Moo (11 page)

Dripping slow time as we waited

and waited

until

finally

we heard

the sound

of

a

car

pulling

into

the

drive.

At last!

Well? Well?
We were all over Mom and Dad like flies.
What was that about? Who is Mr.
Colley? Where was Mrs. Falala?

I tried to read the expressions on their faces. They looked, I suppose, puzzled, more than anything else.

Did something happen to Mrs. Falala?
Luke asked.

Dad spread his arms.
No one knows. She's gone
missing!

Missing?
I said.
How could she go missing? And
who is Mr. Colley?

Mr. Colley is her neighbor and he's also her
attorney. He was supposed to meet with her last
night, but she wasn't home—or at least she didn't
answer the door. He thought that odd, so he went
inside—she never locks her doors—but no sign of
her. He went back again this morning, figuring
she'd have to be up early to feed the animals, but
the house was still dark and still quiet and no sign
of Mrs. Falala.

Mom was gulping down a cup of coffee.
Reena,
do you and Luke have any idea where she might
have gone?

The only place I could think of was the fair,
and I said so.
But if she'd gone to the fair, we
would have seen her and she would've come back
last night, right? And why did Mr. Colley call us?

Good question, Reena. I asked the same thing
, Mom said.
Apparently, Mr. Colley knows all
about you and Luke helping out over there, and
our phone number is written in three places in her
kitchen. But right now we need you to go back with
us and tend to the animals and have another look
around—maybe through the pastures in case she
went out walking and fell down or something.

And so we did, we went back to Mrs. Falala's, in search of her.

Mr. Colley was a short, square, bald-headed man, and I recognized him. Several times in the past weeks he had stopped in to see Mrs. Falala, and each time, he had brought something: a basket of vegetables, a pot of soup, a stack of folders, even a bucket of crabs once. On this day, he was in the barn, along with Mr. Birch and Zep.

Just checking the barn one more time
, Mr. Colley said.

The animals were agitated, mewing and mooing and squealing and squawking. I went straight to Zora, who was complaining loudly:

There, there, Zora girl, it's okay, shhh
. I gave her water and filled her grain pail and combed her back.
There, there. Where is she, Zora? Mm?
Where's Mrs. Falala?

Zep joined me in Zora's pen.
I didn't think to
check on Mrs. Falala when we brought Zora and
Yolanda back yesterday
, he said. He put his hand on my shoulder.
I should have told her how good
you did with Zora at the fair.

Aw—aw—

And how good Zora did, too. Well, after that first
jumpabout!

I wanted to kiss that Zep boy, right there in the barn.

The grown-ups headed out to the pasture and fields while Zep, Luke, and I tended to the animals. Zora seemed to want extra attention, nudging me with her big head, nuzzling my arm.

Paulie settled down quickly once Zep dumped some slop in his trough; the cat picked at her food petulantly; and Crockett kept squawking even though he had ready access to his seed and water all the time.

We were about to join the others out in the
fields when I happened to look up at the house, at that third-floor window. It was wide open.

I called out to Mr. Colley:
Has anyone looked in
the attic?

What?
he said. The
attic? Never thought of it
. He must not have thought that sounded promising because he turned back to his trek across the pasture.

Luke seized my arm.
We've gotta, Reena, we've
gotta check up there.

Zep offered to go with us, so the three of us went inside the house.

I don't know about this
, I said.
Mrs. Falala might
be mad if she found us prowling around her house.

But
, Zep said,
she might be grateful if she was
injured and needed help and was waiting for
someone to find her.

Mr. Colley had said he'd already checked the rest of the house, so I suggested we go straight to the attic. It was eerily quiet inside. The rooms were sparsely furnished with old but comfortable-looking sofas and chairs and dark wooden tables.

On up we went, up the central staircase, and down a long hall, with closed doors on either side. Not knowing which might lead to the attic, we opened each one: a bedroom that looked like it must be Mrs. Falala's, as her clothes were folded on a dresser and a stack of books and a water glass were on a table beside a made-up bed; next, a storage room, with boxes and suitcases; and a third room seemed to be a guest room, with its simple bed, table, and dresser.

The last door opened on a flight of stairs. We all stood at the bottom looking up.

Mrs. Falala?
I called.
Mrs. Falala? Are you up
there?

Silence.

Up we went: me, then Zep, then Luke.

The room was smaller than I expected. Standing at the top of the stairs, I could see it all: the desk and bookshelves and table on the left, the open window in the middle, the cot at right, with Mrs. Falala lying on it, her eyes closed, her hands folded around a silver flute.

Shh
, I whispered to Zep and Luke. I went closer.

Mrs. Falala? Mrs. Falala?

It was warm in the room and the breeze from the window was welcome.

Mrs. Falala? I don't want to frighten you, but—but—
I touched her arm lightly.
Oh. Oh
. I looked up at Zep and Luke and felt so utterly sad.

Luke came up behind me and patted my back. Then he leaned over and patted Mrs. Falala's hand.
It's sort of stiff
, he said.

Zep said,
I'll tell the others.

Thanks. We'll wait here.

I didn't want her to be

alone

in the room

at the top of the house

with her silver flute.

While Luke and I sat quietly beside Mrs. Falala, waiting for the others, Luke whispered,
Did
you see what's on the walls?

Dozens of drawings were tacked along the walls: renderings of the barn, the house, Zora and Paulie and Crockett and China and Edna, the pasture, the fence, the trees.

Did you see the ones of us?
Luke asked. There were several sketches of Luke, all of him sitting
on a hay bale drawing. Two drawings showed me and Zora: in one, Zora was pushing me over with her big head; and in the other I was resting my head along her back, staring off into the field.

