The second morning in Oakwood, Kansas, I woke up in the pink room again. A note was beside me on the pillow. “We know changes aren’t easy. Take one more day home from school. Love, Dad.”
Maybe it was an answer to prayer.
At breakfast Midnight H. Cat purred in my lap while I ate. Mom said, “This would be a good day to try taking your cat outside.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
It was a miracle I even had my cat. Luckily, my teacher this year was a big fan of democracy, and our class voted to try to walk instead of having our parents drive us to school. That’s why Mom and Isabella and I heard noises of desperation coming from a roof. I went tearing back to my house to get Dad. He climbed up the fire escape and reached down the chimney and hauled out a shivering, clawing black kitten.
By then a bunch of fourth graders were standing around. Half voted to name the cat Midnight, and half voted for Halloween. A perfect tie. Peacemaker Dad wrote “Midnight H. Cat” on the form at the vet’s office. Why did we save her, though, if we were going to move her to Kansas and freak her out?
I set her on the floor, got up, and studied the backyard. It had a shed. What if she crawled under and a skunk was waiting there? What if the mean kid, Simon, was lurking around? “By the way,” I said, “I need a flashlight and fire extinguisher.”
Upstairs, Isabella hollered, “Mom!”
Mom sighed. “I’ll call your dad and tell him you’re coming over to discuss safety supplies.”
What Mom had asked for was three hours a day of writing time. So far what she was getting was zero hours.
When I got to the church, Dad was outside studying the church sign. “I bet you’re wondering what to put next,” I said as I ran up.
He laughed. “There ain’t no flies on Anna. Got any good ideas?”
He tipped his head to one side, studying the sign, then hooked my arm and sang, “Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam.” He grinned at me. “Kansas state song.”
Dad had gone from the Beach Boys to buffaloes.
“You know what I need?” I said. “A flashlight. Also, I wanted to tell you—”
“Hey, hey,” Dad said, “what’s this?”
Across the parking lot came Cousin Caroline pushing Great-aunt Lydia in her wheelchair with a violin in her lap. The person behind them carrying a basket must be Morgan—tall and bold like her mom.
“Bet you didn’t know that one of your ancestors arrived in America with nothing but a hat and a violin,” Dad told me.
“Of course I didn’t. You never told me anything about your roots.”
“I’m sorry.” He sounded sorry. “Did I tell you about our ancestor who could catch flies with his bare hands?”
I guess there weren’t no flies on him. How many kids in school already knew that story?
The family parade was close now, and Great-aunt Lydia pointed her violin bow at Dad. “What did you mean by staying away for so long?”
“What do you mean by going cantankerous?” He leaned over and kissed her. I was having a hard time breathing, with feelings taking up all the air. After a minute Dad said, “The last time I visited . . . well . . . I’m sure my mother never meant to upset everyone so much.”
“Ach.” Great-aunt Lydia clicked her tongue. “You come out to the farm on Monday. I’ll make lunch. Remember mak kuchen?” She took his hand as if he were a kid.
Morgan headed toward a garden bed at the side of the church lawn, and even though we hadn’t been officially introduced, I followed, trying to see inside the basket, as if I were two giant eyeballs on legs.
She pulled a seed packet out.
“Did you know it’s not true that moss only grows on the north side of trees?” I asked. “If you get lost, remember that a forest thick enough to get lost in is thick enough for moss to grow anywhere.”
“Really?” she said. At least she wasn’t a sixth grader, all full of her own awesomeness. Maybe I could even show her my disaster notebook.
“By the way,” I said, “great tree house.” She gave me a fifth-grader-I-come-in-peace face, so I went on. “At least what I could see looked interesting. There’s not that much interesting around here, so—” Oops. That might be insulting. “I guess you’ve been learning a lot about farming.”
“Uh-huh.” She held up the packet. “Bean seeds.”
“You can see Pikes Peak from my house,” I said. “Unless it’s cloudy. You moved here two years ago, right? Wasn’t it hard to leave the city? Is it always this hot here?”
Morgan put the packet down. “Come on. I’ll show you something interesting.”
I left Dad talking to Great-aunt Lydia and followed Morgan around to the back of the church. “Have you personally seen a tornado?” I asked. “Because my grandma did. Almost anyway.”
“And they left the baby upstairs,” Morgan said. “I hear that story every family reunion.”
Hey. I wasn’t used to someone else having my personal family stories. I was staring up at a stained glass angel with spread wings, and I almost tripped over a curved flat stone.
Apparently the something interesting Morgan wanted to show me was a graveyard.