The Best Bad Luck I Ever Had Read online

  “Why’d you do that!” Emma yelled.

  “You dared me.”

  The buzzard started flapping its wings wildly. I’d hit its right wing and it sank to the ground.

  Emma pulled me up. The buzzard was blocking our path forward, so we turned and started to hurry back the way we had come. But an ugly switching noise seemed to follow us. I looked back.

  With a last burst of strength, the buzzard had forced itself back into the air. It flew right over our heads, so low I could feel its dirty feathers brush my forehead. Emma shrieked and the buzzard fell to the ground, not five feet from where we were standing.

  The bird lay still, a pile of wrinkled feathers and skin.

  “Is it dead?” Emma whispered.

  I didn’t know, but now it was blocking our path home. I took a step toward it. The bird jumped up and let out a terrible scream.

  Now, I’m no coward, but you got to understand, a buzzard’s got a beak on him like the jaws of a bear. So I did what any sensible person would do—ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction. Emma was right behind me. The gun slapped at my leg, but I didn’t stop. Took us a quite a while to get home ’cause we had to circle the long way round through the broom sage patch where the rabbits like to run. Saw a ton of rabbits too, but I didn’t feel like hunting anymore. Emma glanced at the shotgun once but didn’t say a word.

  When we finally made it back, Mama and Mrs. Walker were sewing in the lot between our houses. “Where have you two been?” Mama asked.

  Before I could think up a good lie, something started roaring, like a lion way off in the distance.

  Mama looked up. “What’s that?”

  The sound came from the sky. Far off, we could see a black dot coming toward us.

  I whispered to Emma, “Think it’s the buzzard?”

  But it wasn’t. The noise got louder and louder. Finally, Mrs. Walker put down her sewing and said, “It’s an airplane.”

  A moment later, a small single-engine plane flew directly over us. I knew what a plane was, of course. We had all read about it in the paper. But as far as I knew, no one in Moundville had ever seen one. Till now. It was like magic—a metal box, soaring overhead like an eagle. The plane was flying so low, we could see the pilot lean over and wave at us.

  Emma laughed and waved back. I was just relieved it wasn’t the buzzard.

  7

  THE FISHING TRIP

  EVERY SUMMER, PA TAKES ME FISHING. I look forward to this trip all year since it’s just about the only time I get to talk to Pa all by myself. I was so excited I could barely concentrate as I packed all the supplies. Ulman and Raymond said thirteen was the year Pa gave you the man-to-man talk. My birthday wasn’t until February, but I figured Pa might forget and give me the talk a little early.

  The morning of our trip dawned crisp and clear—the perfect day for a fishing trip. We didn’t get a real early start ’cause Pa had been up half the night nursing a sick cow, but we set off right after breakfast. We were going to my favorite fishing hole, a short drive from town.

  Pa had a Model T Ford, with a cloth top to put up when it rained. There were only three cars in town: my pa had one, Dr. Griffith had one to help him make his rounds and Mayor Davidson bought a car ’cause he couldn’t stand to be outdone by anyone. Pa kept promising to teach me to drive just as soon as he got a chance.

  We had to follow a dirt track off the main road to get to the fishing hole. You had to know where it was or you’d never find it. So my jaw just about fell off its hinges when we drove up to the riverbank and found Emma and her daddy sitting on a log.

  “What are you doing here?” I yelled as I scrambled out of the car.

  “Dit,” Pa said sharply.

  “We’re fishing,” said Emma. She clutched the fishing rod with both hands.

  “How’d you ever find this place?” asked Pa.

  Mr. Walker cast out his line. I could tell he knew how to fish, even if his daughter didn’t. “I asked Dr. Griffith to recommend a good fishing hole, and he brought us here.”

  “Oh,” Pa replied.

  “He drove into Selma for the day and dropped us off,” Mr. Walker explained.

  “I see,” said Pa.

  “As a boy, I did a lot of fishing. I wanted to show Emma what it was like. Seems like you had the same idea with your son.”

  Me and Pa stood there for a long moment. I waited for Pa to tell them to leave. “Well,” Pa said slowly, “there’s plenty of fish here for all of us.”

