Boomtown (15 page)

“Nothing serious?” I couldn't believe it. There was
no
way
I was going to let Jonny build a
rocket
. It just wasn't safe! I jumped up from my seat, threw fifty cents on the table, grabbed my umbrella, and headed for the door.

“No need to panic! Everything will be fine. What about the Nativity? Reverend? Come back!”

I made it back to the church at a run, found Janice hanging evergreen swags in the foyer, and told her what I'd found out. Then we both jumped in the car and drove to the Boomtown School. We pounded through the front door and charged past the principal's office. Janice turned left to go check on Sarah. I shot straight down the hall and burst into Mr. O'Malley's eighth-grade science class. It was right in the middle of his demonstration of how to add ammonium to black powder as a binding agent.

“Mr. O'Malley! What in heaven's name is going on here?”

“Excuse me? Oh, you must be Reverend Button! Welcome!” He walked over and shook my hand. “Pleased to meet you. I'd love to stop and talk, but now isn't a good time. We're right in the middle of a lesson.”

“Yes. I know. I just found out that you're building
rockets
in here!”

“Oh, I see. You're new in town. Someone should have told you sooner. Entirely my fault. Would you like to stay and observe?”

“Observe? I don't think so! I came to take Jonny out of here!”

“Dad! No! What are you doing?”

I turned to see Jonny at the back table with a group of boys, a mixing bowl in front of him, and a spoon in his hand. He was humiliated by my intrusion, I could tell, but I was too upset to back down.

“Look, son, this is
dangerous
.”

“No, it isn't. Mr. O'Malley has taught us all about it. The ingredients are stable. You have to put a match to it—and there aren't any matches allowed in here.”

I walked over to him and lowered my voice. “But Jonny, these are
explosives
. You're learning how to blow things up in eighth grade!”

“That's nothing, Dad. Most of my friends here learned how to do that in kindergarten. This is Boomtown, Dad.
Boomtown
. This is what people
do
here.”

“But . . .”

“Dad, look at what we made. We're going to enter the contest, and we could win! This is Rocky. His team took first place last year. He's our team leader. Just look at our rocket! Isn't it great?”

In the corner stood a paper maché Santa Claus, arms stretched over its head like Superman, painted bright red, with black boots, glued-on paper strips for a beard, and a pointy hat. He had on a pair of airmen's goggles over his eyes and a yellow comet painted on his hat and the words
You
Better Watch Out
painted on his chest.

“You see, Dad, his hat comes off like this, so you can pack rocket propellant down this tube inside the body. The fuse comes out here at the bottom. It's a really long fuse. You light it and run away. You got lots of time before he takes off. And when the fuel burns up to his head—BOOM! A big ol' ball of fire. Our burst is going to have red and green trailers with gold sparklers in it. Isn't it super?”

I just stood there with my mouth open. What could I say? Jonny had never been this excited about school. He did well enough, but nothing ever sparked his interest like this. I was impressed—but I didn't want to let on. Should I be encouraging this?

“Dad, we're learning about chemistry, propulsion, physics, flight patterns, wind dynamics, all the math and stuff that goes along with it. It's the best thing I've ever done in school. I'm learning a lot! Please,
please
don't make me go home.”

Mr. O'Malley came up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Trust me, Reverend. I haven't lost a single student yet. And besides, when you see fifteen paper mâché Santas exploding into brilliant colors in the sky, you'll change your mind forever. It's a sight you're not going to want to miss.”

So I didn't. Two weeks later at the Living Nativity, Janice and I marched along with all the other townfolk as we sang carols and sipped hot cider, following Mary and Joseph and the wise men and the shepherd and the sheep and the horse dressed like a camel. We marched past the frozen cow and the festive Christmas chickens out to the play-field at the Boomtown School. I stood shoulder to shoulder with Reverend Platz and Reverend Tinker as we prayed with our people, thanking God for another blessed year, remembering the heroes who fought in the war, and asking the Lord for another safe launch.

Did I mention that Tebs and Gerty were not Joseph and Mary that year? Nope. It was my own Ruth and Waldo Wainwright, dressed in robes, riding on the “camel” and leading the parade. And who was it marching in front of the choir of angels? It was none other than my very own Sarah.

“Sarah, as an
angel
?” I whispered to Janice as she went by.

“That's quite a stretch, don't you think?”

“Don't be an old poop, Mr. Button,” Janice replied.

“Just look at her! She's having the time of her life!”

Sarah was definitely making the most of it. She marched along in front as the other angel girls sang “O Little Town of Bethlehem” and “Hark! the Herald Angels Sing.” In one hand, she carried a huge sparkler on a pole, representing the Christmas Star. With her other hand, she waved to the crowd as she passed by, clearly enjoying all the attention.

Once we got to the school playfield it was time for fire-works. First came the Exploding Elves, with long fuses sticking up out of their pointy hats.
Boom!
Off with their heads! Then eight tiny Reindeer Rockets with Rudolph leading the way.
Woosh!
Then the climax of the evening—all the science classes lit their Santa Shooters. Sheriff Burton Ernie was the official judge.

“We want to thank Mr. O'Malley for his fine work with our kids again this year. We also want to thank the folks from Big Bang Explosives for donating the rocket fuel.

