chapter 31

As I rode along, I said goodbye to each place I passed. Goodbye, Mrs. Wells. I’d almost miss her boring stories. Goodbye, Mr. Hazelton. I’d wanted him to give me more lariat lessons; if I was going to be a cowboy, I’d have to get better at lassoing cattle. Well, maybe I’d stop off in Wyoming, on my way to California, and find someone who could teach me.

I passed through town and headed out along the river. The wildflowers were so pretty, lining the riverbank: blue chicory and daisies and black-eyed Susans. California would have other flowers, but they probably wouldn’t be as pretty.

Goodbye, river.

I saw the rickety bridge to Raleigh’s house up ahead. Goodbye, bridge. Goodbye, Raleigh.

I pictured everyone at the celebration. I imagined the pageants unfolding, seeing in my mind Raleigh running down along the river as Spencer, and wondered who Mr. Gilpin would have fill in for me as Mrs. Willson. I wondered, too, if the Wright brothers would cause some unexpected surprises.

Speaking of which, that’s what I was going to be when I found Myrtle. An unexpected surprise. I’d always imagined her face when I finally found her—astonishment turning into joy.

But what if it wasn’t? I’d been so busy thinking about our reunion that I’d never let myself really think about what Nadine had said that had made me so mad at the time. What if Myrtle really didn’t want me back? If Myrtle really was going to come back for me, she would have done it by now. And what if, after I got there, Myrtle left me somewhere again? What would I do then?

I thought of all I was leaving behind: Nadine, Mr. Gilpin, the Monitor, Raleigh, and especially Hannah. All that for a woman I’d never met. I was leaving Hannah for a woman who’d left me.

I shook those thoughts out of my head. Everything would turn out all right, I told myself. I’d find new people in my life, new kids to play with. Myrtle might even have some other kids.

I pulled Dolly to a stop.

I hadn’t thought of that before. What if Myrtle was married and had a family? She probably hadn’t told any of them about me. Myrtle might have planned to go to her grave with her secret. If so, she might not be too happy about me showing up and turning her life upside down.

Myrtle hadn’t wanted me when I was born. What made me think she’d want me now?

As mad as I was at Hannah for not telling me the truth about Myrtle, there was one thing I did know to be true.

Hannah would never have left me.

I sat there, biting my lip. I don’t know how long I would have stayed there, or what decision I would have come to, if I hadn’t heard a muffled boom in the distance.

Thunder? I thought. No, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Besides, the sound had come from the direction of town.

Fireworks? No, they weren’t till this evening.

But then I knew.

Dynamite.

The Wright brothers must have blown the dam after all.

All the stories I’d heard of Runaway Pond flooded into my brain. The water had washed away the mill, even carrying off the heavy millstone, which was never found. All through the valley, buildings were torn off their foundations, trees uprooted, animals carried away. The only reason there hadn’t been more damage and deaths was because so little of the valley had been settled back then. That wasn’t true now. How much of the town would be washed away this time? How many of the people?

People like me. All that water would be coming down the river, headed for me, any second now.

Dolly and I would be like a tiny speck of dust swept away without a trace by that wall of water.

I had to get to high ground fast. I kicked Dolly hard. She laid her ears back, but I think she sensed something and jogged along faster than usual. A little ways ahead, on the left, was a hill.

If we got to the top of the hill, we’d be all right there, I thought. We just had to get away from the river.

Then I remembered. Raleigh’s animals were all along the river.

Raleigh was at the sesquicentennial, right this very minute, playing Spencer Chamberlain! But it was his animals here that were in the path of a real flood.

I raced across the bridge, not giving Dolly time to remember how she hated bridges. I kept glancing over my shoulder. How fast did water travel? If I’d studied harder in science, I’d know that.

I wondered what it must have been like for Spencer to be running with that roaring wall of water right behind him.

I raced to open gates and cages and fences. The heron hopped out, one wing flapping, the three heron babies hopping after her, and the monkey climbed the nearest tree. The other animals sensed something was up, and the sounds of bleating, bawling, baaing, and clucking drowned out any sound of approaching water. I carried, pushed, and prodded the sheep, calf, rabbit, chickens, and Daisy all to higher ground, until the only animal left was the camel.

It was then I heard the water coming, and it sounded like a train.

I grabbed the camel’s halter, and what’d he do but lie down! I tugged and pulled, and even said some bad words, but that camel refused to budge. Didn’t he know I was only trying to save him? Then I knew I was too late to do it. I let go of his halter and ran for Dolly.

As soon as I dropped the halter, that camel got up and loped off across the bridge. If I’d had any more time, I might have said a few more bad words, but I didn’t. I took a running jump, vaulted onto Dolly’s back, just like Tom Mix in the movies, and dug in my heels.

We were halfway across the bridge when Dolly balked—what was it with these fool animals? I jabbed my heels into her again and thought, We’re going to beat it, we’re going to get across in time, when the water slammed into us.

The next thing I knew, we were in the river, being tumbled like clothes in the wringer washing machine.

Water filled my ears, nose, and eyes. The last image I had of Dolly was of her flailing at the water with her hooves, and then I was churned underwater. When I popped back up, she was gone. Then the river pushed me under again.

What was that word that meant “pertaining to rivers”? Flum … fluminous, that was it. I was going to die a fluminous death.

I don’t know how long I churned and tumbled down that river—minutes, hours, days?—before I felt a blinding pain in the side of my head, and suddenly I’m six years old again, and Hannah is teaching me how to do the dog paddle and back float in Shadow Lake. I’m afraid, but she tells me to trust her, to lean back on her hand and let the water hold me. I feel myself floating, and then, just as suddenly, I’m ten, and Hannah and I are paddling a canoe down the river. I turn my head to say something to Hannah, and I see a woman standing at the water’s edge. The sun is shining like gold on her hair, and she’s smiling, holding a hand out to me, and I know it’s my mama. I try to paddle closer to her, but the river carries the canoe past her.

“Blue?” I can hear my mama calling me.

I’m coming, Mama, I tell her. I’m coming.

“Blue.”

I opened my eyes.

Hannah’s worried face stared back at me.

It took me a moment to realize I was sitting in the bathtub, neck-deep in warm water.

“It was the best way to warm you,” Hannah said. “You’re too big to fit in the oven now.”