The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate

Well, Miss Spitty thought a cup of tea would be delightful, and Viola went off to make it. We sat in the parlor and looked at each other. I searched her face closely and found her expression entirely lacking in the grasping quality that Minerva Goodacre had displayed. Miss Spitty had strawberry blond hair, which was definitely unfashionable, but I found it a beautiful color. Her complexion was a faint pink, and her eyes were a light blue, and although she gave an overall impression of paleness and delicacy, her alert expression and mobile features saved her from looking insipid. Compared with the odious Miss Goodacre, she stood up well. Perhaps I would have to bestow my approval on her after all. Everyone would be greatly relieved. She smiled at me. I smiled at her. The clock ticked on the mantel.

Viola came back in with a tray of the best china and set it down. She looked at me. “Miz Calpurnia,” she said.

“What?”

“I think it’s time for you to go rest. After you fainting and all.”

“I feel all right.”

“I think,” said Viola, “it’s time for you to go rest.”

“I’d like some tea,” I said.

“I think,” she said, “it’s time. Right. Now.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll get you tea in your room,” she said.

“Okay.” Unwanted again. Still, the idea of curling up with Treasure Island and a cold cloth wasn’t such a bad one. I left the parlor to the accompaniment of the inviting clash of crockery and the light tinkle of teaspoons, and went upstairs. SanJuanna brought me a pitcher of cool water and a fresh towel. Viola came up later carrying a tray set with the second-best china as a peace offering for my banishment.

She said, “You be careful with this tray. If you break one thing—”

“You don’t have to tell me that.”

She put the tray down and inspected my ribbon, which I’d put on my dresser.

“You got you a prize,” she said. “How did that happen?”

“How do you think it happened?” I said grumpily.

“The judges was all blind peoples?”

“Ha ha.”

“I got it,” she said. “There was only three entries.”

“Yep.”

“Hmm. Still, you don’t need to be telling folks that part. Now, don’t chip nothing.”

She closed the door as she left. I admired the graceful gold-and-pink rose pattern on the translucent bone china and figured that some of the trappings of civilization weren’t so bad after all. I sipped my tea and turned back to my afternoon companions of pirates, parrots, and the sea.

CHAPTER 24

HARRY WOOS AGAIN

Feeble man can do much by his powers of artificial selection. . . .

COD-LIVER OIL. The grim specter of the teaspoon laden with the reeking oil suddenly leaped into my brain when I heard the wagon coming up the drive a couple of hours later, with Mother and Father and the three younger boys. If Mother thought I’d fainted due to sickness, I’d be in for it. Harry told me later that he and Fern had gone back to the fair and found our parents and told them the story. Harry stressed the smokiness of the tent in an effort to avert the deadly dosing, and this apparently did the trick. That and the fact that I ran out and met them all on the front porch looking as cheerful and lively as I could, wearing my prize ribbon, practically capering with girlish good health.

“Look, look what I won. Isn’t it exciting?” I called out, gleefully pointing at my ribbon. I wasn’t above being a big, fat imposter if it diverted attention away from a potential drenching with the world’s foulest substance.

“My goodness! A prize!” There were many exclamations of approval. Mother looked startled and pleased. She didn’t mention cod-liver oil, but she did say, “Do you feel all right, Callie? Your color’s high. Alfred, do you think we should send for Dr. Walker?”

Father said, “She looks fine to me, my dear, but if you’re worried—”

“I don’t feel sick, ma’am,” I said. “I’m excited because I won a ribbon, that’s all.”

Jim Bowie said, “How come you got a white ribbon and Travis got a blue one?”

“It’s because I’m so special, J.B.”

“Really? Gosh, Callie.”

“No, not really. I’m fooling you. A blue ribbon is lots better than a white one. Travis and Bunny won the best prize there is.” As I said this, I wondered if Mother would make me come clean about my entry, but she kept twinkling at my ribbon. Strange. Then I realized that she didn’t know. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed, or maybe she hadn’t gone by the display, or maybe Lula and Dovie had taken their pieces down before she got there. Mother looked so gratified. Did I have to be the one to tell her?

“Uh, J.B.,” I said in a loud voice, “tatting wasn’t a strong field this year.”

“Huh?”

I glanced at Mother, who was chatting with Travis.

I raised my voice. “The entrants. In the tatting class. Not so strong.”

“Wha—?”

“Anyone could have won a ribbon, J.B., is what I’m saying.”

“Why are you talking so loud? Can I have your ribbon? I never win the Firefly Prize. I’d like to have a ribbon.”