Wildfire! Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  Also by Elizabeth Starr Hill

  Copyright Page

  To my good friend Ruth Stewart, with thanks

  —E.S.H.

  1

  Ben took one more biscuit, slathered it with Goomby’s wild–orange marmalade, and stuffed it into his mouth. His grandparents had already finished breakfast. Goomby, his great-grandmother, had eaten just a few quick bites, and was through. Smiling, she asked Ben, “Want more?”

  He shook his head. They put all the dishes in the sink and joined Grandpa in the living room.

  Grandpa was watching the TV news. The pictures on the screen were scary. They showed orange and red flames crackling through trees, torching giant pines as though they were toothpicks. The weather had been very hot and dry for weeks. Wildfires were burning all over Florida. New ones blazed up every day.

  “These are south of here, but they’re in our forest,” Grandpa said.

  “How far?” Goomby asked.

  “Down around Worthington,” Grandpa answered his mother. “Far enough to be safe.”

  “This time. For now,” Goomby answered.

  “Yes. For now.” Grandpa’s voice was strong and reassuring, but his lean tanned face showed his worry. They all knew how sparks could travel in the air, starting a new fire someplace else.

  Their little village of Bending Creek had no fire department of its own. There had not been a bad fire here for years, but if there were, they would have to depend on firefighters coming from Carville, the nearest big town. That was thirty miles away.

  “More coffee?” Goomby asked her son. Grandma had already gone to her waitress job at the Happy Day Café.

  “No, gotta get to work. Full crew coming in today.” He ruffled Ben’s hair. “Be good, you two.”

  Goomby grinned. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  Grandpa laughed. He picked up the lunch she had packed for him and left for his job at the sawmill.

  Goomby turned off the TV and bustled away to wash the breakfast dishes. Ben joined her in the kitchen.

  Out the window, the familiar woods looked strange and a little frightening. Even though the fires were far away, the smoke had spread here, gathering in tall pines and oaks and vines and scrub palmettos, blurring all the forest greens.

  “How about doing an errand for me in town?” Goomby asked Ben. “I need a couple more things for tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow was the Fourth of July. Goomby always prepared a lot of food for the holiday.

  Ben was glad to help her. His parents had been killed in a car crash six years ago, when he was four years old.

  Ben and his parents had lived in another town then. He hadn’t known his grandparents and Goomby very well.

  He had a confused memory of relatives coming to the house, trying to decide what would happen to him. Then Goomby had said, “Ben belongs to us. He’s coming home with us.”

  Others in the family had argued that this might make too much work for her. But she always answered, “I’m sixty-eight, not a hundred and ten. And he’s our boy.”

  Ben never forgot that. “He’s our boy.” His sorrow and fear had begun to lift in that moment.

  Grandma and Grandpa had agreed, of course. But in Ben’s heart it had really been Goomby’s decision. She had given him this home and this life.

  He told her, “I’ll do your errands right now, if you want.”

  “Oh, good.” She gave him some money and a list.

  Cornmeal, beans, molasses, red cabbage and white cabbage for two-color coleslaw, one ripe avocado. Ben knew he could get all this in Mr. Meehan’s grocery store. Goomby also wanted two tiny lamps for a dollhouse she was making for a church sale. He would have to go to Cindy’s Craft Shop for those.

  “Okay.” He went off, whistling.

  He passed the American flag Grandpa had put on the porch in honor of the Fourth of July. There were flags on all the neighbors’ porches, too. They made patches of bright color on the little houses along the dusty road.

  Ben loved the Fourth. Tomorrow there would be an all-day celebration in Bending Creek Park —a parade, then the picnic, then games and contests and a speech by Mayor Jolson. It was the same speech every year, about how this was a day to remember, the day America became a free country. Then a band concert and more eating.

  Usually the day ended with fireworks over the lake. Grandpa had bought a box a month ago so he and Ben could set off some just for fun, before the official display. But fireworks were banned this year because of the fire danger. Still, there would be plenty of other things to do.

