Republic of Dirt (31 page)

T
he play was about the Twelve Days of Christmas, but some songs were in Cree and some were in French and there was singing in Dutch and English and Spanish and Chinese.

It was a big honor to play the partridge, because the partridge, which is also known as a grey partridge or English partridge, was on the stage the whole time, along with the pear tree, which I carried around. Good thing the tree was made of cardboard and wasn’t very heavy. A lot of people don’t know this, but a partridge is actually a type of pheasant. They do not migrate and like to nest at the edge of cereal fields. I find that really interesting.

My costume didn’t really look like an actual partridge but more like a dove. It was made of white fleece with wings on the arms and I had an orange beak and gray legs. Miss Singer gave me these big, stuffed yellow slippers shaped like chicken feet to wear. I hoped no one in the audience knew anything about birds, because they might have noticed that the partridge wasn’t realistic and they would have
had a hard time enjoying the play. I didn’t complain, though, because Miss Singer was very busy.

The three French hens were played by Target and two of the meanest girls in school. I was worried that they would bully him, and at our first rehearsal, one of them called him “Bull’s-eye” when the music teacher wasn’t listening, but they never said it again after his foster sisters, Ariel and Stephanie, showed up to watch. Target’s foster sisters are very cool and everyone wanted to impress them. The mean girls complimented Stephanie on her hair, which has purple in it, and told Ariel her skateboard was awesome, which it was because she decorated it herself.

The French hen costumes are okay, but I don’t think there’s any such thing as a French hen, so accuracy isn’t as hard to get as it is with a partridge.

The play was pretty long due to medleys and I had to stand on the stage the whole time, but that was okay. Standing there gave me lots of time to watch the audience, which was very big. Every seat was taken.

My mom and dad came. My dad wore his best cardigan and sat in the back row. My mom sat in the middle. What was really exciting was that Prudence and Earl and Eustace and Seth were there too! And Earl’s brother was there in his hat! Earl’s brother is very famous but he’s too old for anyone my age to know about him, which was too bad because it’s hard to brag about famous people no one is aware of. I met him at the bluegrass concert in the summer. I was surprised no one told me in a note that he was coming to visit again.

Practically every kid in school was in the play but only some of them sang, because not everyone has a good voice. The stage was
already crowded when the seven swans came on, and by the time the twelve drummers hit the stage, no one could move. But it probably looked impressive. I couldn’t see the audience anymore, but there was a lot of clapping.

At the end, everyone stood up, which is called an
ovation
and it’s a really good thing to get when you’re in a play.

My parents came backstage and told me I was an excellent partridge and I explained about how a partridge is similar to a pheasant. They didn’t seem very interested. Instead, they acted like they were nervous.

“Are you ready to go?” asked my mom. She handed me a bouquet of flowers. At least, I think it was a bouquet. There was a stick with some red berries on it and a big waxy red thing that looked like a fan and had a yellow sticker coming out of the middle. When my dad said the flower looked obscene, my mom said it was a very artistic arrangement and he wouldn’t understand that because he didn’t have an artistic bone in his body.

Prudence and Seth and Earl and Eustace didn’t come backstage. But I wished they had. All the other kids were telling their families about what happened during the play, even though their families had just watched it, but me and my parents just stood there and didn’t know what to say to each other. Prudence and Seth and Earl would have had a lot to say.

I wanted to go over and tell Target he’d been an excellent French hen, but his foster moms and sisters were all around him and they seemed really excited and he didn’t notice me. I forgot to mention that Target has a good voice. I would not have expected that.

I went to the girl’s changeroom and took off my costume and gave it to Miss Singer.

“You were terrific,” she said. “Even better as a partridge than you were as an iPod.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Okay, bye, Sara,” she said, and it kind of hurt my feelings that she didn’t say more about how good I was because she was busy helping another kid get out of her golden ring, which was a big cardboard ring stuck to her head. It looked pretty and sparkly from far away, but up close it just looked like spray-painted tinfoil.

