Brown Sunshine of Sawdust Valley (7 page)

“His age is no problem at all,” Bigelow replied. “In England and other countries, kings are often mere lads.”

“Covington,” Oliver said, “what the crowd really likes to see is evidence of work done. And Brown Sunshine already has pull-markings over his shoulders, and light markings above his belly. The plain pull-markings are the greatest! They will make up for the shortness of his tail.”

“Brown Sunshine is definitely as tall as any work-mule,” Drew added. “A King Mule has to be at least fifteen hands at five years, and Brown Sunshine is fifteen hands at three years! And he's twice as handsome. When he's crowned King Mule for a Day, the people will go wild! But I don't suppose mules can really feel a pride rising inside them.”

“Why not?” Molly asked. “They show gladness in different ways from humans.”

“You bet your boots they do,” Joe Henry said, his eyes remembering. “Once when I was in fourth grade, a horse and a mule visited our school. I had sticky hands from just finishing an ice cream cone and the mule licked my fingers long after the ice cream was gone.”

“I'd like to nominate Brown Sunshine as our King Mule if we, the committee, agree,” said Oliver.

“I do,” said Drew.

“Definitely!” Bigelow agreed. “We won't have too long for this committee to fit the jewels into his crown. And only a few weeks to see how the Queen of the Parade takes on her role of crowning so young a king.”

“Probably,” Drew explained to Molly, “if you had been a few years older, we would have nominated you as Mule Queen! But since you're only thirteen, we want you to be a member of the Court, and ride on the float with Brown Sunshine. Joe Henry Covington will be Grand Marshal.”

Molly clapped her hands and Joe Henry laughed. How could they have questioned this great honor for Brown Sunshine? It might never be offered again!

Brown Sunshine snorted a kind of relief when the visitors' car turned out onto the highway. Joe Henry let out a wah-hoo strong enough to be
heard by the members of the committee, and to draw a wild honking and hand-waving from their car. Brown Sunshine answered with a half bray, half whinny.

“Molly,” Joe Henry said, “it's good we have a month of hard work ahead so we won't go mooning about the glory of the crowning and the people shouting, ‘Brown Sunshine! Brown Sunshine!'”

Dear Diary,

Mom and I are in orbit! We've been shopping for a long queenly gown for me to wear to the crowning of Brown Sunshine. The one we finally decided on looks almost like a wedding dress. It's white and floor-length with puffy bell-shaped sleeves. When I tried it on and looked in the mirror, I didn't even look like me!

As Mom was paying for my new formal, the clerk pointed out a hidden feature. “Look here,” she said, “this gown has a lined pocket to hold the necessities—a compact, aspirin, a handkerchief, even one of those tiny lipsticks.”

Mom and I both laughed at the idea of all that extra baggage. I told her that I'd rather carry sliced carrots or sugar cubes in the secret pocket than all that other stuff! Then on the long drive home, she tried to impress on me the importance of being a “lady.” I'm not sure this is going to be fun.

But I faced a much bigger worry.
What
can we do about Brown Sunshine's sad tail? It looks horrible, almost ratty! Especially when the rest of him is so handsome.

I out and out asked Freddy Westover. For once he didn't even snicker.

“No problem,” he said. “Howd'ya like to borrow a false tail?”

“From where?”

“From my equipment for my show horses.”

I couldn't believe it could be that simple. But it was! When we put on his false tail, it perfectly matched Brown Sunshine's coat. He swished his new tail with abandon, as if it felt good and belonged to him.

M
olly felt sorry for anyone who wasn't “behind the scenes” with Brown Sunshine on the day before his crowning. After she gave the mule a bath, her father was ready to give him a clean shave called a Spring Show Mule Clip. Mr. Moore was Sunshine's barber, with the advice of Joe Henry Covington. With his thumb, Mr. Moore tested the sharpness of the buzzing clipper he was ready to use.

Brown Sunshine quivered in fear at the prospect. But he didn't pull away. His trust overcame his fear.

The talk was in monosyllables.

“Where should I begin, J.H.?” Mr. Moore asked.

“Start down his cheeks and down on his nose.”

“Where then?”

“Shave twelve inches up from his chin, up to his neck.”

Brown Sunshine was not happy with the talk nor with the noise of the clipper blade. For comfort, he licked a bit of salt from Mr. Moore's palm before he felt the tickle and heard the buzzing of the razor traveling down his ears, leaving two tufts of hair on the very tips.

At last, it was over. Brown Sunshine was relieved, and pleased by the cool morning wind applauding the results. Mr. Moore rewarded his victim with a whole sugar cube, trying to make peace again between man and mule.

The next day, after Molly finished dressing in her long, white gown, Pops knocked at her bedroom door. He was holding something behind his back.

“Molly,” he said, “I learned long ago, in a creative-writing class, that a good newspaper reporter can take notes during an interview without anyone noticing that he is writing. You can, too.” He pressed a tiny diary into her hand. The small book had two handsome chestnut mules on the front cover and a small pencil tucked into the binding.

“Oh, Pops, I'll report the whole parade!” Molly said. “Now I'm ready!”

Dear Diary,

I've never ridden in a parade before. Especially a Mule Day Parade. You can't imagine the excitement of it. This bright red wagon with the yellow-spoked wheels is about to be pulled by two enormous Belgian draft mules. Brown Sunshine himself is standing tall in his reserved box, waiting, as if he knows that history is about to be made. He's almost the same height as Joe Henry Covington, who's sitting on the driver's bench wearing brand-new bibbed overalls and a grin that spreads ear to ear. Because he will be busy waving to the crowd, Mr. Covington's
not
doing the driving. John Robert Skillington, the famous driver of many Mule Day parades,
is!

The excitement mounts. Three flags on our wagon snap in the breeze—the United States flag, the Maury County flag, and our Tennessee State flag. And banners on both sides of the wagon proclaim:

MR. JOE HENRY COVINGTON

GRAND MARSHAL

MR. JOHN ROBERT SKILLINGTON

HONORARY DRIVER

AND

KING MULE

BROWN SUNSHINE

OF SAWDUST VALLEY

T
wo whopper-size draft mules pulled Molly and Brown Sunshine's red wagon to the starting place: the regal Atheneum. The building looked untouchable with its intricate cutwork siding and wraparound porch. In the growing audience, Molly could see Mom and Pops waving to Brown Sunshine. They were proud of him, standing like a king, observing his attendants: The Queen and her Court of Five, including his delighted owner!

The Queen carried the glittering golden crown on a pillow of red velvet to match the King's red wagon. The band played “Seventy-Six Trombones” as she threaded her way through the narrow aisle of the float. When she
reached Brown Sunshine, a member of her Court quieted the band. The Queen stood on tiptoe to place the crown between the two magnificent shaved ears, bringing the elastic cords down his cheeks and fastening them with a strong bow-knot under his chin. Now Brown Sunshine's crown was a-glitter with rhinestones that looked like real diamonds and blue-green sapphires and red rubies—outshining every member of the court.

The crowd roared; the parade was about to start!

Entries surrounded Molly's wagon. Directly behind her was a wagon filled to the brim with tiptoe dancers, or cloggers. And among the whirling dancers was Molly's librarian, Elizabeth
Potts . . . the very one who had helped her with her essay.