Cat Running (17 page)

“You’re quite right, Catherine,” he said. “They must be told, of course. Cliff will drive out there immediately and let them know.” He turned to Cliff. “You can be back before eight if you hurry.”

“Of course, Cliff will do it,” Cliff said. “Cliff will drive out to Okietown immediately. Before breakfast.” He sounded sarcastic, but he grinned at Cat as he grabbed a piece of toast from the table on his way out the door.

Back in her room Cat watched from the window as the old Model A sputtered down the driveway and headed north. She got back into bed and thought about the Model A—and how much she’d always hated it. And hated Father for not buying them a decent car. And of course that led to thinking about the bankruptcy.

She was surprised to realize that she hadn’t worried about it much, but of course there hadn’t been a whole lot of time. So many things had happened since Tuesday when Cliff told her. She’d probably worry about it more later. There would be a lot to think about later, but in the meantime there were more important things to consider.

It wasn’t raining but it was another cold, gray day. Cat got out of bed again and looked up at the dark, dreary clouds. In her mind’s eye she could see the piles of trash and the pitiful wooden shacks, and most of all she could see Zane and Spence and the others not knowing. Still not even knowing whether Sammy was alive.

Cliff didn’t come back in a half hour, or in an hour. After a while Mama came up with Cat’s breakfast and said that Father and Ellen had decided to walk into town to open the store. It was a good thing they did, because it was almost noon before the Model A chugged down the drive. When Cat heard the familiar sound she jumped out of bed and ran downstairs so quickly she met Cliff as he came in the back door. His shoes and pants were muddy and he was worried about being so late, but he seemed to be in a good mood. Cat grabbed his arm and hung on.

“All right. All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you all about it. It was a good thing I went. They hadn’t heard about Sammy. Didn’t know whether she was dead or alive.” He stopped, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “The boys ran out to meet me, but then it was like they didn’t want to hear what I had to say. Afraid it might be bad news, I guess. But they were awfully glad when it wasn’t.”

Cliff glanced at his watch. “I stayed a lot longer than I should have. Turned out they needed another spark plug for the Studebaker. So I drove Mr. Perkins into town and helped him get one. And then I drove him back out there and helped out a bit until they got the old crate running.”

Cliff looked down then at Cat’s hands still clutching his arm and said, “Unhand me, kid. I’ve got to get cleaned up and down to the store before the old man has a conniption fit.”

The next day Cat went back to school. The Perkinses weren’t there and no one seemed to know anything about them. So that night after dinner she called the Wilson residence. Not the clinic, but the house on Pine Street where the Wilsons lived. The doctor’s wife answered the phone. Mrs. Wilson was full of information.

Sammy was still making good progress. The rest of the Perkins family had kind of camped in the Wilsons’ garage last night but in a day or two they were going to leave for Bakersfield. All of them except Sammy, of course, and Mrs. Perkins. Sammy and Mrs. Perkins would stay there in the clinic until Sammy was strong enough to travel and then they would go on to Bakersfield, too, by bus.

“That’s awful,” Cat said.

“What’s awful, dear?” Mrs. Wilson said.

“That they’re going off to Bakersfield without even knowing if they can get work there, or find a place to live or ...

“I know, dear,” Mrs. Wilson said. “But I think things might work out for them there. John talked to Reverend Booker yesterday about the Perkinses, and the reverend called his brother. It just so happens that Reverend Booker has a brother who works for the government in that area. His agency has been building places for dust-bowl immigrants to live. Just camps, really, but the tents have wooden floors and there are washrooms and showers. Reverend Booker’s brother says they can move right into one of the camps. And once they get there he’s going to see what he can do to help Mr. Perkins find work.”

Cat thanked Mrs. Wilson and hung up. She supposed Reverend Booker’s brother and the government camp made things a little bit better—but not much. She still thought it was a dumb thing for the Perkinses to do.
Dumb
to go off all that way without knowing what they were getting into. She surely did wish she could see Zane Perkins just for a minute so she could tell him so.

T
HE NEXT DAY WAS
Saturday and it got off to a very bad start. During breakfast Father and Cliff got into one of their church arguments. This time it started because Cliff mentioned that Reverend Booker was going to take up a collection in church to help with the Perkinses’ bill at the clinic.

