The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate

Lula and Mrs. Gates went by, Lula covered with so many rosettes that she looked like a walking Christmas tree. She and Travis waved at each other, and he ran off after her. I no longer cared that I was third out of three novice lace makers. Who cared? I wondered where Granddaddy was while I staked out my dubious claim to lace-making fame. Lamar came by, looking for Lula. “Lamar,” I said, “have you seen Granddaddy?”

“Last time I saw him he was over in the machinery tent. I think he’s been there all day. It’s over past the livestock. Say, Callie, can you lend me a nickel?”

“I don’t have a cent.”

Lamar looked at me suspiciously. “What about your prize money?”

I laughed. “Price money! That’s a good one! They gave me this ribbon, that’s all.”

“What good is a ribbon? Why are you laughing like that? Why don’t they give you some money instead? I need some money for the shooting gallery. I never have any money.”

“You made lots of money at the gin. What happened to it?”

“Nothing,” he said sullenly.

“You spent it at the store, didn’t you? All that penny candy.” He had no answer to that. I left him grousing about the state of his finances and headed off to the machinery tent. Of course that’s where Granddaddy would be. I should have thought of it earlier. Cattle and cotton no longer held any allure for him. As I got closer, the smell of tobacco in the air grew denser. Actual clouds of smoke were rolling out of the tent flap and seeping through the seams. There were so many men smoking inside the tent that it appeared to be on fire.

Coughing, I made my way inside, pushing through the throngs of men and boys, all clustered excitedly around the latest in threshers and plows. But the biggest clutch of admiring onlookers milled around something at the far end of the tent. I shoved my way down there, mouthing a token pardon me in the noisy crush, and ran into Harry escorting Fern Spitty and trying to clear a path for her through the near riot.

“Harry!” I shouted. “Have you seen Granddaddy?”

“He’s over there right next to it. He hasn’t moved all day.”

“What is it?” I screamed.

“An auto-mobile!”

“Oh!” Fern and I mouthed and mimed hellos and goodbyes to each other, and he led her away. I noticed that she had her arm tucked through his.

The place was absolutely packed. It took me another five minutes to get through there, and I thought I’d suffocate with all the cigars and pipes, but at least I was near the ground where the air was slightly fresher. You couldn’t see the top of the tent at all—it was completely obscured by rolling clouds of smoke. Finally, just when I thought I would pass out, I shoved my way through the last ring of spectators and there it was, in all its dazzling glory, something never seen before: a carriage without a horse.

How to describe it? It looked like speed incarnate, its every line carved by the wind. There were the shining brass appointments, the gracefully curved mudflap, the tufted black leather seat. And there was my own grandfather sitting on that seat, peering intently at the steering wheel as if mesmerized. A tall man sat in the machine next to him, shouting in his ear and gesturing at the controls. He turned out to be the owner, and Granddaddy was offering him cash on the spot for the machine—twice what he’d paid, then three times, then five times—but the tall man would not sell at any price. I wormed my way up to the auto-mobile and tugged on Granddaddy’s coat as the owner shouted “Sorry! She’s not for sale!” and climbed out of the machine.

Granddaddy saw me and then spoke again with the owner and pointed at me. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Granddaddy was claiming me as his own, and so a second later the tall man lifted me up and placed me on the seat next to my grandfather. The crowd evidently liked this from the buzzing cheer it sent up, increasing the din to an unbelievable level. The noise momentarily stunned me, and all I could think about was that the backs of my legs were sticking to the leather and I needed to pull my dress down over my knees. But a second later someone whisked me out of the car and set me back on the ground. Granddaddy climbed out the other side, and the tall man nodded at two more bystanders, who scrambled to take our places. There was no question of driving the thing; it was an overwhelming experience to merely sit in it, to see it and touch it, to be in its presence, even at rest.