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

each of us on the cheek.
    â€œMind your mother, now,” he said, and if his gaze lingered on me a tad longer than the others, well, I deemed that unfair.
    Alberto shyly kissed his wife, SanJuanna, good-bye. Her lips moved in a silent prayer, and she made the sign of the cross.
    Father and Alberto climbed upon the wagon, Father taking the reins. Harry mounted King Arthur, one of our big workhorses. Not the most comfortable ride over the long distance, with his deep chest and broad back, but his massive power would be useful for clearing roads and hauling lumber. Their plan was to drive to Luling, where they would load the wagon on either a steamboat or a train for the coast, depending on the amount of relief traffic. Men and supplies were said to be racing to Galveston from all over the state, and my family was determined to do its part. And to find Uncle Gus and Aunt Sophronia and Cousin Aggie.
    Father clapped the reins and called, “Get up, now.” The horses dug in and strained against the harness. Slowly, slowly, the wagon creaked away. Travis held Ajax’s collar. The dog, unaccustomed to being separated from Father, squirmed and fought and barked. Mother turned and fled inside. My brothers and I accompanied the wagon to the end of the street, waving and calling our good-byes. A few minutes later, we watched it disappear around the bend in the road.
    We didn’t know that they’d be gone for over a month. Nor did we know how changed they’d be on their return.

 
    CHAPTER 7
    AMPHIBIA AND REPTILIA IN RESIDENCE
    The expression of this snake’s face was hideous and fierce; the pupil consisted of a vertical slit in a mottled and coppery iris; the jaws were broad at the base, and the nose terminated in a triangular projection. I do not think I ever saw anything more ugly, excepting, perhaps, some of the vampire bats.
    F ATHER’S AND H ARRY’S CHAIRS stood empty. The gap at the head of the table so depressed Mother that she asked Granddaddy to sit in Father’s place. He did so to oblige her but was not much of a mealtime conversationalist and spent most of his time staring into space. When addressed, he would blink and murmur, “Hmm? What was that?” The others probably thought him rude, possibly senile, but I knew that his placid exterior concealed a furiously active mind, contemplating what he called the Mysteries of the Universe. I loved him for it.
    Most days, Mother received a letter from Father. I noticed that she read certain parts to us over dinner while skipping over other sections. Then she’d smile bravely and say something like “your father holds us all in his thoughts” or “we must all do our part in this hour of need.”
    Then a telegram arrived, not from Father en route, but from Galveston itself.
    I happened to be upstairs reading The Jungle Book by Mr. Rudyard Kipling and was deeply immersed in the adventures of the “man-cub” Mowgli. (All right, technically it was Sam Houston’s book, and I’d “borrowed” it when he wasn’t looking, but he was no great appreciator of books, so why he got it for his birthday instead of me, I couldn’t fathom.)
    I heard crunching on the gravel drive and jumped up to see Mr. Fleming wobbling up on his bicycle. By the time he’d made it into the parlor, I’d gathered up as many of my brothers as I could find, and we stood waiting for him, along with Mother and Viola and SanJuanna. He bowed low and said, “Mrs. Tate. I got here a telegram from Galveston. I … I know you been waiting for this, so I brung it myself.”
    Mother tried to speak but could only nod her thanks. We held our collective breath as she opened the telegram with shaking hands. A moment later, she cried, “Thank God!” She burst into tears, and the paper fell from her hand. Viola helped her to her chair and fanned her with a piece of sheet music.
    I picked up the telegram,