we’ll have to check the thermometer outside to make sure.”
Eli ran to the thermometer hanging on the back porch and stuck his head out. He followed the red line with his finger. “It says forty-three degrees, Grandpa.”
“That’s about right,” Grandpa said, making the wax paper crackle as he folded it around the sandwiches. “Can you just imagine, Eli, living underground most of your life? Then one day, something inside you tells you to get out from that hole and crawl a quarter mile to a pond?”Grandpa stuffed the sandwiches into a bucket. “You don’t mind Salisbury steak sandwiches with triple sauce on ’em, do you? It’s got green pepper in it, you know. Not just tomatoes.”
“What’s wrong with green peppers?” Eli pulled on his boots before straightening his socks and got out the hat from his slicker.
“Your pa always hated Salisbury steak,” Grandpa said. “Don’t know why. Specially if it had green peppers in it.” He reached for the straw hat on the hook next to Grandma’s apron and stuck it on his head before heading out the door.
“That’s just about the silliest hat I’ve ever seen, Grandpa.” Eli laughed.
“Scare the trucks away.” Grandpa winked. “Or at least, get ’em to slow down some. Not too many folks around here wearing bright yellow straw hats on a rainy night. Now which bucket you want?” He lifted the handle in his left hand, then the right. “One’s for eatin’ and one’s for leadin’ critters.”
Eli eyeballed them both. “I’ll take the leading one,” he said, peering into the empty bucket he just took.
“That’s good, Eli. Always look down.” Grandpa nodded. “Remember, animals come first tonight. It’s their night. And you never know what’s at your feet.” Grandpa took out the gleaming silver flashlight from his slickerand aimed it into the night. “Could be the biggest spotted salamander of ’em all.”
Eli tiptoed over the lawn past the apple orchard like he was walking on eggshells. He lifted the heels of his Billy boots every so often to see if he’d squashed anything.
A thick veil of fog covered the valley in a tarp of chalky white, weaving threads of mist around Grandpa and Eli. It carried with it the smell of green—the newness coming to life in the brush nearby.
Lemony green ferns splayed out below, their leaves in tight fists, refusing to break through the hairy skin until it warmed up.
Eli was surprised how cold forty-something degrees was. The cool mist uncurled in swirling bits, dipping in and out of the sky ahead of them. He strained to hear a spring peeper or even a bullfrog, but the night was quiet. Just the rhythm of the rain tapping lightly on their shoulders, following them as they reached pavement.
It was a steady rain, the kind of wetness that comes from all over, like the sprayers you walked through to keep cool at the fair. It got into places regular rain didn’t. Eli could already feel it seeping down the back of his neck in the gap between his hat and the slicker. His face was moist and clammy, too, but it didn’t bother him. He knew something was about to happen. Something hardly anyone got to see.
“They’ll be crossing the road over the top of the hill if they cross at all,” Grandpa called out.
Eli’d gotten ahead of Grandpa, stretching his footsteps farther and farther as he aimed for the crossing. He’d seen the spot during the day—Grandpa pointed it out plenty of times—but he’d never been to a crossing.
Too young to stay up half the night
, Pa used to say.
And get soaked right through
, Ma would add.
Not tonight.
Eli hesitated when he heard the sound of wet tires skimming over the slick pavement behind them. Was it coming toward them? He turned to look at Grandpa.
“Uh-oh.” Grandpa shook his head. “Stay on the side of the road, Eli. He might be turning.”
But the car whooshed straight instead.
“I see something!” Eli ran up to the yellow lines on the pavement covering the
Eli ran to the thermometer hanging on the back porch and stuck his head out. He followed the red line with his finger. “It says forty-three degrees, Grandpa.”
“That’s about right,” Grandpa said, making the wax paper crackle as he folded it around the sandwiches. “Can you just imagine, Eli, living underground most of your life? Then one day, something inside you tells you to get out from that hole and crawl a quarter mile to a pond?”Grandpa stuffed the sandwiches into a bucket. “You don’t mind Salisbury steak sandwiches with triple sauce on ’em, do you? It’s got green pepper in it, you know. Not just tomatoes.”
“What’s wrong with green peppers?” Eli pulled on his boots before straightening his socks and got out the hat from his slicker.
“Your pa always hated Salisbury steak,” Grandpa said. “Don’t know why. Specially if it had green peppers in it.” He reached for the straw hat on the hook next to Grandma’s apron and stuck it on his head before heading out the door.
“That’s just about the silliest hat I’ve ever seen, Grandpa.” Eli laughed.
“Scare the trucks away.” Grandpa winked. “Or at least, get ’em to slow down some. Not too many folks around here wearing bright yellow straw hats on a rainy night. Now which bucket you want?” He lifted the handle in his left hand, then the right. “One’s for eatin’ and one’s for leadin’ critters.”
Eli eyeballed them both. “I’ll take the leading one,” he said, peering into the empty bucket he just took.
“That’s good, Eli. Always look down.” Grandpa nodded. “Remember, animals come first tonight. It’s their night. And you never know what’s at your feet.” Grandpa took out the gleaming silver flashlight from his slickerand aimed it into the night. “Could be the biggest spotted salamander of ’em all.”
Eli tiptoed over the lawn past the apple orchard like he was walking on eggshells. He lifted the heels of his Billy boots every so often to see if he’d squashed anything.
A thick veil of fog covered the valley in a tarp of chalky white, weaving threads of mist around Grandpa and Eli. It carried with it the smell of green—the newness coming to life in the brush nearby.
Lemony green ferns splayed out below, their leaves in tight fists, refusing to break through the hairy skin until it warmed up.
Eli was surprised how cold forty-something degrees was. The cool mist uncurled in swirling bits, dipping in and out of the sky ahead of them. He strained to hear a spring peeper or even a bullfrog, but the night was quiet. Just the rhythm of the rain tapping lightly on their shoulders, following them as they reached pavement.
It was a steady rain, the kind of wetness that comes from all over, like the sprayers you walked through to keep cool at the fair. It got into places regular rain didn’t. Eli could already feel it seeping down the back of his neck in the gap between his hat and the slicker. His face was moist and clammy, too, but it didn’t bother him. He knew something was about to happen. Something hardly anyone got to see.
“They’ll be crossing the road over the top of the hill if they cross at all,” Grandpa called out.
Eli’d gotten ahead of Grandpa, stretching his footsteps farther and farther as he aimed for the crossing. He’d seen the spot during the day—Grandpa pointed it out plenty of times—but he’d never been to a crossing.
Too young to stay up half the night
, Pa used to say.
And get soaked right through
, Ma would add.
Not tonight.
Eli hesitated when he heard the sound of wet tires skimming over the slick pavement behind them. Was it coming toward them? He turned to look at Grandpa.
“Uh-oh.” Grandpa shook his head. “Stay on the side of the road, Eli. He might be turning.”
But the car whooshed straight instead.
“I see something!” Eli ran up to the yellow lines on the pavement covering the
Similar Books
