Authors: Wendy Dunham
My Name Is River (6 page)
“Sure. I'll call you Billy.” I watch while he tries digging. “You want me to do that?” I say. “Using a shovel with only one hand looks pretty hard.”
“That's okay,” he says. “I've got it.” He digs a few more scoops of dirt and then stops to measure. “Deep enough,” he says. “If I hold the pole in there real straight, can you pack dirt around it?”
“I'll try.” When it's as packed as I can get it, Billy wiggles the pole. At first it moves just a little. Then it leans like the Tower of Pisa.
“Well,” he says, “we should've used cement, but we can find rocks and pile them around the base. That'll help tighten it.”
“Are you serious? We have to hunt for rocks?”
“If you want to get an A.”
W
e head to the trail and search the woods for rocks. I go one way and Billy goes the other. I walk around pine trees while searching the ground, when all of a sudden, I find a gold mine. “Hey, Billy,” I shout. “There's a huge pile of rocks over here.”
“That's great, River. I found some flat ones here,” he shouts back. “They'll be good for stacking. Let me bring mine to the trail, and I'll be right over.”
I look through the pile, finding all the flat ones and stacking them off to the side when I hear a noise. “Hey, Billy! Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“That noise.”
“I don't hear anything over here.”
“Well, hurry up and get over here. It sounds pretty cool⦠like a maraca or a baby's rattle.”
“A what?”
“Never mind,” I say. “It's probably a weird West Virginia locust or something.” I pick through the pile for more flat rocks. The noise gets louder.
Billy shouts from the far side of the trail. “Did you say rattle?”
“Ah, yeah, like ten light years ago.”
“I'm coming, River! Stand completely still,” he shouts. “Don't move!”
“Cut it out, Billy,” I yell back. “Do you really think I feel like playing a stupid game like statues?”
Billy stops running when he's a few feet away, and then he moves toward me in slow motion. “River,” he whispers, “you have to trust me. Don't move a muscle.”
I freeze and whisper back. “There. I'm frozen⦠stiffer than a granite angel on a tombstone. Are you happy? Now, will you please tell me what you think about this noise?”
Billy puts his finger to his lips and says, “Shhh⦠” Then he searches the area with his eyes, which stop dead at the edge of the rock pile, inches from where I am. I follow where his gaze stops. Coiled beside my pile of flat rocks is what's making the noise. And although I've never seen one in real life, I know exactly what a rattlesnake is when I see it. I couldn't move if I wanted to. My legs are so weak I can hardly stand. I want to scream but I know I can't.
Billy reaches toward me real slow, and then he takes my hand and whispers, “We're going to step backward very slowly, River. Like this⦠”
I copy Billy and take one slow step backward and then another and another, each one without a sound. Not even a stick cracks beneath our feet. We walk backward until we reach the trail when Billy lets go of my hand. “Wow, River,” he says. “Someone from upstairs was looking out for you.”
I look at him, wondering what he means.
He points to the sky. “You know, upstairs? As in heaven?”
“What does heaven have to do with rattlesnakes?”
“Well,” he says, “I'm pretty sure God was looking out for you.”
“You think so?”
“Sure! How else can you explain it? Do you have any idea how close that was? I can't believe it didn't strike you.”
“Well, maybe it's not the kind that bites.”
“Oh, it is. And it definitely felt threatened. That's why it was rattling. Anyways, let's not get any more rocks from piles. This time we're staying on the trail.”
I shake my head. “There's no way I'm looking for more rocks.”
“Don't worry,” he says. “I'll find them.”
“I guess that was pretty close, wasn't it?”
“It definitely was. But whatever you do,” Billy says, “don't tell my parents, or they might not let us finish our project.”
“Well, maybe we shouldn't. We could always do something different.”
Billy shakes his head. “Not a chance. We'll be fine as long as we stay away from that rock pile.”
By twelve o'clock we finished almost everything on our list. Plus we even rolled a log over to the end of the trail, right where it meets the field. Billy says people can sit on it while they're bird watching (which doesn't sound that exciting, if you ask me). “Do you really think anyone's going to come, or even stay long enough to sit down? Besides, do people even want to watch birds?”