Cliff should have known better. Mentioning the Reverend Booker to Father, particularly before he’d had his first cup of coffee in the morning, was just like waving a red flag at a bull. Ellen joined in on Father’s side, of course, Mama’s eyes were beginning to get red, and Cat was gulping down her oatmeal so she could get out of there, when suddenly there was a knock on the back door. Father and Cliff, who were both talking at once, stopped in mid-sentence.

“Who could that be this hour of the morning?” Ellen said.

But then Cliff remembered that his friend Bud Jackson had promised to stop by to return an inner-tube mending kit he’d borrowed. Cliff was getting out of his chair when Father said, “Sit down, Clifford. Catherine can go. I want to finish the point I was making. Go to the door, Catherine.”

So it was Cat who went to the door, but the person who had knocked wasn’t Bud Jackson after all. It was Zane Perkins. Zane Perkins, barefoot and tattered as usual, but a good deal cleaner than he’d been the last time Cat had seen him.

“Howdy, Cat Kinsey,” he said, grinning. His grin was the usual too. Wide and ornery.

Cat closed the door behind her, quickly and tightly. “I—I thought you were on your way to Bakersfield.”

He nodded. “Leavin’ right soon,” he said. “This afternoon, like as not, if nothin’ else breaks down.”

Then he went on grinning and staring until Cat began to get mad. Sticking out her chin she said, “What are you staring at?”

“Not a thing,” he said. “Not a gol-durned thing. Oh, I almost fergot. I brung you something.” Reaching in his overall bib pocket he brought out a small linen handkerchief. “Here”—he held it out to her—“it’s for you. From my ma. She worked it for you.”

When Cat unfolded the handkerchief she saw that the letters
C.K.
had been embroidered in one corner. “Ma worked it while she was sittin’ up nights with Sammy,” Zane said. “She ast me to bring it over to you ’fore we left today.”

“Thank you,” Cat said. “I mean, would you tell your ma thank you for me?”

“I’ll tell her,” Zane said. “Oh, yeah. Got somethin’ else for you too.” He pulled a wrinkled scrap of paper out of another pocket. “This here’s from Sammy. It’s a letter.”

“Can Sammy write?”

“Naw. Not really. But she told me what to say. I writ it down for her.” In large, messy handwriting the letter said:

Dear Cat,

Please come see me at the clinic. Lilly Bell says howdy.

Love,

Sammy Perkins

“Doc Wilson says she can have visitors now,” Zane said. “She and Ma are going to be here for a while. Maybe a week or so. Room three at the clinic.”

Cat said she would visit Sammy real soon. After that nobody said anything for quite a while. Zane looked off toward the road and then up at the sky and Cat studied the note and the handkerchief. But then, just as Zane started to say something, Cat suddenly remembered what she’d wanted to tell him if she saw him again. They both started talking at once but it was Cat who kept going.

“Hey,” she said, “I just wanted to tell you that I think it’s real dumb going off to Bakersfield the way you are. I don’t think you should go. I mean, down there where you don’t know anybody and there probably isn’t any work—and the schools are a lot worse than Brownwood.”

Zane chuckled in that maddening way he had. “How do you know the schools are worse?”

Cat smiled triumphantly. “Because Spence told me so. He told me how bad they were at the other place where you were.”

He nodded. “Yeah, that school in Cottonville was purty bad, all right. But maybe we’re going to go to a real good school the Reverend Booker’s brother knows about. Specially for camp kids.”

“Maybe?” Cat said scornfully. “Just maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe. Maybe’s better’n nothin’.”

The conversation bogged down again then for a while until, all of a sudden, Zane said, “Oh, yeah. I wanted to tell you. You know what I said about the depression and your Pa’s store and all?”

Cat nodded, a small, grudging nod.

“Well, I had no call to say somethin’ like that. Your Pa’s store’s doin’ fine, like as not.”

“No, it’s not!” Cat said angrily. “It’s practically bankrupt.”

