Belle Teal (14 page)

I imagine my classmates sampling the fruitcake. I can see it all sliced up into polite little squares, laid out on napkins with poinsettias on them. Miss Casey herself tries a piece. “Oh, my,” she says. “Why, this fruitcake gives fruitcake a good name. It is just delicious and it doesn't weigh a ton. You must give me the recipe, Belle Teal.”

Next HRH Vanessa tries a piece. She doesn't say anything, but she licks her lips. Then she takes another piece. She can't help herself.

I decide that when that happens I will be very gracious-like and compliment her on her mother's French lace cookies.

C
hristmas is a fine holiday. There is nothing I don't like about it — the music and the decorations and the surprises and the presents and chopping down our Christmas tree. This year is even better, with our pageant and all. So I don't mind one bit when school starts up again after Thanksgiving vacation, because now there are only a few more weeks until Christmas, and in my mind they are the best weeks of the year.

I have been hard at work on my costume. I have taken four books about Christmas out of our school library, and I have been studying Mary's clothes. Mostly her outfit looks like a blue bathrobe with a hood. I kind of wish for a more interesting costume. It would have been fun to turn those feathers into a rooster outfit, or to glue cotton balls onto a leotard to make a sheep costume, or to make spangly wings for the angel Gabriel, or even to make one of those curvy sticks the shepherds carry. Still, it is going to take some doing to get Mary's robe just right, and now Gran, she doesn't seem to be a lot of help about it. I guess I am on my own.

One interesting thing is that in those Christmas books the pageant people all look different. I want to know more about the colored king, and when I go looking for him I see that in one book the Baby Jesus has black hair and in one book he has blonde hair, and those swaddling clothes never look the same. Each picture is different. Now the kings, in one book they are all definitely white. And a couple of books don't show pictures of them, but in the fourth there is a king with brown skin and black hair. I don't see his name anywhere, so I don't know anything more about King Gaspar, but before I return that book to Mrs. Harvey our librarian, I write down the title and author in case there is further trouble about Darryl and his part in the pageant. I want to be able to show the picture to Chas and Vernon and Little Boss.

 

One night after I have finished my homework, I pull out my costume. I have decided that I should make an attractive belt to go around the robe. One of the pictures I have seen shows a sort of rope around Mary's middle, but I think I could make something just a little fancier. I am sitting on the floor surrounded by a pile of yarn in all colors, and Gran has already asked me six times what am I doing. I don't know how to answer her any differently to get the point across.

Gran looks up from staring into the fire. “Why, Belle Teal,” she says. “What's all that?”

This time I do not answer her directly. “I am so excited about our pageant,” I say. “I still can't believe Miss Casey picked me to play Mary. This has been the best school year of my life. I have gotten almost straight A's, and me and Darryl got our Halloween book put right in the library for all the world to see, with an A plus on it. And now the pageant and the Christmas program. Everyone is going to love our fruitcake, Gran.”

“We better get started on that,” says Gran, looking back into the fire.

 

One Monday morning, about two weeks before Christmas, I am waiting for the bus bright and early. I am hopping from foot to foot, but I hardly notice the cold. Today is the day of our first big rehearsal for the pageant. I have brought my costume with me so's I can show Miss Casey how it is coming along. I certainly am proud of the green and pink and orange yarn belt I braided.

The second that bus squeaks to a stop and the door
whooshes
open, I leap up the steps, call hello to Bernette, and start looking for Clarice. The bus seems quiet to me, but really all I can think about is the belt.

“Clarice! Look!” I cry as I spot her. I am pulling out the belt before I even sit down.

“Belle Teal,” Clarice says, somber-like, and I think she doesn't like the belt.

“I know these might not be the right colors for Mary —” I start to say, suddenly concerned about what I have done, and that's when someone taps me on the shoulder from behind.

“What?” I say, turning around and stuffing the belt back in my costume bag.

Chas and Vernon are eyeing me darkly. “I guess you haven't heard,” says Vernon.

“Heard what?” I reply. I glance at Clarice and I can tell that whatever it is, she already knows it too. I get a very bad feeling. Also, I am mad at the boys because they seem so eager to give me this news that I am probably not going to like.

“About Darryl. And Little Boss,” says Vernon.

He is really dragging this out. Even Chas looks impatient, and finally he jumps in and says, “Me and Vernon went over to Little Boss's house yesterday and only Big Boss was there and he said Little Boss couldn't come outside because he's in the hospital.”

“Because Darryl shot him,” exclaims Vernon triumphantly.

I am stunned. Darryl shot Little Boss? The boys must have this backwards. They must mean that Little Boss shot Darryl. But no, that is not what they said. I feel my teeth begin to chatter. I think of our Halloween joke. Then I think of all that Little Boss has done to Darryl since school started. But still . . .

Everything about this seems wrong. And at first the only thing I can think to say is, “If Little Boss is in the hospital, why wasn't Big Boss there with him?”

Chas and Vernon shrug. Then Chas says, “Don't you want to know what happened?”

I am not sure I do, but I say, “Okay.”

“Well, Big Boss,” Chas begins, “he came home from a job on Saturday afternoon” (I am thinking, more likely he came home from a bar) “and he found Little Boss bleeding in front of their house. Says he saw Darryl in the woods at the edge of their yard. And that Darryl had shot Little Boss with his hunting rifle. Little Boss is going to be all right, but he has to stay in the hospital until tomorrow.”

