The Curious World of Calpurnia Tate (12 page)

“It's no problem at all, ma'am. I have a most capable helper here.” He examined me. “Thank you, Miss…?”

“Calpurnia Virginia Tate.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Calpurnia Virginia Tate. I am Jacob Pritzker, late of Galveston. We shall shake hands properly once I am fully recovered.”

Curiosity was eating me alive. I knew that Mother would consider it the height of bad manners to ask about his hand, so I waited until her attention was safely focused elsewhere. I leaned in close and said quietly, “Dr. Pritzker, what happened to your hand?”

He murmured, “I had to climb a tree to escape the rising waters. It was swarming with dozens of rattlesnakes.”

“
No!
” I yelled.

The table fell silent. All eyes were on me. They were mostly curious, except for one pair, which were—predictably—furious.

“Uck.” I coughed. “Uh, bone caught in my throat. Yes. But I'm fine now. Thank you for your concern, everyone.” I cleared my throat ostentatiously.

J.B. piped up. “Can I see it? The bone?”

Mother glared at me and said, “No, darling,” with ice in her voice.

I kept my head down and waited for conversation to resume. For the moment, camouflage and mimicry of the well-behaved daughter were called for. I contemplated the differences between my own lucky encounter with a snake versus Dr. Pritzker's unlucky one.

Mother said, “Callie, kindly do not monopolize our guest. Where are you from, Dr. Pritzker? Where are your people?”

“In Ohio, ma'am. Ohio born and bred.”

“Ah.”

Mother was too polite to say it but Lamar was not, and he burst out with, “A Yankee!”

There was a sharp intake of breath around the table—over Dr. Pritzker's origins or Lamar's bad manners, it was hard to say. Mother grimaced at Lamar while Father made his apologies.

“That's quite all right, Mr. and Mrs. Tate. Yes, I did serve in the War, as a hostler in the Ninth Ohio Cavalry. But that was thirty-five years ago, and I hope you will not hold such ancient action against me. In my defense, I have lived the last ten years of my life in Galveston, and I hope to spend the rest of my days in the great State of Texas.”

Father announced to the table at large, “Dr. Pritzker is a graduate of the Chicago Veterinary College. I have persuaded him to set up his new practice here. I figure we have more than enough livestock in Caldwell County to keep him busy.”

Various eyes lit up for different reasons.

“Ah,” said Granddaddy with satisfaction, “a man who stands at the intersection of Science and Commerce.”

“Indeed, sir. Your son has told me about your pursuits, and I look forward to many mutually beneficial discussions.”

Travis and I grinned at each other. An animal doctor!

After cigars and brandy for the men, Alberto drove Dr. Pritzker and his few belongings in the wagon to Elsie Bell's boardinghouse, where he'd procured a room.

Travis and I walked alongside, burning with curiosity about his practice.

Travis said, “What kind of animals do you look after?”

“Most kinds, although my practice is predominantly made up of the more useful farm animals. Mainly cattle and horses and pigs.”

“Do you ever look after wild animals?”

“Well, young man, occasionally people will bring me an injured squirrel or raccoon or suchlike, but I generally prefer not to treat such animals. They're frightened and in pain, and they don't understand that you're trying to help. It's usually best to put them out of their misery.”

I could tell Travis didn't like this. He said, “I had an armadillo once. His name was Armand. At least, we think his name was Armand, but maybe it was Dilly. Have you ever doctored an armadillo?”

Dr. Pritzker smiled and said, “No, and I've never heard of anyone doing so.”

I chimed in with, “There's plenty of good reasons why not. I can't personally recommend them as pets.”

Travis said, “Does it make you sad when the animals die?”

“You get used to it, like most things in life, and you try not to get too attached.”

“Granddaddy always tells me the same thing,” I said. “Can we come and watch when you doctor the animals sometime?”

Dr. Pritzker looked surprised. He thought for a moment and said, “If your mother doesn't mind, I suppose it will be all right.”

I jumped in with, “Oh, she won't mind a bit,” while shooting Travis a meaningful glance. He took the hint and kept quiet.

We dropped Dr. Pritzker off and waved him good night.