  At the grocery, Mr. Meehan weighed out cornmeal and beans. He chose a perfect avocado. He wedged in a jar of molasses. With the two cabbages, the food almost filled up a big brown paper bag.

  “Got room in there for a few caramels?” he asked Ben.

  “Sure do!” Ben said eagerly. Mr. Meehan threw them in without charge.

  Ben thanked him and left the grocery. He turned onto a side road for Cindy’s Craft Shop, happy about the caramels.

  As he came around the corner, he saw Elliot Lorton outside Cindy’s. Elliot called to him, “Hi, Ben! How you folks doing, off there in the backwoods?” He sounded friendly, but Ben heard an edge of scorn in his voice.

  Ben’s spirits sank. Elliot and his parents had recently moved to Bending Creek from a northern city. Elliot seemed to think his city ways made him better than the people of Bending Creek—and especially better than Ben, who was, as Elliot kept reminding him, only a boy living on a dirt road in the backwoods.

  Ben hurried into Cindy’s shop without responding and tried to slam the door shut, but Elliot followed right behind him.

  Now, Ben realized, he would have to buy two tiny lamps. That made him feel foolish. He hoped Elliot wouldn’t notice what he was buying.

  “Why, hello, Ben,” Cindy said cordially from behind the counter. She had a loud voice. “Looking for something for the dollhouse?”

  2

  Ben’s cheeks flushed. He mumbled, “Lamps.”

  Cindy brought some out from the rear of the store. Elliot grinned, but he didn’t say anything.

  Ben muttered an explanation about Goomby’s project. “I’ll take those two.” He thrust the money at Cindy, longing to get out of there. She put the lamps in a little box and gave him his change. He stuffed it all in with the groceries and bolted from the shop.

  Elliot came with him. “You and your folks going to move into a dollhouse?” He chuckled. “Not much of a change for you, I guess.”

  Elliot never missed a chance to remind Ben that their home was only a wooden bungalow in a clearing in the woods, while the Lortons—Elliot and his mother and father—lived in a nice big house in town.

  Ben didn’t answer this. He said, “Well, so long,” and sprinted around the corner.

  But Elliot was right there with him. “What’s the rush? It’s too hot to hurry.”

  It was. The withering heat, laced with smoke from the fires, made the air feel hard to breathe, and carrying the big grocery bag didn’t help. Ben slowed down. They trudged along silently, kicking up dust from the dry dirt road.

  As they neared Ben’s bungalow, Elliot asked, “Do animals live in the woods?”

  “Sure. Millions of ’em.”

  Elliot glanced at the trees beside the road. “You see them much?”

  A squirrel chittered in a pine. An armadillo rustled through some fallen palm fronds, right beside the road. Ben said, “There’s a couple right there.”

  “I meant bigger animals.”

  “We see deer a lot, mostly whe
n it’s getting dark. Foxes sometimes. There’s bears and bobcats too, but they don’t come out as much. And where the creek goes through the trees, there’s alligators, and—”

  “Snakes?” Elliot broke in.

  “Well, yeah. Sure.”

  Elliot shied away from the woods. “What a place to live,” he said in disgust. Then he added amiably, “No offense.”

  Ben gritted his teeth. This was his place to live, and he liked it. And he didn’t like Elliot for trying to make him ashamed of it.

  They reached his house. Elliot said, “Air-conditioning would feel good right now. But I guess you don’t have that.”

  “Yes, we do,” Ben answered stiffly. “You can come in, if you want.”

  Elliot followed him.

  It was cool in the bungalow. Their air conditioners were noisy window units, but they worked fine.

  Goomby said hello to Elliot. He answered quickly and politely, “Morning, ma’am. Another hot day.”

  Goomby nodded. She thanked Ben for the groceries and the change and put them away. “These must be for you.” She gave him the caramels. Ben stuffed them in his pocket for later.

  She opened the box with the little lamps in it. Ben hoped any talk about them would be brief.

  “They’re perfect,” Goomby said. “How about some lemonade? You boys thirsty?”