Billy sits on the log and then turns to look at me. “You need to be patient, River. Just wait until you see how interesting birds are. I think you'll be surprised.”
I brush a clump of dirt off the log and sit beside him. “How can you be so sure birds will even come? I bet we don't see any.”
Billy reaches out his left hand. “Bet you a tall glass of lemonade that by the time we're done building this birding place, there'll
be more birds than you can imagine. Sparrows, bluebirds, mourning doves, chickadees⦠”
I shake with my left hand too. “Well, if I were you,” I say, “I wouldn't go betting on something like birds because you're gonna be awful thirsty while I'm sipping a tall, cold glass of lemonade.”
Billy smiles his crooked smile. “We'll see.”
The Meeting of the Whippoorwills
T
he last thing on our list is to make a birdbath (and with all the water in the Meadowlark River, I'm not sure why we need one). But for some reason, Billy thinks the birds need even more. And then, believe it or not, Billy tells me he's come up with a new list of things we need to do, but I haven't seen it because he has it stored in his head (plus, I'm not sure I want to know what's on it because it's probably going to mean more work).
Billy checks his watch. “This is a perfect time for a break. Want to come to my house for lunch? I already asked my mom if you could, and she said yes.”
So that's what I say too.
When we walk into Billy's house, I can't believe my eyes. There are kids all over the place, and each one looks like they're having a blast. They're jumping on the couch, climbing on the chairs, crawling under the rug, and sliding down the stairs, and one's standing right in the middle of the kitchen table (with his shoes on).
“Forrest,” his mother says, smiling while she scoops him up, “get off the table. Even though you're little, you know the rules.”
Now, right away I know she's not like Gram because Gram would let Paddles climb up on the table every morning and eat breakfast with us. I'd give her a bowl of Frosted Wheat Flakes since that's what she liked best, but Gram would feed her plain old grits, oatmeal, or a piece of cornbread. She said all those sugared flakes made Paddles flap around the house like a chicken with her head cut off (and I know Paddles didn't appreciate that comment one bit).
Billy introduces me to his mother and all the kids. But there's no way I'll remember their names since there's six of them. And I'm not sure what to call Billy's mom because he actually forgot that part, but I figure if his dad is Pastor Henry, she must be Mrs. Henry.
Pastor Henry gathers all the kids, using his hands like a broom to sweep up a bunch of wild dust bunnies. Then he picks up Forest and sets him in a high chair while Mrs. Henry pulls out a chair for me.
“Thanks, Mrs. Henry,” I say, trying to be sure I use every bit of manners I know.
Mrs. Henry's real pretty, and when she smiles, her blue eyes sparkle. “Most people call me Mrs. Whippoorwill,” she says, “since that's our last name. Billy's dad is called Pastor Henry because Henry is his first name, and it's easier for people to call him Pastor Henry than Pastor Whippoorwill.” She smiles at me again and says, “I know that's confusing, River.” Mrs. Whippoorwill tries real hard so I don't feel as dumb as I do.
While Mrs. Whippoorwill passes out the plates and silverware, I start worrying that Billy's going to say something about the
morning
and
evening
dove thing. If he does, I might have to slide under the table and vanish.
In the center of the table, Mrs. Whippoorwill sets a gigantic pot that's overflowing with macaroni and cheese with little pieces of hot dog. She plops a supersized scoop of it in the middle of
everyone's plate (which must be the easiest way to serve food when there's a gazillion mouths to feed). I don't particularly like my food all mixed together like that, but I keep my mouth shut and resist the urge to separate my noodles from the bits of hot dog. Right before I start to dig in, I suddenly realize everyone's holding everyone else's hands and putting their heads down (not all the way down on the table, like you do at school when you're in trouble, but just partway down), like they're looking for a piece of hot dog they dropped on their lap.
Then Pastor Henry says, “Dear heavenly Father, we give thanks for our food and for all our blessings. Thank you for Billy's new friend, River. Help us live our lives pleasing to you. Amen.”