Drizzle (9 page)

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Authors: Kathleen Van Cleve

BOOK: Drizzle
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“He must have been so frightened,” Mom murmurs. She puts her arm around my shoulder. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“I can’t either,” I murmur.
“That was crazy!” says Freddy, his eyes bright and proud. “You just stuck your hand in a motor! Are you sure you’re my scaredy cat sister?”
Beatrice and Basford join us. Beatrice clings to Basford’s arm, as if letting him go would make him lift up like a helium balloon.
“Dude, she saved your life,” Freddy tells him.
“She did,” Patricia echoes, as if she can barely believe it.
Basford flips his hair off of his face and then takes a step away from Beatrice. He’s not smiling. He doesn’t even look happy.
Then he thrusts out his hand. I take it, and he shakes it up and down, awkwardly. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, equally quietly. We look at each other without smiling, like we’re the only two who understand how terrible it was.
“What was it like up there?” Freddy asks. “I would have been freaking out.”
Basford glances back at the Umbrella. He blinks, as if he’s looking at the sun even though he isn’t, and then swallows. “Everyone was afraid.”
Beatrice jumps over and gives me another hug.“That was so darn brave of you, honey. So darn brave.”
“She’s right.” Aunt Edith stares at me, her eyes shining. “You were fearless, Polly. Absolutely fearless.”
I have to look away. I don’t feel like I was fearless. I was afraid too. Scratch that. I am afraid.
The plants on the ground are bright and healthy-looking, as if they’re the most innocent things in the world. A picture of the green dragonfly mist flashes through my mind, making my stomach turn upside down. I realize suddenly that Spark must have known too. It’s like our farm is in revolt, starting some kind of war with all of us.
“Let’s go inside,” Mom says.
I catch eyes with Beatrice.
“In a second,” I tell Mom. “I have to do something first.”
SAME DAY, MONDAY, AUGUST 25
 
An Explanation
 
Harry won’t tell me anything.
“Come on, Harry. I saw the roots,” I say accusingly. “That was bad, really bad. Your friends could have killed a lot of people.”
Harry stares back at me defiantly, then he bunches up all of his stalks in that unreadable, familiar bouquet.
“Stop it!” I yell. But it doesn’t help. I look around the field and
all
of the chocolate rhubarb plants are bunching themselves up.
“You could have
killed
people, Harry.You could have killed Basford! Do you understand?”
I hear a footstep behind me. “I’d like to hear the answer to that too.”
Aunt Edith. Great.
“Hi.” I turn around.
“Quite a day for you, Polly.” Aunt Edith beams.
I don’t say anything. I don’t feel happy. I feel like a person betrayed by her best friend.
“So.” She looks around the field. “You were talking to a plant.” This is a statement, not a question. “Does it talk back?”
I shrug.
Aunt Edith nods. “I had a plant once. I called him Teddy.”
This doesn’t sound like Aunt Edith at all.
“Teddy? Teddy who?”
“Roosevelt, of course,” she snaps. “American history, Polly. You must learn it.”
This
sounds exactly like Aunt Edith. The one who
doesn’t
talk to plants.
“He’s still alive actually. He’s the Giant Rhubarb plant by the bench outside the Dark House.”
When Grandmom was alive, she liked to sit outside the Dark House and look at the lake. She said it was the original site for the farm and made her feel connected to her past ancestors.
If you ever have a question for me, Polly, and I’m not around, just come and sit down right on this bench.
Which I’d love to do, but I can’t. As much as she tried, and as much as I loved her, Grandmom could never convince me that the Dark House wasn’t the scariest place in the world.
“Do you still talk to him?” I ask.
“No. When you get older, the plants stop talking.” She scans the field. “Which one is yours?”
I point to Harry. “This one. I call him Harry.”
“Hello, Harry,” she says.
Harry doesn’t move. I’m not surprised. But I know he’s listening to every word.
“I heard you accuse him of murder,” Aunt Edith says. “You’re giving these plants a lot of credit.”
“It was their roots clogging the ride up!”
Aunt Edith looks at me sympathetically—like I’m a person who still believes that the dinosaurs are roaming around the earth. “I’m worried about you, Polly. You’re doing the exact opposite of what I asked you to do in Enid’s library.”
“What was that?” I wish she would go. I just want to talk to Harry.
“You’re not treating this farm for what it is. A distraction. You showed your mettle today.You put your hand in a motor, Polly, and you saved hundreds of lives!”
She doesn’t understand. I thought she did, but she doesn’t. “The plants know more than you think,” I insist.
“Not true. Simply not true,” Aunt Edith insists. “They’re plants. They’re not creatures of free will, like humans.”
I don’t say anything because at that instant, I feel really fragile, like I could break into a bunch of little pieces.
“Oh, Polly,” she says. “You look terrified.” Aunt Edith walks over to me and puts her hand under my chin. She brings my eyes up to hers.
“
I just want you to know how smart you are, how quick-thinking. I want you to see yourself doing big things, great things. World-changing things.”
I can’t help it. I start crying. Aunt Edith keeps trying to make me someone I’m not. “I won’t do world-changing things. I can’t believe you don’t know this already. See? I’m crying. You hate criers. I’m the biggest crybaby chicken you’ve ever seen.”
“You just put your hand in a moving motor to save the lives of hundreds of people. Not exactly chicken material.” She pauses, an amused smile playing over her face. “And I don’t hate criers.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Okay.” She grins. “I do. A little. But only because I used to be one myself.”
She could have dropped a million-pound weight on my foot and I wouldn’t have been more surprised. “You?”
“Yes, even me. Until the day I realized that an entire ocean of my tears had been wasted and I had nothing to show for it. You’ll figure that out too, I’m sure of it. But in the meantime, Polly,
please
stop worrying. Everything will be fine.”
“Did you really cry?”
“I did.” She shrugs. “Not so much in public, naturally. Bad for my image.” Aunt Edith leans over as she gently wipes my eyes with the back of her hand. “Listen very clearly, dear. Are you listening?”
I nod, blinking back my tears. I’m sure Harry is listening too.
“Then trust me, Polly. I have everything under control.”
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27
 