  “Yes!” Ben said.

  “That would be great.” Elliot smiled.

  They sat at the kitchen table. Goomby poured out two big glasses. While they drank the sweet cold lemonade, she put a ham on to boil. They would have it sliced cold at the picnic tomorrow. She rolled chicken pieces in cornmeal and placed them in the big skillet to fry. The kitchen began to smell delicious.

  Ben and Elliot seemed to have nothing more to say to each other, and Ben wished the other boy would leave. But Elliot looked as if he were settling down for a while. He hummed, sipped the last of his drink, tapped his fingers on the table. He looked bored. Elliot often looked that way, as if there were better things to do—anywhere but here.

  “Want to play checkers?” Ben asked finally. He was getting bored himself, just sitting here.

  Elliot shrugged. “I guess so.”

  They played three games. Elliot lost all three. Ben was pretty good at checkers, but Elliot said he was used to playing with much better players and that Ben’s blunders had thrown him off his game.

  Ben snorted and replied, “Oh, yeah? Last year I beat three champions over in Carville. There was a contest and they’d already played some other guys, and these were the winners, and I beat ’em all.”

  This wasn’t quite true—he had actually beaten one of them and lost to the other two—but today Elliot had lost fair and square, and Ben hated his attitude. He tossed the pieces in the box and folded the board, saying, “That’s enough checkers.”

  At last Elliot got up to leave. Then Miss Alice, their neighbor up the road, rang her I’ve-got-news bell, and Goomby said, “Oh, dear, I wonder what Alice wants to tell us. I hope it’s nothing bad.”

  Elliot rolled his eyes. One of the many things he thought was funny about Bending Creek was the way people rang bells to say things, but Ben knew it was a good system, here in the country. Mr. Hendrick, who lived on the other side of Miss Alice, always used a brass bell to call his cats in at night. Goomby rang her noisy old come-home bell to call the family in to supper. And Miss Alice gathered the neighbors this way when she had something special to say.

  Ben liked the bells. They were like voices to him, the voices of Bending Creek—his family, his neighbors, his friends.

  Goomby turned off the burner under the ham. She finished frying the chicken and put the pieces onto paper toweling to drain and cool. She turned off that burner, too, and double-checked to be sure she hadn’t left anything on. The threat of fire made everyone extra careful.

  Then she whisked off her apron and they all went next door to hear Miss Alice’s news.

  3

  Miss Alice was on her porch when they got there. She was holding a skinny little white puppy in her arms. The pup looked at Goomby and Ben and Elliot with scared dark eyes. Hesitantly, it wagged its tail.

  “Why, where did he come from?” Goomby exclaimed. She reached out a wrinkled tanned hand and stroked the pup. “He’s not from around here.”

  Mr. Hendrick came over from next door. The Olsen family, who lived farther up the road, hurried to join them. The neighbors agreed. Nobody had ever seen the pup before.

  “I think he was dropped off by a car this morning,” Miss Alice told them. “I saw a car come through, not anybody we know. And then there was this poor little mite, out in the road.”

  Mr. Olsen made a sound of disgust. “It’s terrible how people do that with a pet sometimes. They don’t want them anymore, so they drop them off like a sack of peanuts.”

  “That’s awful,” Elliot said indignantly. “Hello, boy. Hello.” He stroked the puppy’s nose.

  “I can’t keep him,” Miss Alice said. “I’m at my sister’s so much. I hoped one of you might take him.”

  Mrs. Olsen shook her head. “We’ve got three dogs already.”

  “I’m more of a cat person,” Mr. Hendrick said.

  Ben looked into the pup’s frightened eyes. He imagined how awful it would be, to be dumped in a strange place with strange people. He had a dim memory of feeling like that when his parents died.

  He longed to say, “I’ll take him.”

  He had never had a dog. But when summer was over, he would be in school all day. Grandma and Grandpa would be working, as usual. It would mean extra trouble for Goomby.

  He felt Goomby’s sharp dark eyes on his face. She drew a breath, and Ben felt a flare of hope. But before she could speak, Elliot said, “I’d love to have a dog.”

