The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate

“Interrupting me, ma’am? I’m not doing anything.”

“Exactly. Where is your mind today?”

“I must have left it at home, Miss Harbottle,” I said. The class tittered.

“Precisely,” she said. “And don’t you get pert with me, Calpurnia. Go to the corner. One hour. Any more comments and it’ll be the switch for you.”

I stood in the Corner of Shame with my face to the wall for a full hour and contemplated my brothers’ situation but came up with no answers. Then came lunch.

We took our pails outside and scattered under the trees. Lamar and Sam Houston sat with their respective friends. I felt sorry for Travis, the youngest and most tender of the bunch, who ate alone and cast piteous, moony looks at Lula.

Lula noticed him and said, “What’s wrong with Travis? Is he ill?”

“I think he has spring fever,” I said.

“But it’s not spring,” she said and gave me another funny look. “Shouldn’t we ask him to eat with us? He looks lonely.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Lula.”

“Why not? You sure are being odd, Callie Vee.”

Me? Odd? I thought, If you only knew the half of it. “Don’t worry, Lula, he’s fine. I think you should leave him alone.”

But it was too late. She walked up to Travis, whose eyes got bigger and whose face got redder and redder as she came toward him. Lamar and Sam Houston, on the other hand, turned all pinched and squinty.

She bent down and spoke to him. I couldn’t hear her words, but he leaped to his feet and followed her back to our spot. Lamar and Sam Houston looked like they were about to go into spasms. Travis sat down, and I thought he might pop with happiness.

“Hi, Callie. Lula asked me to sit with you.”

“I know, Travis.”

“This is a good place to eat lunch, don’t you think? You picked a real good place. Lula, do you want half of my sandwich? Viola made us roast beef today, and it’s real good. I’ll share it with you, if you like. And I have pie. Lula, do you want to share my pie? Or I can give you the whole piece, if you want. It’s peach, I think. Wait, let me look. Yep, it’s peach all right.”

“Thank you, Travis,” she said, graciously, “but I have enough lunch of my own.”

“Say, Lula,” he said, “do you like cats? Mouser, she’s our old barn cat, she had kittens, and I get to look after them all by myself. Mother said so. I named them all by myself, too. Do you want to hear their names?”

I sighed. Do you think it’s any fun listening to a ten-year-old pitching woo?

“And then there’s Jesse James, and then there’s Billy the Kid, and then there’s Doc Holliday, and then there’s . . .” He droned on, giving the names of all eight. Lula actually looked interested.

“The one I like best is Jesse James,” he finished. “He’s got stripes all over him except for his toes, which have some white places on them. He looks like he’s wearing spats,” he giggled. “He’s real friendly. He lets me carry him around in my overalls. Say, Lula, would you like to see my kittens sometime?”

“That would be nice, Travis. I like cats. We used to have a cat, but my mother wouldn’t let it come inside the house. It disappeared, and it never came back.”

I could almost hear the gears meshing in my brother’s head. “Say, Lula,” he said, slowly, “maybe you could have one of my kittens. If you wanted.”

“Gosh, Travis, really?” Her whole face lit up. “That would be so nice.” Travis looked stunned by her radiant smile. “Of course,” she said, “I’d have to ask my mother first. Maybe I could come after school tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he gulped.

Egad, my ten-year-old brother had made a date. Then I looked over and saw my older brothers shooting daggers at him.

Uh-oh.

The afternoon dragged by. I was as tense as a cat in a room full of rockers. When school let out, Lula and I met up outside as usual, and there stood Travis, his face a beacon of hope. A few paces behind him, Lamar and Sam Houston hung about looking shifty.

“Hi, Lula,” said Travis. “Hi, Callie. Can I walk with you?”

I grunted noncommittally, which Travis chose to interpret as assent; he fell in beside us, and he and Lula chattered on about the kittens. Lamar and Sam Houston followed twenty yards behind, nudging and plotting.

“You’re being real quiet, Callie,” said Lula.

“Mmm? Oh, I’m thinking about my book report.” And how I was going to prevent two of my brothers from killing a third. I would have to seek advice from Harry, although my estimation of him as a counselor in affairs of the heart had received a substantial drubbing at the hands of the wretched Miss Minerva Goodacre. I wanted to run on ahead, leaving Lula and Travis to their inane conversation, but I feared he would be fallen upon by thugs along the road.

“So what’s your book report on, Callie?” said Lula.

“Ah. My book report. Yes. Well, I haven’t decided yet. Maybe Kidnapped. Maybe Treasure Island. What are you going to write about?”