  So much for my man-to-man talk.

  We sat down on the old log that stretched across the creek. Pa and Mr. Walker each sat on one end of the log. Me and Emma were in the middle, far enough apart so we wouldn’t accidentally bump into each other.

  No one moved for a long time.

  “Well,” Pa said finally. “How’s it working out at the post office?”

  “Just fine, sir,” said Mr. Walker.

  Pa chuckled. “No need to call me sir. Though there is some men in town who stand on ceremony.”

  Mr. Walker nodded. “Dr. Griffith told me.”

  “I’m not sure why we need a lawman myself,” said Pa. “In a town this small seems we should be able to manage things ourselves. But others felt differently, and, well, there we are.”

  Mr. Walker nodded again.

  “I just don’t want you to have any trouble,” Pa said. “I like getting my mail on time.”

  Mr. Walker finally smiled then. “I heard the last postman had a few shortcomings.”

  “A few shortcomings? Shoot, the only thing that was short about him was the time he worked each day.”

  Mr. Walker grinned again. “Glad to hear I’m doing better.”

  Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad day after all, even if I didn’t get my talk. A moment later Emma’s pole began to jerk and wiggle.

  “I caught a fish!” squealed Emma.

  She tried to reel in the line but didn’t know how. I grabbed the pole to help.

  “Let me do it!” she protested.

  But I already had the fish out of the water. It was a large perch. “Where’s the net?” I asked as the fish squirmed wildly in the air.

  “I thought you brought it,” Pa said.

  I guess I should’ve done a better job packing.

  “I always just use some extra line to string up the fish,” said Mr. Walker.

  I looked around. “Don’t need it,” I said. “There’s a rocky pool under that bridge. Fish can’t get out of that.” I picked up the squirming fish and dropped it into the pool.

  Problem solved. For a while, the fish were coming as fast as we could pull them in. Pa got a big perch, and then Mr. Walker caught a huge catfish. I caught one of each and Emma reeled in a small carp all by herself.

  She proudly slid off the log and walked under the small footbridge. She dumped the fish into the pool and then leaned over to look in the water.

  But there weren’t no other fish in the pool. Her fish swam around a bit dazed. “The other fish got away,” she said.

  “Couldn’t have,” said Mr. Walker. “Take another look.”

  Emma leaned over again. Now her fish was gone too ’cept for its tail sticking out of the end of a large water moccasin.

  The water moccasin is a dark snake with a yellow stomach, a triangular head and slitty eyes like a cat. It’s poisonous, and once its jaws snap shut, it don’t let go. It’s sometimes called a cottonmouth ’cause when its mouth is open, the flesh inside its throat is as white as cotton. The water moccasin is more aggressive than most snakes and territorial too. And we had invaded its home.

  Emma didn’t know all this. But she did know enough to scream, “Snakes!”

  I ain’t never seen a man move so fast. Mr. Walker jumped up and stomped to the edge of the pool. Sure enough, there were no fish, but five large water moccasins were slithering out of the water.

  Before me or Pa could move, Mr. Walker pulled out a pistol and fired. Emma put her hands over her ears and
ran back toward the log.

  Guess Mr. Walker didn’t fire a pistol too often back in Boston ’cause even though he was only a foot away, he didn’t hit none of the snakes. Course it is awful hard to kill a snake by shooting—the best way is to just take an ax and chop off its head. I would have told him this, but before I could, Mr. Walker fired again. The bullet bounced off a rock and the noise scared the snakes. They slunk back into the darkness of the pool.

  Emma ran over and hugged her pa. Mr. Walker was breathing hard as he put down the gun.

  “What you doing shooting off that pistol?” demanded Pa.

  “Protecting my daughter,” said Mr. Walker.

  “You didn’t even hit none of those old cottonmouths. Only a fool bring along a gun when he don’t know how to use it.”

  “Don’t you call me a fool!” Mr. Walker snapped.

  “What you gonna do, wave your gun at me?” asked Pa.

  “Don’t be mean to my daddy!” said Emma.

  “Shut up,” I said. “If my pa calls him a fool, he’s a fool.”