“Is that right?” Zane looked solemn. Not teasing or obnoxious for once, but just solemn and interested. “Well, that’s a real pity,” he said. “But look-a-here. You shouldn’t ought to worry ’bout it, ’cause things are goin’ to get better soon. My pa was talkin’ to Doc Wilson yesterday and Doc Wilson said he thinks this here depression’s almost over. And right soon now things is going to start gettin’ better for everybody. And Pa says that must be true, ’cause Doc Wilson knows more than jist ’bout anybody.”

“Umm,” Cat said. “Cliff says so too. At least that’s what he says when he’s in a good mood.”

They looked at each other then, and right at the very same instant—they smiled. Zane took a step closer. “Look,” he said, “I’m going to come back to Brownwood someday, sure as shootin’. I’m comin’ back because I like ... He looked at Cat sideways and then up at the sky and then at Cat again. Then he kind of sighed and shrugged and said, “I like this here town.” Then he said, “Well, then—so long, and—I’ll be seein’ you.”

He whirled around and started off down the driveway and then, without even pausing, he whirled around again and came right back. “About that there race we had,” he said, “you won. You were the one who got to the finish line.”

Cat shook her head. Her throat suddenly felt so stiff she could only say, “No. You’re faster.”

He chuckled. “For the short haul, maybe. Anyways”— he paused and then reached out suddenly and shook Cat’s hand—“anyways, you keep on runnin’, Cat Kinsey.” Then he started off down the driveway, and this time he kept going.

When Cat opened the kitchen door the argument about churches hadn’t ended, and it didn’t sound like it was about to anytime soon. Everyone was still talking at once, except for Mama, who had started to cry. Nobody noticed Cat, so she backed out of the room, closed the door behind her, and ran around the house. She went in the front door and up the stairs to her room at full speed. So fast that she reached her window in time to catch a last glimpse of Zane as he turned toward town on the Old Brownwood Road.

“You, too, Zane Perkins,” she whispered. “You keep on running too.”

Zilpha Keatley Snyder (b. 1927) is the three-time Newbery Honor–winning author of classic children’s novels such as
The Egypt Game
,
The Headless Cupid
, and
The Witches of Worm
. Her adventure and fantasy stories are beloved by many generations.

Snyder was born in Lemoore, California, in 1927. Her father, William Keatley, worked for Shell Oil, but as a would-be rancher he and his family always lived on a small farm. Snyder’s parents were both storytellers, and their tales often kept their children entertained during quiet evenings at home.

Snyder began reading and telling stories of her own at an early age. By the time she was four years old she was able to read novels and newspapers intended for adults. When she wasn’t reading, she was making up and embellishing stories. When she was eight, Snyder decided that she would be a writer—a profession in which embellishment and imagination were accepted and rewarded.

Snyder’s adolescent years were made more difficult by her studious country upbringing and by the fact that she had been advanced a grade when she started school. As other girls were going to dances and discovering boys, Snyder retreated into books. The stories transported her from her small room to a larger, remarkable universe.

At Whittier College, Zilpha Keatley Snyder met her future husband, Larry Snyder. After graduation, she began teaching upper-level elementary classes. Snyder taught for nine years, including three years as a master teacher for the University of California, Berkeley. The classroom experience gave Snyder a fresh appreciation of the interests and capabilities of preteens.

As she continued her teaching career, Snyder gained more free time. She began writing at night, after teaching during the day; her husband helped by typing out her manuscripts. After finishing her first novel, she sent it to a publisher. It was accepted on her first try. That book,
Season of Ponies
, was published in 1964.

In 1967, her fourth novel,
The Egypt Game
, won the Newbery Honor for excellence in children’s literature. Snyder went on to win that honor two more times, for her novels
The Headless Cupid
and
The Witches of Worm. The Headless Cupid
introduced the Stanley family, a clan she revisited three more times over her career.

Snyder’s
The Changeling
(1970), in which two young girls invent a fantasy world dominated by trees, became the inspiration for her 1974 fantasy series, the Green Sky Trilogy. Snyder completed that series by writing a computer game sequel called Below the Root. The game went on to earn cult classic status.

Over the almost fifty years of her career, Snyder has written about topics as diverse as time-traveling ghosts, serenading gargoyles, and adoption at the turn of the twentieth century. Today, she lives with her husband in Mill Valley, California. When not writing, Snyder enjoys reading and traveling.