Rabble Starkey by Lois Lowry Read Free Book Online Page B

perched on her head. She was all color-coordinated as if she was an ad for Sears, with aquamarine shoes, too, and a pink suit with aquamarine trim, and a pink ruffled blouse. Her lipstick was the same shade of pink.
    Me and Veronica and Sweet-Ho was all dressed—not fancy, but dressed—and I looked over at Mr. Bigelow in his bathrobe, to see if maybe he was embarrassed. But he just looked up at Mrs. Cox and smiled hello.
    She came in and laid a basket on the table. "I hope I'm not disturbing you so early," she said. "Norman and I are on our way to church—he's out in the car.
But I wanted to drop this little casserole off for you, Philip. And to say I'm so sorry for your trouble."
    "Sorry for your trouble" is what folks in Highriver always say when something has gone wrong. It covers just about everything; me and Veronica even said it to Norman when his dog got squashed by the J. C. Penney's truck. You can say it if somebody's septic tank overflows or if they get the flu real bad and miss a niece's wedding in Clarksburg, as happened to Miss Elizabeth Stevenson over on West Stanley Street last spring.
    "Do you have time for coffee, Mrs. Cox?" Sweet-Ho asked. "There's still half a pot hot."
    But she said no. "Thank you, dear. But Norman's being obstreperous, as usual. I have to get him down to Sunday school, and the choir's holding an extra rehearsal before this morning's service. So I mustn't be late. You'll let me know if I can be of help?"
    When she was gone, me and Veronica lifted the foil on the top of the casserole to peer inside and see what it was before Sweet-Ho put it in the refrigerator.
    "Chicken with stuff on it," Veronica announced.
    Sweet-Ho leaned over and looked. "It's that
Family Circle
recipe she uses," she said. "She always brings this to PTA potlucks. It's pretty good, too. We can have it for dinner."
    "Look!" Veronica said, and she pointed through the kitchen window. "Here comes Millie Bellows!"
    We all looked, and it was true. Millie Bellows, wearing the same old housedress she always wore,
hunched over and with her face scrunched into a frown almost as scary as a fist, was inching her way down the road toward the Bigelows' house. She was carrying a plate with a bright red shiny mound on it. The mound was wobbling with each slow step she took.
    "Lord, she's bringing us a molded salad, and it'll melt in the sun before she ever gets here," Sweet-Ho said. "I'll go meet her."
    She did, and when she came back with the dripping plate of Jell-O—it had marshmallows and grapes in it—she said, "She didn't want to come on in. Had to go home and watch her TV shows. But she says she's sorry for our trouble.
    "Maybe this'll harden up some before dinner," she added, and put the salad in the refrigerator. "Don't you worry, Gunther," she said, seeing his face, "you don't have to eat it, or the casserole. I'm going to heat up some nice spaghetti for you."
    Later, Veronica and me were sitting up in the oak tree at a place we had where the branches came together in a comfortable way.
    "We should call this the Family Tree," I said. "You could fit a whole family right up here."
    Veronica laughed. "Can't you just see my mother sitting up here, smiling and talking about the pure in heart?"
    It made me feel better, that she was talking about it without that anger. But I didn't know just how to answer, so I just got all jokey. "We could set Millie Bellows up over there on that limb," I said, "and all the Coxes—they could perch over there, even Norman with his supply of paper clips."
    Veronica grinned. "Norman could pelt people with paper clips, and Millie could grumble, and Mr. Cox could give a sermon, and Gunther could hiccup—"
    "Mrs. Cox could sing that horrible solo she always does at weddings," I added.
    "And my crazy mother could baptize everyone, and you and me, Rabble—"
    "We could laugh," I suggested.
    We did. We started in giggling.
    "It sure wouldn't be an apple tree," Veronica said.