Headlines
 
This morning, when I come down for breakfast, Beatrice showed me the front page of the local newspaper.
RUPERT’S RHUBARB FARM IN DISARRAY: UMBRELLA RIDE BREAKS AND RIDERS IN MORTAL DANGER!
 
By Debbie Jong
EXCLUSIVE
Rupert’s Rhubarb Farm—the only rhubarb farm in the world that can guarantee rainfall once a week—suffered the setback of its life on Monday. Its notorious Umbrella ride got stuck while thousands of feet in the air, tossing hundreds of passengers around in what-seemed-like-certain-death.
Naturally, this could have been a catastrophe of catastrophic proportions. Reports allege that an offending weed was finally wrenched from the motor of the ride by an underage girl, although this has not been confirmed. An eye-witness confirmed that the girl looked shaken and a bit vapid, utterly incapable of such a feat. It is this writer’s opinion that relevant authorities need to come and review the business practices of this company. Just because this particular farm happens to be managed by Edith Peabody Stillwater should not mean special treatment . . .
 
I read it over and over again until Dad walks into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.
“Hey, pumpkin!” Dad says, giving me a kiss on the head. Only Dad can be so flaky that he can he act cheery after such a disaster.
I hand him the paper. “Did you read this?”
Dad laughs. “I did. Ah well. Don’t fight city hall.”
“What does that mean?”
“You can’t take it too seriously, Polly. People will say what they want to say.” He reaches into his pocket. “Plus, Debbie Jong’s a moron.”
“That’s Jennifer Jong’s mom, right?”
“Yes. She was in Edith’s class in school. Edith used to tell people that Debbie was proud of being dumb. I think the words she used were ‘aggressively stupid.’ ” Dad pulls out a bunch of receipts and coins from his pocket, not what he’s looking for. He reaches into his other pocket. “I’m not surprised she targets us in a news article. She always wanted to be Edith’s friend. Horrible position to be in, especially with my sister.” Dad smiles as he pulls out what looks like a tiny glob of yellow Jell-O. It’s a vitamin. “Here,” he says, handing it to me. “Vitamin E. Take it so—”
“I live to be a hundred and four. I know.” Dad always pushes Vitamin E. He says it’s the closest thing to a wonder drug that exists.
I look back to the paper. “But what if someone believes it?”
He glances at the article and shrugs. “The Umbrella did break. We do need to figure out what happened.”
“We know what happened.”
“We do?” Dad looks up at me, genuinely curious.
“Yes.” Why are the adults pretending they don’t know? “The plants did it.”
“The plants?”
“Dad! Didn’t you see them tangled up inside?”
He looks at me blankly for a second. Then, like it’s a gust of wind he can’t stop, his mouth opens and he roars with laughter. “I’m sorry. But even you have to know that the plants didn’t—couldn’t—do any such thing. They’re
plants
. I know them, I study them, you might even say I was intimately involved with them.”
There’s nothing worse than when parents think they’re being funny. “Yuck.”
Dad takes an apple out of the refrigerator. “No. Just science.”
“I think it’s magic.”
“I know you do. And that’s fine. But if you ask me, all of the questions we have now will be answered someday scientifically. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not in a hundred years. But in a thousand years? I think so. When I was younger I thought I’d try to figure out the rainfall. Eventually, I gave up. Not because it wasn’t interesting. Because it became more interesting to study the properties of the plant itself, and that’s how I developed my area of expertise. Hopefully I’ll find some—
some
, not all—answers as I continue to work. Your area of expertise could be something different. You could figure out why the diamonds sprout—”
“Or why the rhubarb tastes like chocolate—”
“—or why no one drowns in our lake. There are a million things you could study, if you choose. Or you could do something else altogether.You can write plays or sing songs or play sports.” He bites into his apple. “I just hope that you find something to do that you love. Otherwise, it’s just treading water till you’re gone.
“Anyway,” Dad says as he tilts my head back, smiling brightly. “Chin up, sweet pumpkin,” he says. “Good things are coming.” He points to the stack of papers he holds under one of his arms.
“Like what?” I try not to sound too excited.
“You’ll see. For once my dear sister might be impressed with her little brother,” he says, putting his cap back on his head. “Wait till the Sunday dinner. It’ll be a doozy.” Dad leans down and kisses me on the cheek. “Take your vitamin!” he repeats, and strolls out of the castle.
My eyes brighten. I feel like Dad just threw me a life preserver.
Good things are coming? Really?
I jump up and push open the door. At first, I just peek to make sure that reporters like Mrs. Jong aren’t on the other side, waiting to pounce. But no one’s there. The farm seems normal: I see pickup trucks and workers carrying shovels and plants waving their leaves at the sun.
I hesitate for only one more second. Then I spring out of the castle and race to the cherry blossom tree. If Dad’s right and good things are coming, then the mist will be gone.
It only makes sense. In a minute, I’m on my way.

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