In the parking lot, my mom and dad and I stood between my mom’s car and my dad’s and they looked at each other.

“So what now?” my mom asked.

“I need to talk to you both,” he said.

“Out here?” asked my mom. She was wearing a blue jean pantsuit with a yellow silk scarf. It made her look like she was a pilot. It also didn’t look very warm.

“We can talk in my cab.”

My mom rolled her eyes. She hates his taxi. I guess she really just hates him.

But she got in the front seat and I got in the back.

My dad turned the taxi on and the heater started to blow cold air all around.

“I have an opportunity,” he said.

“What opportunity?” she asked.

“Sara,” he said, ignoring my mom. “As you know, I’m not totally happy driving a cab.”

I could feel my mom being tense in the passenger seat. She was waiting for him to say something mean and so was I. I wished I was alone.

“Well, the thing is, I’m planning a trip,” said my dad. He sounded
like a different person. Like a person who didn’t hate everyone he talked to. “It’s the fulfillment of a lifetime dream.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Arkansas,” he said. “To a mule ranch. I’m going to work as a mule skinner for a couple of months. Maybe three.”

“What do you know about mules?” asked my mom, who doesn’t know that my dad goes to Woefield to train Lucky almost every day.

“Where’s Arkansas?” I asked, because I thought it would be best to change the subject.

“Bill Clinton’s from there,” said my mom.

“Who’s that?” I asked, even though I know and am not dumb.

“He used to be the president of the United States,” said my dad. “Who the hell is teaching you history at that school?”

“Dean,” said my mom. “Enough with the hostility.”

“Does she know who our prime minister is? The taxes I pay to the government, she should know every world leader.”

Before they could fight more about what I know, I said, “Am I going too? To Arkansas?”

“Yes, Dean. Is she going with you? Because I’m also leaving. I’m going to New York for six months. It’s the fulfillment of
my
lifetime dream.”

“And when were you planning to tell me this?” my dad asked.

“Just as soon as I had the details worked out,” said my mom. That was not true. All the details had been worked out for a long time.

“Sara, I’d love for you to visit me in Arkansas,” said my dad. “But I don’t think the ranch is set up for kids.”

“So you think I’m going to pull her out of school and take her to New York with me? You are unbelievable. What kind of a father are you?”

“And what kind of a selfish bitch are you, Sally? Have you asked yourself that?”

“Stop it, Dean.” My mom’s voice was all crackly, like she was going to cry. “You’ve never understood me.”

“Well someone is going to have to reconsider their plans,” said my father. “And it’s not going to be me.”

“Can we just go home?” I said.

My mom got out of the car and slammed the door. I waited and for a second couldn’t remember which one of them I lived with.

“You better go with your mother,” said my dad.

So I did. We went home to our cold, quiet, mostly empty house, and I listened to her cry in her room because her dreams might get ruined from having to look after me.

W
hen we got home from the Christmas concert, we were all nervous as hell. I couldn’t say why, really. I guess it was all the drama swirling around the place. There was the drama of Earl’s famous bluegrass brother showing up unexpectedly. The tension stretched between them like a high wire with a fat guy balanced on it. The question of what, if anything, was going to happen between me and my editor, Tamara, was another factor. There were a bunch more issues besides, such as whether Prudence would end up poisoning half of Cedar with her food. The big question was about Sara, of course. Would the social worker show? Would he feel moved to write a report that would be so persuasive Sara’s parents would stop acting like stubborn fuckwits? I knew her dad was going to be here to give wagon rides. Surely the social worker would be impressed by that.

Me, Earl, Prudence and Eustace stood on the porch, greeting people. It was a strange scene. First of all, it was cold, so we all sort of wanted to go inside, but that wouldn’t have been very impressive and welcoming, and Prudence insisted that the party had to be both. It
was like she was trying to overcome our sparse vegetable output with masses of decorations and bizarre outpourings of hospitality.