Mrs. Falala must have tacked them up in the order she finished them, because at the far left, the drawings were primitive and awkward, but you could see her skills improving as you scanned the room, for the ones at the far right, nearest her cot, were more detailed and fanciful, even playful. On the table was her drawing pad with two final sketches on it. One was of me holding a show stick in one hand and Zora's halter in the other, both of us looking at each other, with blue ribbons floating in the air all around us and a big plop of manure behind Zora. The other drawing was of Luke and me, as we were riding away on our bikes, and trailing behind us were all the animals—
Zora and Yolanda, China, Crockett, Paulie, and seagulls flying circles over our heads. Very small in the bottom right corner was a little figure with a long braid, her hand raised in the air.

According to Mr. Colley, Mrs. Falala had spent the past month “getting her affairs in order.” This included making out a will, which she and Mr. Colley had finalized the week before the fair.

She must have had a sense about things. Old people
do, you know. After all, she was losing her sight—

She was?

—yes, yes, and fell a few times—

She did?

—yes, yes, and she was feeling so weak—

She was?

—yes, yes, but for the first time in a long while,
she had stopped worrying about what would
happen to the animals if she died. She must have
been looking for just the right family and—along
you came.

Us?

Yes, it's here in the will. She wants you to have the
animals.

Us?
Mom repeated.

The animals?
Dad said.

Yes, yes, the cow, the pig, the cat, the parrot—

Luke said,
The snake?

Oh, is there a snake, too? Well, yes, I suppose—

Dad said,
But we don't have a farm. We can't take
care of the animals.

I hadn't cried yet about Mrs. Falala's death, but I cried then, thinking of her and of what would become of her animals, Zora especially.

Maybe you could buy this place then
, Mr. Colley said.

Mom and Dad exchanged a look. I knew that look.

We can't afford this place
, Dad said.
It's a great
idea, but I'm still looking for a job.

Oh,
Mr. Colley said.
Oh, I see.

When we left Mrs. Falala's that day, we were all feeling low and blue. Luke and I took turns weeping and staring out the windows. We all took naps. We wept some more.

The

        
d r i p

        
r

        
i

        
p

            
of the rain

            
matched our

        
d

        
r

        
i

        
p

        
p

        
i

        
n

        
g

            
eyes

 

and our

                
s a g

                        
g i n g

                                 
souls.

 

 

And then I had an idea.

It is strange how ideas can arrive

out of dripsagging blue.

Come on, Luke
, I said.
Let's go find Mr. Colley.

We found Mr. Colley sitting at Mrs. Falala's kitchen table, reviewing documents.

I am glad to see you
, he said.
Do you think you
and Luke and your friend Zep can feed and tend the
animals until I arrange for someone else to do it?

Sure
, I said.
We'd be missing Zora so much if we
couldn't do that, right, Luke?

Right.

Mr. Colley? Your property is next to this, isn't it?

Yes, over there, the house with the blue door.

And wouldn't you like to have more land?
I stood by the window looking out.
All that nice pasture?
And that little pond? Mm?

Mr. Colley joined me at the window.
It
is
a
nice piece of land
, he agreed.

We talked a little longer and then Luke and I fed the animals again before leaving. The following day, Mr. Colley phoned and talked to Dad.

I have a proposal
, he said.
Let's talk.

It is hard to imagine that it was less than a year ago that we first thought of moving to Maine, and now here we are, at home in the house on Twitch Street, with a blizzard raging outside and a fire roaring in the fireplace, and animals warm in the barn.

Mr. Colley bought Mrs. Falala's place

(
An investment!
he said)

and hired Dad as the live-in manager

and we all moved here in September.

We had a summer of cows and fairs

and “lobstahs” and ocean

and riding our bikes up and down

the narrow roads of this coastal town.

We had an autumn of dazzle-dazzle leaves

red and orange and yellow

and going to a new school

and meeting new friends.

We've had our first Christmas here

and our first blizzard

and our first power outage

and many, many shovelings of snow.

And for five months now

thanks to Mrs. Falala

we've had the company of Zora

and Paulie and China and Crockett

and probably Edna the snake

(who we hope is hibernating)

here on Twitch Street.

Yolanda is also here and Zep visits daily.

Is he coming to see Yolanda or you?

Dad asks regularly.

I don't answer that question

because I don't know the answer.

From a file Mrs. Falala kept on her cows,

I learned about Zora's lineage.

She did indeed come from a long line of

                    
champions

and maybe one day when I show her

at a fair

she will receive a blue ribbon

or become a Grand Champion

but

right now

I have a lot more to learn

about showmanship and

about Zora—

that stubborn, crazy, belligerent

sweet, sweet heifer.

Maybe she will calm down

just enough

to please the judges

but not calm down too much—

because then she would not be

Zora.

Luke drew a portrait of Mrs. Falala

with her long white braid

swinging over one shoulder

and he hung the drawing in the barn

so the animals could see it.

We have kept the attic

pretty much as Mrs. Falala

left it: all the drawings on the wall

and her silver flute on the cot

and sometimes Luke and I go up there

and remember her

with her long braid swishing

and her stars and leaves and

music

            
floating

                            
out

            
the

                    
window.  

 

It feels a long, long way

from the city with subways and monuments

and traffic and sirens

to this town

where the mountains

                               
meet

                                  
the

                                      
sea

where people hike and bike

and fish and farm

and to this house and barn on Twitch Street

where we live with animals we love

even

            
Edna

                
the

                    
snake

but most especially

            
with

                
that

                    
Zora:

                            
Moooooooo.