“We're also excited to be able to welcome Jonny Button to a team this year, led by last year's winner, Rocky Dougherty. We're expecting big things from that team—isn't that right, Reverend?”

“I certainly hope not!” I shouted back. Everyone laughed and applauded.

Once the laughter subsided, Burton said, “Okay, then, if everybody's ready to go, without any further ado, let's fire 'em up!”

The teams took turns shooting off their Santas. A few of them did pretty well; estimates ranged from fifty feet to as much as one hundred twenty-five feet. Each of the Santas exploded as expected, in lovely blooms of brilliant color, except for one that crash-landed on the roof of the school. Too bad it was a dud. It had actually traveled the farthest distance.

Then it was Jonny's turn. His team lined up their rocket while I watched the shining eyes of my son. I listened to his excited chatter as he lit the fuse, ran for cover, and yelled in triumph as their Santa rocket soared fifty, one hundred, one hundred fifty, two hundred feet and more into the air—right into the record books! Then I watched as his wonderful Santa rocket, caught in a winter gust of wind, made a graceful one-hundred- eighty-degree U-turn and plunged straight back toward earth, straight into the ground in the exact spot where I was standing—just before it blew me over the fence.

I woke up about twenty minutes later surrounded by a circle of concerned faces. Janice was feeling my forehead. Doctor Goldberg was checking my pulse. Jonny was accepting congratulations from his team members. Reverend Tinker was working on a rough draft for my eulogy. He gave a huge sigh of relief when he saw my eyes open. He tore up his notes and declared, “He'll live!”

The announcement was greeted with cheers from a worried crowd. I think they were mostly happy because now the rest of the Santas could be launched without further interruption. My church members were happy since they wouldn't have to start searching for a new pastor. I was happy just to be
alive.

Janice helped me to my feet and led me over to the car, where we sat and watched the remainder of the launches from relative safety. We could see Ruth with her high school friends leading Christmas carols for the children. Sarah was in the front row with a bent halo, dressed as an angel and trying her best to act like one. Jonny was helping his bud-dies light off the last of the Exploding Elves and the Rocket Reindeer. It was strange and fun and disturbing and wonderful all at the same time.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Button,” Janice said, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

“And a Merry Christmas to you, Mrs. Button,” I answered, kissing her back.

Then she smiled mischievously. “I suppose I better wish you a Happy New Year
now
. You know, just in case you don't live long enough to see it.”

“Oh! Very funny!” I groaned, handing her the car keys.

“And since you are so funny . . .
you
can drive us home.”

CHAPTER 8

A Gift from the Hopontops

C
hristmas morning at the Button house meant getting up early, eating toast, sipping coffee and cocoa, and checking our Christmas stockings to see what Santa brought us that year. We found the usual things: a hairbrush and hairclips for Ruth, a yoyo and some new gears and wheels for Jonny's Erector Set, and a whistle and some doll clothes for Sarah. Then Janice and I got the biggest surprise of all.

While we sat in the living room opening our presents, Janice heard the sound of crying coming from the front porch. Sarah was the first one out the door.

“It's a baby!” she shrieked.

“No, it's not,” Jonny argued.

“You don't think I know what a baby looks like?” Sarah replied, holding up the bundle so all could see. We saw a tiny brown and blue face peek out from inside an Indian blanket and heard the sound of whimpering.

“Sarah,” Janice implored, “please hand the baby to me.”

“
I
found it!”

“I know that, dear, but it's a
baby
, not a toy. It's probably freezing—and hungry too.”

Jonny grabbed the handmade basket where the baby had been lying, and we all came inside to take a closer look. Peeling aside the striped blanket, we saw dark hair over a small narrow face, ruddy cheeks, brown skin, and bright blue eyes. The baby was probably no more than a few weeks old, dressed in cotton pajamas and a pair of cotton socks. Janice rewrapped the baby tightly in the blanket and we shuffled into the living room to stand by the heater. In a few moments, the crying subsided and Janice took command.

“Ruth, run down to the LaPierres'. They have their new baby and all. Ask them if we can borrow a bottle, some infant formula, and diapers. Jonny, fetch me a few more blankets. Sarah—stop dancing around—in the bathroom are some cot-ton cloths that will work for diapers for now; bring those to me, will you please? Arthur, get that note pinned to the corner of the blanket. Can you read it?”

I reached over and undid the safety pin that was holding a note written in crooked scrawl and spattered with tears. I flipped it over and looked at both sides. Not much there.

“It says, ‘Please take her as your own.' That's it. Nothing more. No signature.”

“A girl,” Janice hummed, rocking the baby gently.

“That's what the note says.”

“A baby on a doorstep; a mysterious note; no explanation. I've read about this sort of thing happening,” I murmured. “I just didn't think it was going to happen to
us.
”

Sarah came barreling into the room waving the cloths. “I heard you! A
girl
baby! And
I
was the one who found her! Can I keep her, Mom? Dad? Can I?”

I grabbed her by the shoulders to keep her from lifting off into outer space. “Really, Sarah, please. Of course you can't keep her. She's not a pet; she's a
baby
. A baby with a mother and a father. We have to find out who they are.”

“You never let me have nothin'!” Sarah pouted.