The play ended at three and we were home by 3:10. People were supposed to arrive at three thirty but started arriving at a quarter after. They came in cars and trucks and the closest ones came on foot. They had presents and they brought things to eat.

The Sandhus were first. Anoop was dressed in his usual outfit: dark blue tracksuit with stripes on the arms and legs.

He was followed by his mother, who wore a glittery purple dress with red harem pants.

“Hello,” she said, in a disapproving tone.

Anoop was playing it cool. “I just wanted to say that I can eat anything at the party, man. Hot sauce is not a problem for me.”

“Anoop!” said his mother. “Leave it alone or you’ll have a real heart attack. Not just a pretend one.”

“I’ve been jogging. Lost some weight,” said Anoop, casting a glance from Prudence to Tamara.

“He never jogs,” said a boy who came in with them. He was probably another cousin, but not the lawyer cousin, because he was too young. “Literally never.”

“Dinesh! You mind your business,” said Mrs. Sandhu, ushering them both into the house.

My mother, Bobby, my aunt and their bar friends showed up next. Between them, they carried two large boxes of red wine, a dried flower arrangement that has been on our bathroom entertainment center—which consists of a rickety, two-piece, white plastic shelf unit containing a tiny analog TV and some bathroom-themed knick-knacks—since I was twelve, a ham and a turkey Prudence had asked my mother to cook in her oven.

“Bobby,” said my aunt Elsie, who was only carrying her slippers. “Watch that you don’t drop that bird.”

The enormous bird in its tray must have been heavy and awkward to hang on to and it started to tilt in his hands.

“Bobby!” said my aunt. “Watch it!”

Eustace hurried down the porch stairs and took the foil-covered pan from Bobby’s overtaxed arms and carried it into the house.

“I hope there’s enough food,” grunted Elsie as she climbed after it.

Then came Portia and Brady from the Mighty Pens. They’d car-pooled in Portia’s new Jeep Cherokee.

“Got two kinds of taters here!” said Brady. “A pan full of scalloped potatoes and a pan of mashed.”

“Thank you,” said Prudence, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

“Glad it was a false alarm on the bugs,” said Portia. “That would have been disgusting, even for this place.”

The good-looking kid from Sara’s chicken club arrived by himself carrying a tupperware container of cookies. I was impressed again by the maturity of the young farmer set.

Hugh the cab driver arrived on foot, announcing that he’d got a flat about a half-mile away.

“Carrots are cold,” he said.

“Oh Hugh,” said Prudence. “You’re such a doll.”

Hugh nearly floated into the house.

Anulka, who’d given out candy from the haunted farm stand at Halloween, and two of her friends from the International High School arrived in a giggling mass.

“Snow!” she said. “Snow!”

One of the girls was from Ireland and she teetered along in
strange blue platform boots that made her tower over tiny Anulka. For some reason, the Irish girl was wearing a furry blue tail.

Earl and Merle looked at me.

“Does she know this is Christmas, not Halloween?” asked Earl. “I have no idea,” I said.

“Cosplay!” whispered Tamara. “That would be my guess.”

“If you say so,” said Earl. “I think she might just be real confused.”

Then Mr. Spratt pulled up in his taxi. And my heart fell when I saw that Sara wasn’t with him.

N
ot every social event needs to have a goal other than showing people that they matter and offering them an opportunity to enjoy one another. Our Christmas gathering was wonderful. Such a delightful and unusual assortment of people enjoying food and drink and each other. But we had another, even more important agenda.

I looked around as people loaded up their plates with local, organic turkey or took helpings of the delicious cauliflower dish I made for the vegetarians, mashed or scalloped potatoes, Brussels sprouts with local bacon (cooked as a special favor for Merle, who said he loved bacon with his sprouts), carrots, mashed turnips, roasted onions and gravy.

Seth’s mother, displaying a charmingly retro taste in home economics, brought a baked ham encased in rounds of pineapple and some sort of sweet potato dish covered in marshmallows. Earl, Seth and the youngest guests really enjoyed that, though they probably all have diabetes now.