  Miss Alice turned to him gratefully. “Really, Elliot?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It sounds like fun.”

  “Well, it’s a big responsibility, too,” Miss Alice told him. “I’d have to ask your mother.”

  “Okay. I guess you don’t have a phone?”

  “Yes, I do,” she replied. She hesitated for a moment, studying Elliot’s face. He wore a sincere, hopeful expression, with none of his usual superior smirk.

  Ben’s thoughts flashed to all the times Elliot had made fun of Miss Alice and her bells, always behind her back, of course. And now Miss Alice was looking at him with a kind of fondness! Grownups never seemed to see through Elliot, he was so polite, so two-faced. Ben felt a familiar despair. He wished he could be like that, saying and doing the right things to get his own way. But he never knew what to say.

  He didn’t know now.

  Miss Alice made up her mind. She asked Elliot, “What’s your number?”

  He told her. She went off, still holding the puppy.

  The boys waited silently while she made the call. Ben’s heart thumped. He thought Mrs. Lorton might say no, and then Goomby might say …

  But in a minute Miss Alice was back, smiling. “It’s fine with your mother. You can take him right now, if you want.”

  “Oh, I do.”

  She placed the pup in his arms. “You can buy a collar and leash at Nelson’s Hardware. You’ll need to hold on to him until he learns his name and where he lives.”

  Elliot nodded. “This is wonderful, Miss Alice. Thanks a lot.”

  “Well, you’re welcome. Give him a good home,” she answered, beaming.

  Elliot put the pup down. The little dog looked bewildered. Elliot snapped his fingers and said, “Come on, fella.”

  The pup spotted a squirrel. He ran toward it, barked, and scared it up a tree.

  Elliot laughed. He repeated, “Come on.”

  Miss Alice said, “I should have given him a rope to tie on that pup.”

  The pup threw one more bark up the tree at the squirrel, then trotted after Elliot.

  Ben watched them go. There was an ache inside him.

  After supper Grandma and Grandpa and Goomby watched TV. Ben sat
alone out on the porch. The woods grew dark. Fireflies appeared dimly, their lights blurred by smoke.

  Ben imagined what it would be like if the pup were his. Ideas bubbled in him, sweet as soda.

  He imagined the dog waiting for him to come home from school, sitting on the porch. The pup would see him walking along the road. He would run forward, wagging his tail really hard. Maybe he would jump up and lick Ben’s face. Ben had seen one of the Olsen dogs do that, almost knocking the littlest Olsen kid off his feet. The memory of it made him laugh.

  He would teach the puppy to catch a Frisbee, and not to chase cats. Mr. Hendrick hated it when a dog chased his cats.

  They would go fishing together, keeping each other company on the bank of the creek. A wonderful sense of hospitality warmed Ben, thinking about it. He would show the puppy his favorite places, share a piece of corn pone with him, maybe teach him to swim.

  But after a while, sitting in the dark, his imaginings faded and he was just Ben again, alone. It was Elliot who had the dog.

  4

  Ben and his family got up early the next morning to pack Goomby’s food hampers in the truck, along with a water jug and blankets. The box of fireworks and matches were still in the pickup—Grandpa had stored them there before the ban—but they didn’t take up much space. Ben stepped around them to fit in one last hamper.

  He smelled honey cake. He couldn’t resist lifting the hamper’s lid and sneaking a piece into his mouth. It melted on his tongue, all buttery sweetness.

  Goomby came up behind him and rapped his hand lightly. “No more!”

  “Okay. It’s really good, Goomby.” Ben licked the crumbs off his fingers and set to work again.

  After the food was all loaded, they drove the short distance to the park. When they got there, Goomby and Grandma chose a place for them to spread their blankets, under a huge live oak tree. This would give them shade for most of the day.

  “Going to be another scorcher,” Grandpa said, wiping his brow.

  The day was hazy and very hot. Across the road in the forest, smoke hung heavily in the still air.