  We all began to yell at once till we sounded like a chicken house when a fox has broken in. A huge crack of thunder shut us up. Soon as I looked at the sky, it began to pour.

  Pa gave a great sigh. “I think we’d all best go home.”

  By the time we had all the supplies back in the car, it was raining cats and dogs. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there were a few mules and pigs in there too. Mr. Walker sat in the front with Pa, and me and Emma climbed in the back. We put up the top on Pa’s Model T, but we all got soaked anyway. Every once in a while there’d be a flash of lightning and we’d be able to see clearly for a second or two. Then the thunder would come with a loud clap and everything would turn dark again.

  Pa suddenly slammed on the brakes, causing me and Emma to fall hard against the front seat. When the lightning flashed again, we saw a huge tree blocking the road, only inches from the hood of our car. There was no way around it.

  Pa banged hard on the steering wheel. Mr. Walker just shook his head.

  “At least it missed the car,” said Emma.

  “What we gonna do now?” I asked.

  Pa thought for a moment. “Jim Dang-It lives about half a mile from here. He’ll put us up.” So we climbed out of the car and started walking.

  Jim Dang-It was an eccentric old man, half colored and half Indian. He lived in the woods all alone and wouldn’t take no help from no one, not even if all his tobacco crop washed away. Said he’d rather eat acorns like the squirrels than be beholden to a white man. But even though he wouldn’t take no help, he was more than happy to give it. He had saved many folks who had gotten lost in the woods. Even though I knew all about him, I’d never dared go to his place. He was the only Negra I knew who could bawl out a white man and not get hurt.

  We were all feeling pretty low as we trudged down the muddy path. All except Emma. Despite the rain, she strolled along like it was a sunny spring day. Once or twice, I even caught her whistling. When I finally asked her why, for goodness’ sake, wasn’t she in a foul mood like the rest of us, she only asked, “Is fishing always this exciting?” I didn’t answer.

  We were wetter than a school of catfish by the time we reached Jim’s cabin. Pa pounded on his door.

  “What you folks doing out in this dang weather?” Jim Dang-It barked at us as he pulled open the door. He was a small man but covered in muscles. “Come on in.”

  The four of us crowded into his tiny cabin. Dr. Griffith was standing by the fire. He smiled broadly as Emma and Mr. Walker walked in. “Sure am glad to see you two. I was on my way to see if you needed a ride when my car got stuck in the mud.”

  Dr. Griffith was the only doctor in Moundville. He had a full gray beard and brown eyes that didn’t scold you even if you did something stupid like jump off the roof of the barn. (Raymond dared me. It wasn’t my fault.) Dr. Griffith just patched you up and sent you home, and for that, I liked him.

  Jim Dang-It took Emma’s wet jacket and draped it over a chair in front of the fire. “Dr. Griffith worried himself sick about you.” He brought me and Emma a blanket. “What kind of dang fools go out when there’s a storm coming?”

  “I didn’t see no signs of a storm,” I said.

  “No signs of a storm!” exclaimed Jim. “What do they teach you kids these days? Didn’t you notice the squirrels hiding and hear the birds singing their storm song?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Dang stupid,” said Jim. But he smiled as he shook his head.

  Jim’s cabin was nothing like I had imagined. Sure, there was a dirt floor, but it was swept neat as Mama’s. There was a bed built into one corner and covered with a bright-colored quilt. His tools were neatly hung on the walls. Every item had its place. A pot of coffee boiled over the open fireplace.

  There wasn’t no place for all of us to sleep, so Emma got the bed and I settled down with a blanket on the floor. Pa, Mr. Walker, Dr. Griffith and Jim Dang-It huddled around the fireplace, sipping coffee.

  “All this rain,” said Pa. “Ain’t doing my corn no good.”

  “More rain coming,” said Dr. Griffith.

  Mr. Walker nodded. “Rain all over the state, from what I hear.”

  They were all silent for a moment. Jim Dang-It seemed to be studying Mr. Walker. “You the new postmaster, right?” Jim asked finally.

  “Yes, I am,” said Mr. Walker.

  “Don’t get too much mail myself,” said Jim Dang-It. He blew on his coffee. “Anyone tell you ’bout that man in Selma?”