Tamara, Seth’s editor, made a baked brie dish with basil and
sundried tomatoes and pine nuts. I really like her and so did everyone else, especially after they tasted the dish. T’s foster mothers, who came with their daughters and T, brought a fabulous baked salmon and some sort of wild rice pilaf.

Stephan McFadden, our builder, brought a bag of Doritos, which made me laugh and give him a hug. He let go as soon as Eustace cleared his throat.

There was spiced apple cider on the woodstove, and all the decorations looked lovely and traditional, like the small fir trees we’d hung with popcorn and homemade ornaments, and the centerpiece of cedar boughs and branches with crab apples still on them and beeswax candles.

I wished Sara could see it. Mr. Spratt was outside hitching Lucky to the wagon and I didn’t know where Mrs. Spratt was. I’d hoped all three Spratts would show up, but of course that would have meant Mr. and Mrs. Spratt agreeing to a cease-fire for the evening.

It killed me that Sara wasn’t with us and it killed me even more that the social worker hadn’t shown up.

And that’s why my heart nearly split in two when there was a knock on the door just as we were finishing dinner and Seth opened it to find Pete the social worker.

I leapt to his side and began to babble.

“Pete!” I said. “Mr. Pete?” I gave a weak giggle. “Welcome! We’re just having a little community gathering. Good local food. Friends. Families.”

Pete looked over my shoulder at all the people eating and laughing and relaxing.

“Looks like a great party. I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to get over here. I’ve had some, uh, tough cases.”

“Of course,” I said. “Please come in and help yourself to some food. We’ve got so much. Always a lot of food. Healthy, too.”

I led him over to the kitchen table, where most of the dishes sat and waited while he took a polite amount of food.

Then I led him to where T and his foster family and Sara’s teacher sat and saw his pierced eyebrows go up. He knew all of these people. That would work in our favor.

“You remember T and Fran and Esme and Stephanie and Ariel and Miss Singer?” I said.

“Call me Jamie,” said the teacher.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “How do you all do?”

They smiled and said hello.

Pete stepped out of earshot of the group and gestured for me to follow.

“Sara’s not here?” he asked, quietly.

“Her parents are really counting on a report from you,” I said. “Before they’re comfortable letting her visit.”

He didn’t seem to follow.

“They’re worried the farm will become a factor in their divorce. That the one who lets her come back here will be vulnerable to charges of … something.”

“Ah,” he said. “That kind of divorce.”

I nodded.

“We’ve got a light display,” I told him. “When dinner is over, we’re going to turn it on.” I hoped we wouldn’t overload the entire electrical system in Cedar again. “There will be mule wagon rides in the field and caroling.”

“Sounds nice,” he said.

Then Pete the social worker smiled at me before going to sit with Fran and Esme, Miss Singer and T.

I breathed a deep sigh of relief. We would get through this without making anything worse.

Then the doorbell rang. Anoop, who has been a delight around the farm since he started helping Stephan, was up and getting more gravy for his third helping of mashed potatoes and answered it. A woman I vaguely recognized staggered through the front door, paused in the kitchen and then lurched into the doorway of the living room. She had on a red one-piece snowsuit with white fur trim around the hood. The top was unzipped far enough to reveal that she had on nothing underneath.

The assembled crowd gasped as she swayed in the doorway.

She held a hand to the snowsuit’s zipper as though about to embark on a striptease involving cold weather gear.

“Seth!” she cried and started to move the zipper down.

Fran and Esme put hands over as many kids’ eyes as they could reach. The International High School students screamed with joy, perhaps thinking the woman was also into cosplay. Seth froze in place and his editor, Tamara, sat with her mouth open. Then she hid a grin behind a hand. Eustace was up and heading for the woman, but Merle and Anoop got there first.

“Damn it,” I muttered and forced myself not to look at Pete the social worker.