One Day and One Amazing Morning on Orange Street by Joanne Rocklin Read Free Book Online

formidable mother made me help Gertrude with her outside chores in the backyard, such as gathering fallen oranges, and hanging laundry, and shoveling up all that manure.
    â€œWell, we became friends, Gertrude and I, believe it or not. At my house we played board games and made peanut brittle and played with my cat Mitzi. And after the chores at her house were done, we lolled around and read under the orange tree. Sometimes we pretended the tree was a magic theater, its leaves and blossoms a curtain, the ground around it a stage. We were chorus girls and cackling witches and princesses in faraway kingdoms. Gertrude’s deepest wish was to be an actress. Then she could be Someone Else and Somewhere Else, you see. Under that tree, her wish came true.
    â€œTrue, Gertrude was a pain. She was just the bossiest girl, and stubborn as a mule!
    â€œSpeaking of which.
    â€œâ€˜Oh, that mule Malcolm,’ Gertrude always said. ‘Look at him giving me the evil eye!’
    â€œIf anyone was giving any evil eyes, it was Gertrude. Malcolm was the same old gentle Malcolm, smelling like roses, thinking everyone loved him like Mrs. Stott did. Not so. Gertrude hated Malcolm. She hated shoveling his manure every day, and she hated knowing she was loved less than a mule.
    â€œOne day we were in her backyard and Gertrude announced the cast for our next performance under the tree.
    â€œâ€˜I’m Prince Valiant,’ she said, waving an old curtain rod for a sword. ‘You can be the fair Ilene, a damsel in distress. And Malcolm over there is my trusty steed.’
    â€œPrince Valiant was a knight in a comic strip we loved. ‘I want to be Prince Valiant this time,’ I said. ‘He gets to brandish the Singing Sword, and joust and kill ogres and fight crocodiles. Ilene isn’t supposed to do anything except cry and beg him to be careful.
    â€œâ€˜You’re not right for the part,’ said Gertrude. ‘I have straight hair like Val. Your hair is too curly.’
    â€œâ€˜But I can ride a horse!’ I shouted. ‘I ride my grandfather’s horse on his farm every summer!’
    â€œGertrude looked like she was ready to pinch. ‘Well, I rode horses on
our
farm!’ she shouted back.
    â€œWe both looked over at Malcolm the mule, and I knew the idea hit us both at the same time.
    â€œâ€˜Prove it,’ I said. Of course, Malcolm wasn’t a horse, but his mother was.
    â€œâ€˜That’s easy,’ said Gertrude.
    â€œShe led Malcolm to the tree, climbed onto a branch, and hoisted herself onto Malcolm’s back. Malcolm did a little shuffling around, and Gertrude said, ‘See? I told you I can ride.’
    â€œMalcolm circled around a few times, then suddenly reared up on his hind legs and let forth a sneeze like a geyser. And that’s when he decided to buck. His limbs went in all directions at once. His head moved up and down and sideways, with his big ears flopping. GALUMPH, GALUMPH! Gertrude held on to his mane for dear life, bouncing up and down, baring her teeth just like Malcolm. He bucked a few more times, but mules aren’t dumb. Malcolm finally understood that Gertrude would not be thrown. Gertrude was more determined than he was. He stopped bucking and stood still.
    â€œâ€˜There!’ said Gertrude, red-faced and panting. ‘Now heknows who’s boss.’ She jumped off the mule and said, ‘Your turn.’
    â€œâ€˜Forget it,’ I said. ‘You can be Valiant.’
    â€œGertrude grinned. ‘Tell you what,’ she said, ‘you can be my helper knight.’ She pointed to her doll lying propped up against the tree trunk. ‘Shirley over there can be Ilene, the damsel in distress.’ She brandished her curtain rod, and hollered, ‘The terrible sword rises and falls! Hear my ringing battle cry: For Ilene!’
    â€œWell, Shirley was a damsel in distress, all right. Malcolm ambled over to the