Travis and I chattered in excitement all the way home. An animal doctor! What could be better?

*   *   *

W
HAT
COULD
BE BETTER
would be sleeping in your own bed. By the time I got upstairs, my cousin was curled up in my bed, face to the wall, the lamp turned low. She even had my pillow, and you know how disconcerting it is to sleep on a foreign one. I'd been provided with a lumpy cotton pillow and a lumpy cotton pallet on the floor. At snake level. As I blew out the lamp, the tiniest sound issued from across the room. Was it the king snake on his nightly rounds? Or was it Agatha whimpering?

“G'night,” I whispered, but there was no reply.

I thought about the two refugees the Galveston Flood had washed up on our shores. One of them was clearly a great prize. But the other? Well, she was still a question mark.

 

CHAPTER 11

AGGIE'S ORDEAL

An old man near Valdivia illustrated his motto, “Necesidad es la madre del invención,” by giving an account of the several useful things he manufactured from his apples.

I
AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING
to find the question mark sitting on the side of my bed, hugging my pillow to herself, and staring at me. Just staring. How long had she been sitting there, and why was she looking at me like that? Had I been talking in my sleep? Snoring? Passing gas? She had such a strange look on her face that I wondered if she'd caught a glimpse of the snake. But never mind, she was a wounded dove who required tender care. I would help with her convalescence, gently coaxing her back to life. We would take long healing nature walks, and at night I would brush her hair the recommended hundred strokes for optimal health and beauty. We would share our favorite books. She would be the sister I never had.

“Uh, hello,” I said.

No answer.

“How are you?”

No answer.

I studied her. She appeared to be of average height and figure, with medium brown hair and ordinary features. No beauty, but no gargoyle, either. All told, a middling girl. But as I reminded myself, one shouldn't judge another strictly on appearances, for although I myself might not be a great beauty, I was, nevertheless, an interesting person, was I not? And easy, pleasant company, was I not? Therefore I would withhold judgment for the moment.

There was, however, one unusual thing about her: the light of wary apprehension in her eyes, as if she were uncertain whether I'd bite or not.

I said, “I'm Calpurnia Virginia Tate, by the way, but you can call me Callie Vee. Do you go by Agatha or Aggie? I'm sorry about your house and all.”

Still no answer. This was getting pretty uncomfortable, but I persevered. “Of course, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, Agatha.”

“It's Aggie. And I don't want to.” Her face crumpled, and she erupted in tears.

“Oh, Aggie, I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about it.”

Well, of course we didn't
have
to—that went without saying. But I was bound and determined that at some point we actually
would
, because here was my very own flesh and blood, who'd survived the greatest natural disaster in the history of the United States. Not just Texas, mind, but the whole country. I'd have to wheedle the tale out of her eventually, even if it was only one small detail at a time, so as not to cause her too much pain. I was nothing if not considerate.

I fished my best lace handkerchief from the snake drawer and gave it to her.

“Here you go,” I said. “I have to get ready for school. Are you coming with me?”

“No,” she snuffled. “I've already got my diploma.”

“So what are you going to do with yourself?”

“Do?” She looked puzzled. “What do you mean, ‘do'? I'm waiting for Poppa to build a new house so I can go home.”

“How long will that take?”

“They said just a few months.”

Oh, good. Sleeping on the floor for “just a few months.”

She stared off into space and wept some more. “But I don't want to go back there. After all the things I saw.”

This piqued my interest. I whispered, “What did you see, Aggie?”

Suddenly the breakfast gong sounded, and she flinched violently. “What's that noise?”

“It's Viola telling us to come down for breakfast.”

“Aunt Margaret said I could have a tray in my room.”

It took me a second to realize that, first, she was referring to Mother, and second, that she was referring to
my
room.

On the way to school, I was joined by more than my usual quota of brothers, all of whom quizzed me about our cousin.

“Is she drippy like you?” said Lamar. “Or is she basically all right?”

I ignored the insult and replied, “Hard to say. She's really upset, that's for sure, so it's hard to tell if she's actually drippy or not. Maybe she's just droopy, being sad and all.”

Sam Houston said, “Good one, Callie.”

