Read Online The Curious World of Calpurnia Tate by Jacqueline Kelly - Free Book Online Page A

garden. I grabbed the latest paper and ran outside to the back porch. The headlines read: Galveston Tragedy. Devastating Flood. Pride of Texas Washed to Sea by Hurricane. Most Deadly Natural Disaster in American History. Thousands Feared Lost.
    Thousands. Thousands . The terrible word pounded in my brain. My marrow froze, and my knees turned to jelly. A part of me could not believe it, but the rest of me knew it was true. And my relatives, the Finches, were they included in those thousands? They were our kinfolk, bound to us by ties of blood. And Galveston itself, the finest city in Texas, our capital of culture, with its glittering opera house and magnificent mansions, all gone.
    I dropped the paper, ran to my room, and threw myself on my tall brass bed, stricken. I wept without ceasing until Mother came upstairs and dosed me with Lydia Pinkham’s, which only made me dizzy; then she dosed me with cod-liver oil, which only made me sick. Finally I crawled from my bed and sought out Granddaddy in the laboratory. He perched me on the tall stool at the counter where I normally worked as his assistant, patted my hair, and said, “There, there, now. These things happen in Nature. You are not responsible for this. There, now. You’re a good girl, and brave.”
    Ah, brave. Normally that word from him would have filled me with elation, but not now.
    â€œWhy wouldn’t they listen?” I hiccuped.
    â€œPeople often don’t. You can lay the evidence before them but you cannot make them believe what they choose not to.”
    He uncorked a small bottle filled with murky brown liquid and raised it in a toast, saying, “To the Galveston that once was; to the Galveston that yet will be.” He sipped and grimaced. “Damn, that’s awful. Would you like a drink? Oh, I forgot, you don’t drink. Just as well. This stuff is still terrible. I’m thinking of giving up on this particular branch of research.”
    I was so startled I stopped crying.
    â€œGive up?” I’d never known him to give up on anything, not even me. Not even the time I’d heartily deserved to be given up on when I’d temporarily lost the precious Vicia tateii , the new species of hairy vetch we had found.
    â€œBut, Granddaddy, after all the work you’ve done.” I looked at the scores of bottles jamming the shelves and counter, each labeled with its run date and method of distillation. Such a lot of work to abandon.
    â€œI’m not giving it up entirely, mind, merely changing direction. I now realize that the pecan is much more suited to a sweet drink, such as an after-dinner liqueur. Besides, none of the work has been for naught. Remember, Calpurnia, you learn more from one failure than ten successes. And the more spectacular the failure, the greater the lesson learned.”
    â€œAre you saying I should be aiming for spectacular failures? Mother really won’t like that. She has a hard enough time with my ordinary ones.”
    â€œI’m not saying you should aim for them, merely learn from them.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œStrive to make each subsequent failure a better one. And as for regrets…”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œThey are only useful as instructional tools. Once you have learned all you can from them, they are best discarded.”
    â€œI see. I think.”
    â€œGood. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate your taking notes while I check the last of these runs.”
    I plucked a pencil from the cracked shaving mug on the counter and sharpened it. If we were not exactly back in business as usual, we were at least heading in that direction.
    *   *   *
    O N W EDNESDAY , Father, Harry, and our hired man, Alberto, heaped the long-bed wagon with blankets and tools and barrels of food. Mother tearfully embraced Father, who whispered some private words of comfort to her. Then he shook Granddaddy’s hand and shook all our hands, and kissed