  “I did,” said Dr. Griffith.

  “Good,” said Jim. “’Cause it’d be a dang shame if . . .”

  “Jim.” Pa cut him off and gestured toward me and Emma.

  “Sorry, kids,” said Jim. “Know you’re trying to sleep.” He lowered his voice and continued talking. I listened real hard, but I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. I was just ’bout ready to roll over and go to sleep, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “Dit?”

  I looked up. Emma had the quilt pulled up over her head and was peering out at me like a squirrel in its den.

  “What?” I asked.

  “This was the best fishing trip I’ve ever been on,” said Emma.

  “Ain’t it the only fishing trip you’ve ever been on?”

  “Well, yes,” Emma admitted.

  “And we lost all the fish,” I grumbled.

  “But didn’t we have fun catching them?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “Oh, come on, Dit.” Emma laughed. “You were having a nice time before those snakes showed up.”

  “I was not!”

  “You two still awake?” Mr. Walker interrupted. “Go to sleep.”

  I finally closed my eyes and the next thing I knew, the sun was up and Pa was pouring me a cup of coffee.

  We had to drag the tree out of the road and dig out Dr. Griffith’s car before we could go home. I was covered in mud by the time we were all done. As I handed my shovel back to Jim Dang-It, he turned to my pa and said, “Strong boy you got there.”

  Pa nodded. “Yup.”

  Guess it wasn’t such a bad trip after all.

  8

  MAMA’S RULE

  DIDN’T SEE MUCH OF EMMA FOR A WHILE after that. She’d been okay on the fishing trip, and maybe we’d even had a little fun, but I still didn’t want to be her friend. What’d we have in common? I loved the outdoors; she liked to sit on the porch all day. But my mama had a rule—we didn’t have to like anyone, but we had to be nice to everyone. That’s exactly the kind of rule grown-ups make up, ain’t it?

  There was one place in town where everyone followed Mama’s rule—on the baseball field. Course it wasn’t a real field, just a vacant lot, but we used old rags to mark the bases and even piled up some dirt to make a pitcher’s mound. Everyone played, and I mean everyone: boys, girls, black, white, green or orange, we all took our turn at bat.

  One day in the beginning of Aug
ust, it was so hot the sweat dripped into my ears. We were picking teams when I noticed Emma lurking on the edge of the field. She had a book in one hand but wasn’t reading. I was captain that day and was in a good mood, having already gotten Raymond, Ulman and Pearl for my side. There weren’t too many people left, but that still don’t explain why I suddenly heard myself call out, “I pick Emma.”

  “Who?” asked Elbert. He had a rare afternoon off from working with his pa at the barbershop.

  “Emma,” I repeated. “Emma Walker. She’s right over there.” I pointed. Everyone turned to look.

  Emma stood perfectly still, her eyes wide. “No thank you,” she said finally, “I don’t want to play.”

  Now this irritated me to no end. She’d been looking at us like we were enjoying a royal banquet and she ain’t ate in a week. I knew she was lying. “Come on, Emma,” I coaxed.

  Emma glared at me, but she came over and joined our team.

  Soon as I started pitching, I forgot all about her. I’m always the pitcher. No one can throw like me. I’m a fair hitter too, but pitching is what I do best. I think it comes from killing all those birds with my flip-it. Or maybe from the fact that I’m left-handed. Or maybe it was just ’cause I was the only one in town with a real glove.

  Anyway, an hour later, Pearl was playing second base and Ulman was on first. Raymond was catching and taking his turn as umpire. Emma was somewhere way out in right field. I threw a fastball. Elbert swung and missed.

  “Strike one,” said Raymond.

  I threw a curveball. Elbert swung and missed.

  “Strike two,” cried Raymond.

  I threw another fastball, but Elbert hit it this time. He ran easily past first, but Pearl had her eye on the ball. She had to dive for it, but she caught it. I was pretty darn proud of my little sister. That made two outs.

  Elman was up to bat next. I grinned at my older brother in friendly competition. He hit my second pitch way out to right field and started running. The ball was falling directly toward Emma. All she had to do was reach out her hands and the ball would fall right into them. But Emma was staring at her fingernails.