“Thank you,” I said modestly. “I thought so.”

By now the whole town had heard about Aggie. Our teacher, Miss Harbottle, interrogated me about her, and on finding that Aggie had earned her diploma, suggested that perhaps she'd volunteer to help out with the little kids' lessons.

“I don't know, Miss Harbottle. She's jumpy as a lizard on a hot rock.”

“The poor lamb, but this might be just what she needs to bring her out of herself. I shall speak to your mother about it after she's had some time to recover.”

At recess, Lula Gates asked me during hopscotch if Aggie played the piano.

“Why do you want to know?” I said, making the turn and hopping back, pretending that my foot hadn't—maybe—slipped over the chalked line the tiniest bit.

“I thought it would be nice to play duets with her.”

Wounded, I said, “You don't like playing with me?”

“Whenever I ask you, you always have something else to do, or else you're going off with your grandfather to spy on insects or toads or something.”

I had to admit the truth of this. Playing duets sounded like fun in theory but it meant you actually had to practice, something I often fell short on. But Lula was my best friend and a far better musician than I. She deserved a better partner, so I agreed to invite her over when Aggie felt up to it.

I arrived home to discover that Alberto had moved a small wardrobe into my room. I thought it was for Aggie, but then she took over the large wardrobe and my things were crammed into the smaller one. This seemed terribly unjust, as she had practically no clothes. She did, however, have the strangely shaped case that I still hadn't figured out.

She spent most of her time in bed with the curtains drawn, picking lethargically at the dainties on her tray, doing an excellent impression of an invalid with a wasting disease. She jumped at loud noises and sudden moves. Any little thing could set her off in fresh torrents of tears.

When I made gentle inquiries, she said, “I can't stop crying. Oh, I wish I could stop. What's wrong with me? I didn't used to be like this.”

“Never mind, Aggie. I'm sure you'll get better.” (Of course, I had absolutely nothing to base this on but it seemed like the right thing to say.) “Do you want me to brush your hair?”

“No. Leave me alone.”

I left her alone.

A few days later, the magnitude of Aggie's misery was driven home to me. Passing the parlor door, I caught a glimpse of Mother, looking upset, slipping what appeared to be a letter into her sewing basket. Viola called her into the kitchen a moment later. The letter sat unguarded.

Calpurnia
, I told myself,
don't do it. A letter is a private thing.
I kept repeating this even as I tiptoed to the basket and extracted the letter, stealthy as a pickpocket. It was from Aggie's mother in Galveston, and read:

My dearest sister Margaret,

I am sending you this account of the storm in order that you may understand the ordeal that we survived by the grace of God. I fear that a severe shock has been impressed on Aggie's soul, and I fear that she may never fully recover from it.

Margaret, how I wish we had listened to your warning over the telephone! But our own weather bureau officials did not foresee any danger and raised no alarm that might have saved our city. Still, that morning there had been a strange orange light over the city that no one had ever seen before. Even as you and I spoke on the telephone, the skies darkened and filled with low black clouds, the temperature grew chilly, and the rains began. An hour later, I glanced into the yard, now under several inches of water, and was met by the strangest sight: hundreds—no,
thousands
—of tiny toads clinging to every floating thing. Where had they come from? I called to Gus to come and see this unprecedented sight but he was busy nailing boards over the shutters in the front yard.

Then the wind picked up. By lunchtime, most of the street was under two feet of running brown water. The toads had all vanished. Now there were fish swimming in the gutters, and the neighborhood children laughed in delight at this amazing spectacle. By two o'clock, we saw driftwood floating by, washed all the way from the beach. At three o'clock, we stood on the porch and, to our horror, watched the water rise all the way up the front steps
in the space of seconds
, driving us back inside. A moment later, we watched Dr. Pritzker splash—or rather swim—across the street to us, his house being only one story tall and having lost most of its roof to the wind. We took him in and huddled together in the parlor. A few minutes later, we were joined by the Alexander family from next door, Mr. Alexander having tied his wife and three children together with the clothesline, which he had then tied around his own waist. We pulled them half drowned from the waves and debris, all manner of common household goods, strange to behold. At four o'clock, we saw the first of many dead horses.