dashed them. Most of all, I cry for my poor dumb heart for secretly believing that Mama and Archie and me could be a real family.
The tears rain down like spitballs, and there’s no stopping them now. They’re like a hurricane sweeping me away. Mama’s drowning and she’s dragging me under with her, and this time there’s no one to rescue me. This time I’m not going to make it—
“Turtle!” Beans says.
I blink awa
y tears to see him standing there with the rest of the boys, Aunt Minnie and Uncle Vernon behind them.
Beans elbows Pork Chop in the ribs.
“Uh, say, you want to be in the Diaper Gang?” Pork Chop asks me, looking uncomfortable.
“I don’t like babies,” I choke out.
“What about paper dolls?” Aunt Minnie asks, stepping forward. “I have some nice ones.”
“But they’re your dolls,” I say.
“They belong to the family,” my aunt says in a gruff voice. “So you’re going to have to stay here if you want to play with them. Your mother, too.”
I look back at the little Conch house. It will never be the Bellewood, with its modern attractive exterior and Venetian mirrored cabinet. But it doesn’t seem quite so small or shabby to me anymore. I can see past the rickety porch and the tin roof and know it’s built just like its people, to sway in a storm and not break.
“Aw, just say you’ll stay, Turtle,” Kermit says, and my heart swells like a sponge. Maybe the real treasure has been right here on Curry Lane the whole time—people who love Mama and me. A home.
Mama looks up. Her eyes are cloudy, but mine are clear.
“All right,” I answer for us both. It may not be a Hollywood ending, but then I’m no Shirley Temple.
“Does that mean you’ll play marbles with me now?” Buddy asks.
And then Beans makes a face at me. “Besides, you already got a dumb nickname like everyone else around here.”
“Beans!” Aunt Minnie barks, but all I do is smile. I’ve lived long enough to learn the truth: not all kids are rotten, and there are grown-ups who are sweet as Necco Wafers.
And if you’re lucky—lucky as an orphan—some of them may even end up being your family.
Author’s Note
Turtle in Paradise was inspired by my Conch great-grandmother Jennie Lewin Peck, who emigrated with her family from the Bahamas to Key West in the late 1800s. As a child, I heard about Spanish limes and sugar apple ice cream and the importance of shaking out your shoes to avoid scorpions. My family is related to the Curry family of Key West, after whom Curry Lane is named.
Many families suffered hardship during the Great Depression, and it was not unusual for parents to leave home in search of work or for children to be cared for by relatives. Then, as now, entertainment was a great distraction, and movies, radio shows, and the funny pages provided much amusement for everyone. Little Orphan Annie, Shirley Temple, and the Shadow were all superstars in their day.