into the air and over the low bar, the same way I always do. On the other side, my feet dug into the bed of soft sand, and I was suddenly full up with so much happiness that I decided to go again. And while I was backing up, I thought that Evette was right, that it was nice to be a newspaper girl. I even thought that I might be the best and most natural one who ever lived, even better than all the boys and maybe even better than Evette, because she wasn’t going to be in a newspaper any time soon. Still, one thing scared me. How was I ever going to make myself think of a good second story? It seemed like it would be real hard to find anything as easy and near as misunderstood as toads causing warts.
After my daddy said grace and we started eating dinner, I said, “In case anyone wants to know, the newspaper story I was writing is gonna be in the
Bennettsville Times.
Mr. Salter told me so today.”
Mama said, “Really?” She put a surprised hand against her chest.
“I never thought you’d even go ask him, Darby,” my daddy said.
“One thing about you, Darby,” Mama said, “you’ve always been stubborn.”
Daddy chewed and swallowed a fork’s worth of ham. “When’s the story going to run?” he asked.
“What do you mean
run
?”
“When’s Mr. Salter going to put it in the paper?”
“Oh,” I kind of hemmed. “Well . . . he told me he thinks it’ll get
runned
next week.”
Smiling, Daddy said to Mama, “I suppose he thought it was sweet.”
I shook my head. “I think he just liked it.”
McCall declared, “Darby, it’s true. He thinks it’s funny, is all.”
“Does not,” I replied. “He said it was real good. He . . . he told me it was one of the best newspaper reports he’s ever seen.” After lying, I decided to frown at McCall.
Mama clanked her fork against her water glass. “McCall, if you can’t say something nice, don’t say a word.” She made slits of her eyes the way she did when she was a teacher at the Murchison School. Back then, she’d caused all sorts of shivers.
“That’s right,” my daddy told him. “Fact is, we’re real proud of your sister, and the wherefore doesn’t matter.”
“Anyways,” I went on, “Mr. Salter wants me to write more newspaper reports, too.”
Dabbing the sweat on his head with a napkin, my daddy said. “Is that so? What’s your next one going to be about?”
I froze.
“She doesn’t even know,” McCall declared.
“I do,” I yipped. “Since . . . since Great-Uncle Harvey is coming for a visit, I was gonna interview him about what he does all day.”
Aunt Greer said, “Darby, sweetie, he doesn’t do anything but sit in his chair.”
“He talks,” I said, feeling a little dumb. “And he tells family stories. Anyways, I don’t know for sure that I’ll do him. I mean, I got other ideas.”
“Yeah,” McCall muttered as he ate a biscuit, “I can’t wait.”
Mama said, “McCall!” and she clanked her glass again.
The day after Mr. Salter said he would run my newspaper article, Great-Uncle Harvey arrived for a visit. It was a Saturday, and I wanted to rush out first thing and tell Evette my news, but I couldn’t, not with the way we had to clean up Ellan, especially the basement, the place where Great-Uncle Harvey usually parks himself.
At around one in the afternoon, after cleaning and cleaning, me, Aunt Greer, Mama, and McCall loaded into the Chevrolet. Then McCall drove us all down to the train depot, where we sat and waited for the Bennettsville & Cheraw train to arrive.
Great-Uncle Harvey’s real friendly and dresses good, but he can’t see. When he was a kid, he lost his eyesight from the measles, so whenever he visits, he sits in a rolling chair while a black-man nurse pushes him around. As a matter of fact, when he got off the train that day we were waiting, a black-man nurse named Jacob carried him down the steps and over to us, then went back to fetch some bags and the rolling chair.
Also, since
After my daddy said grace and we started eating dinner, I said, “In case anyone wants to know, the newspaper story I was writing is gonna be in the
Bennettsville Times.
Mr. Salter told me so today.”
Mama said, “Really?” She put a surprised hand against her chest.
“I never thought you’d even go ask him, Darby,” my daddy said.
“One thing about you, Darby,” Mama said, “you’ve always been stubborn.”
Daddy chewed and swallowed a fork’s worth of ham. “When’s the story going to run?” he asked.
“What do you mean
run
?”
“When’s Mr. Salter going to put it in the paper?”
“Oh,” I kind of hemmed. “Well . . . he told me he thinks it’ll get
runned
next week.”
Smiling, Daddy said to Mama, “I suppose he thought it was sweet.”
I shook my head. “I think he just liked it.”
McCall declared, “Darby, it’s true. He thinks it’s funny, is all.”
“Does not,” I replied. “He said it was real good. He . . . he told me it was one of the best newspaper reports he’s ever seen.” After lying, I decided to frown at McCall.
Mama clanked her fork against her water glass. “McCall, if you can’t say something nice, don’t say a word.” She made slits of her eyes the way she did when she was a teacher at the Murchison School. Back then, she’d caused all sorts of shivers.
“That’s right,” my daddy told him. “Fact is, we’re real proud of your sister, and the wherefore doesn’t matter.”
“Anyways,” I went on, “Mr. Salter wants me to write more newspaper reports, too.”
Dabbing the sweat on his head with a napkin, my daddy said. “Is that so? What’s your next one going to be about?”
I froze.
“She doesn’t even know,” McCall declared.
“I do,” I yipped. “Since . . . since Great-Uncle Harvey is coming for a visit, I was gonna interview him about what he does all day.”
Aunt Greer said, “Darby, sweetie, he doesn’t do anything but sit in his chair.”
“He talks,” I said, feeling a little dumb. “And he tells family stories. Anyways, I don’t know for sure that I’ll do him. I mean, I got other ideas.”
“Yeah,” McCall muttered as he ate a biscuit, “I can’t wait.”
Mama said, “McCall!” and she clanked her glass again.
The day after Mr. Salter said he would run my newspaper article, Great-Uncle Harvey arrived for a visit. It was a Saturday, and I wanted to rush out first thing and tell Evette my news, but I couldn’t, not with the way we had to clean up Ellan, especially the basement, the place where Great-Uncle Harvey usually parks himself.
At around one in the afternoon, after cleaning and cleaning, me, Aunt Greer, Mama, and McCall loaded into the Chevrolet. Then McCall drove us all down to the train depot, where we sat and waited for the Bennettsville & Cheraw train to arrive.
Great-Uncle Harvey’s real friendly and dresses good, but he can’t see. When he was a kid, he lost his eyesight from the measles, so whenever he visits, he sits in a rolling chair while a black-man nurse pushes him around. As a matter of fact, when he got off the train that day we were waiting, a black-man nurse named Jacob carried him down the steps and over to us, then went back to fetch some bags and the rolling chair.
Also, since
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