The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate

I had seen my parents kiss each other on Christmas Eve, and once I had seen my father put his arm around my mother’s waist and pull her to him at the dark end of the hall as they went into their bedroom. And when you lived on a farm with chickens and pigs and cows and cats, there were always litters being born; so, naturally at a certain age, it occurred to you to wonder how all this teeming life came about. I had seen the dogs mating, and one night I had stumbled on two cats in the dark, something you never saw. The cats and I were equally shocked.

Lula said something to me that I didn’t catch.

“What?” I said.

She looked away. “So . . . Travis is . . . sweet on me?”

“Yep. Snag him, Lula. He’s the pick of the litter.”

“But he’s so young. After all, I’m twelve and he’s only eleven. Isn’t he?”

“Um. Right.” He was actually ten, but I was not going to stomp all over his tender campaign of first love. “Remember, Lula, that I wasn’t supposed to tell you. You won’t let on, will you?”

She swore the deepest double-Injun-blood-brothers oath for me. I was willing to seal it with spit, but that was too much for her.

That evening I cornered Harry as he wrote a letter.

“Hello, my own pet,” he said absently.

“Harry,” I said, “have you ever kissed a girl?”

He looked startled. “Why do you ask?”

“I wondered what it’s like, that’s all.”

“I did kiss a girl once,” he said, smiling, “and it’s very nice.”

“Why is it so nice?”

“It just is. You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Who did you kiss?” I asked.

“Callie, I cannot tell you. A gentleman would never tell.”

“Why not? You can tell me. I can keep a secret.” Well, I thought, maybe not. “Did you kiss that Minerva Goodacre?”

“No. It was not she. But she did let me hold her hand once.”

“Was that nice too?”

“Very nice. Terrifically nice. Go away.”

“Why was it nice?”

“You’re being my own pest. Leave me alone,” he said, but he smiled at some pleasant memory.

“Do you pine for her, Harry? Do you sigh?” As long as the wretched Goodacre was well out of our lives, some degree of pining and sighing might be indulged in strictly as a romantic exercise.

“I guess I did for a while.”

“But you don’t anymore?”

“No, not anymore. Would you please go away?” I turned to go when he called out, “Wait. What’s all this interest about?” He looked sly. “Do you have a boy you’re not telling us about? Your first beau?”

“No, no, no.” I gargled out a strangled laugh. “No.”

“Why not? One day I’ll lose you to some charming prince offering you a glass slipper, Cal.”

“Don’t say that,” I said, rushing at him and throwing my arms about him. I felt like crying for no good reason. “Why do you have to get married? Why do I have to get married? Why can’t we all stay here in our house?”

“It’s okay, pet. One day you’ll want a family of your own.”

I mumbled into his vest, “People are always saying ‘one day’ to me, and I’m sick of it.”

He said, “They said that to me, too.”

“They said it to you?”

“It’s infuriating, isn’t it? They say it to everybody, and here I am saying it to you. Here, let’s fix your hair. You’re all mussed up.”

“Harry,” I said, choosing my words carefully while he fiddled with my ribbon, “do you think . . . do you think I could be a schoolteacher?”

“A schoolteacher? Is that what you want to do?” he said, relying my bow.

It wasn’t, but I couldn’t yet tell him what I really wanted.

“Do you think I could do that, Harry?”

“Yes. I think you could do that. Have you talked with Mother and Father about this?”

I ignored this and said, “Do you think I could be . . . oh, I don’t know, maybe a Telephone Operator?”

“I’m sure you’d be good at that, too, if your arms grow long enough. Hold on, let me fix your ribbon. There we go.”

“Harry. Do you think I could be”—I stopped, then spoke again, my voice studiedly casual—“a scientist?”

“A scientist?” He stepped back. “That’s kind of far-fetched, don’t you think?”

I fixed him with my gaze. My question, and his answer, were too important to look away.

“Ohhh,” he said, “I see. It’s coming from Grandfather, isn’t it? He’s egging you on, isn’t he? Maybe you shouldn’t spend so much time with him. Really, Callie, it’s so farfetched.”

“Why?” I said, flatly. “Why is it so far-fetched?”

“Because I don’t know of any lady scientists, do you? How would you live? Where would you work? Look, one day you’ll get married, you’ll have lots of children, and you’ll forget all about this. Don’t you want to have a house of your own?”

“I already have a house of my own.”

“You know what I mean,” he said.

I took a step back from him and said, “Harry. If I did want to be a scientist, would you help me?”

He looked skeptical. “Help you how?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, since I had no plan. “Just help me. If I need it.”

“I don’t know what to say, pet.” Seeing the look on my face, he said, “I’m not saying no. I just don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“If it was important to me . . .”