Once again, this just sounds plain wrong. One thing, I know that Darryl doesn't have any hunting rifle. Two, if Darryl had shot Little Boss, why would he stick around and spy after?

“Darryl,” I say slowly, “doesn't have a hunting rifle. He doesn't have any kind of gun.”

“Then it must have been his father's,” replies Chas.

“Darryl doesn't believe in killing animals,” I go on.

“Just in killing white people,” says Vernon.

I want to say, “Well, if that's the truth, then the two of you will probably be next,” but I clomp my mouth closed. I don't want to get Darryl into any more trouble. “I don't believe it,” I say.

“It's what happened,” says Vernon.

“There's no accounting for Darryl's kind,” adds Chas.

I want to clobber both of them, but I look toward the front of the bus and notice Bernette glancing at us in the mirror. I swivel back and say in a loud whisper, “You mean to tell me that Darryl shot Little Boss, then hung around in the woods until Big Boss came home? Why would he want to be caught by Big Boss?”

Chas and Vernon shrug.

“Do you really believe Darryl went over to Little Boss's house and tried to kill him? Come on,” I say.

“Well, he didn't go over there on purpose to murder him,” says Vernon.

“Yeah, Darryl was out hunting and he was too close to the Stompers' house and he shot at a squirrel and hit Little Boss instead,” says Chas. “I bet it made him real happy.”

I still do not believe this. Not one word.

Bernette pulls the bus to a stop in front of Coker Creek Elementary, and what is the first thing I set my eyes on but Darryl and his mother and a tall man who must be his father all walking through the front doors of the school.

“Hey!” I cry. “Look! There's Darryl. You,” I say to Chas and Vernon, “are crazy. You don't know what you're talking about. Darryl couldn't possibly have tried to kill Little Boss. If he had, he wouldn't be at school now, would he?”

“Darryl's been saying he didn't do it, says he was home the entire day,” replies Chas.

Now that sounds more like the truth.

“Let's go,” I say to Clarice. We are off the bus in a flash and running to our classroom. When we reach the doorway, there is Miss Casey talking quietly in the hall with Mr. and Mrs. Craig. We run by them and find Darryl inside sitting at his desk. I grab his hand and pull him to the back of the room.

“You hear?” he asks us.

“Chas and Vernon told us on the bus,” I say.

“But we don't believe them,” adds Clarice.

“What really happened?” I ask.

“Nothing,” says Darryl, which is not what I expect him to say.

“What do you mean?” asks Clarice.

“I mean I wasn't anywhere near Little Boss's house on Saturday. I would never go over there. I was just at home that evening and a knock came at the door and my father answered it and a policeman was there and started asking me all these questions. Said Big Boss phoned them from the hospital — only he didn't say ‘Big Boss,' he said ‘Mr. Stomper' — to say he had come home to find his boy bleeding on the front porch and he had seen me in the woods with a hunting rifle and I must have shot Little Boss.”

“What did your father say?” I ask.

“He told the policeman I was home all day, and that Reverend Watts — he's our preacher — was visiting. He stayed for hours. He knows I was at home too.”

“So then everything is okay, right?” I say. “You're here in school. They didn't take you away or anything.”

“Yeah, but it's our word against a white man's,” says Darryl. “And you know who people are going to believe.”

“They might believe Reverend Watts,” says Clarice. “Everyone knows him.”

All I say is, “Mmm.” I am thinking of the look on Big Boss's face when he showed up at the Halloween party and saw the trick me and Darryl had played on Little Boss.

Clarice is frowning. “Darryl,” she says, “if you didn't do anything to Little Boss, then is he really in the hospital?”

“The policeman said he was,” Darryl answers.

“So what happened? Why is he in the hospital?” I ask.

Darryl shrugs.

“Chas and Vernon said he'd be home tomorrow,” Clarice reminds me.

I have this horrible heavy feeling in my head. Then my stomach starts to feel all watery, and I am afraid I might throw up. I am very worried about Little Boss, and very worried about Darryl.

Miss Casey steps back inside our classroom and calls us to order. I try to calm myself down. As I slide into my seat I notice how quiet the room is. Most of the kids are staring at Darryl. But Miss Casey, she claps her hands for attention so everyone shifts to her instead.

The morning passes okay. At lunchtime, Miss Casey hovers around Darryl and Clarice and me in case there's trouble, but she doesn't need to. Nobody treats us any different than usual. At recess, we even manage to write up a
City Lights
Christmas episode.

Later, when we have settled in at our desks again, Miss Casey announces that our first rehearsal is going to have to wait until the next day, as the third-graders need the auditorium this afternoon. I do not know if this is true or not. I think maybe Miss Casey wants to be sure there isn't going to be any trouble about Darryl.

“Bring your costumes to school tomorrow,” Miss Casey tells us. “We will have a dress rehearsal.”

At the end of the day, Mrs. Craig appears at the door to our room to walk Darryl home. Clarice and me, we walk close behind the Craigs on our way to the bus. In the hallway a bunch of kids turn and stare at Darryl. And then I hear a loud, papery “Ssssss,” and I see HRH Vanessa hissing like a serpent at the Craigs, so I march up to her and stomp on her foot and don't even look back when she cries out.