Beat the Turtle Drum by Constance C. Greene Page A

tell he wanted to spit the coffee out, but I wouldn’t let him. “Swallow it!” I hissed, and he did, although he looked a bit shaky.
    â€œJust a little something for you,” Mrs. Essig said. She handed Joss a box wrapped in silver paper.
    â€œYou didn’t have to do that,” Joss said, her face getting pink.
    â€œI wanted to,” Mrs. Essig said.
    â€œIt’s beautiful,” Joss said, opening the package. Mrs. Essig had given her a round pin with a horse inside. “I love it.” She pinned it on her front. “Thank you,” she said and kissed Mrs. Essig on the cheek.
    â€œIt’s nothing.” Mrs. Essig beamed. “I just happened to have it laying around, and I thought you might like it. Some more?” She lifted the coffeepot.
    â€œWe’ve got to go,” I said, giving Joss a warning look. I could tell she was settling in for a long visit. She also is the type of person who finds it difficult to get up and say good-bye. I myself think there’s nothing more tiresome than people who say they have to go and then stay around for another half hour. “We’ve got stuff to do at home.”
    We said good-bye and thank you and went out to see when Mr. Essig would bring Prince over.
    â€œI can’t promise right away,” he said. “All’s I can say is it’ll be before nighttime.”
    â€œIf you’d only given him half the money and told him you’d give him the other half when he got to our house, I bet he would’ve brought Prince over in a flash,” I told Joss as we rode home.
    â€œRace you up the hill,” she said. I turned around to check on Tootie. He was huffing and puffing. “Race yourself, you eleven-year-old,” I said. “I’ll wait for you-know-who.” But Joss was already halfway up Comstock Hill, her skinny legs pumping like mad, her hair flying. It was her day.

“When is he coming?” Joss asked for the thousandth time. She’d been pacing the entire afternoon. When she wasn’t pacing, she was rushing to see what time it was.
    â€œCall him up,” I said. “Maybe he’s forgotten.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t,” Joss said, looking tragic.
    She came away from the phone, beaming. “Mrs. Essig says he’s on his way. She said he left about fifteen minutes ago. He should be here any time now.”
    We went out to wait. A bunch of kids were collected down the street, waiting. They knew Prince was being delivered today. The older ones made fun.
    â€œOh, it’s a big deal all right,” they said in their special tone of voice, which said they had better things to do than wait around for a rented horse to show up. “Joss is renting a horse. I don’t know, I think she said thirty dollars a week. Imagine spending that much money just so’s you have a horse in your back yard!”
    The little ones did cartwheels and stood on their heads when they weren’t darting back and forth, shouting, “I think he’s coming!”
    I saw Alice Mayberry and Tess Tipler on the fringe of the crowd. They were a year older than I was and had just graduated from the eighth grade. They bought identical white shoes to wear to the prom. I understand they wanted to wear identical dresses too, but Mrs. Mayberry put her foot down. Tess was stout. She was going to be an opera star. At the drop of a hat, she’d fold her hands across her stomach and belt out “Oh, Star of Evening.” Alice sang Madame Butterfly and did gymnastic dancing at the same time. They were a couple of stars.
    After a lot of false alarms, Mr. Essig’s van came into sight. Joss stood at the top of our driveway directing Mr. Essig on exactly how he should back down. We could see Prince’s head peering out.
    â€œHe knows he’s in a strange place,” Joss said. “It’ll take him a while to get used to it.”
    â€œCan I have a ride, Joss? Can I?