The Man with the Red Bag by Eve Bunting Page B

his bag every few minutes.Not that he was going to jump ! Keeping watch on him was getting to be a habit.
    I suppose we weren’t actually on a raft; it was more like a big rubber boat with high sides. Also, we all wore orange life jackets. I guess Star Tours didn’t want to lose any of their group in the raging waters. Actually, the waters didn’t rage that much. I loved it, though, the trees and brush on either side, the mountains with their little sprinkles of snow on top, the dark mysterious river flowing by. This was a kind of space, like recess between classes. I felt we were safe while we were on this raft. I closed my eyes and was Huckleberry Finn until Geneva leaned forward and poked me and whispered, “I have an idea how to get ahold of his bag.”
    I glanced again at Stavros sitting in front of me. “You mean now?”
    â€œUh-uh. Later.”
    She had such a satisfied smirk that I wanted to push her overboard. One good shove. But still, if she really had a clever idea, it would be a waste to lose it.
    Declan wore a canary-yellow shirt with Indian arrowheads. He and a fellow he introduced as Larspoled us slowly along the river. Declan told us about how the Snake had changed course many, many times and left the small islands that dotted the water. He said the sagebrush had been there for thousands of years. I thought about how great, lumbering mastodons could have plodded along these banks. Saber-toothed tigers might have crouched in the mud to drink. I watched ducks gliding importantly along on the water. A bald eagle sailed across the sky, taking my breath with it, and for those few moments I almost forgot about Charles Stavros. I didn’t forget that Geneva had come up with a plan to get his red bag. Some dopey scheme, probably. I shook my head. Forget them both!
    â€œI’m so glad you brought me along on this trip,” I whispered to Grandma.
    â€œI’m so glad you’re with me,” she whispered back.
    â€œAren’t we going to get any whitewater?” Buffo asked. “No rapids? No whirlpools? This is too tame.”
    â€œNot this trip,” Declan said. “But at least nobody’s getting seasick.”
    The Texans sang “Michael, Row the Boat Ashore” and it sounded just right, just perfect.
    â€œDid you know that the four of them are in a choral group in Houston?” Grandma asked. “They’re really excellent.”
    That made me smile. It was pretty nice, how the tour people told Grandma everything!
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    In the bus, on the return ride to the lodge, Geneva gave me the sign to come sit in back with her.
    â€œGeneva wants to talk to me,” I told Grandma, and she said, “Go on back, sweetie. I’m perfectly happy sitting here, drinking in the scenery and rejoicing. Look at those clouds! Did you ever see such a sky?”
    I admired the clouds along with her and then moved back.
    As I passed Midge’s seat I saw that she was drawing on a big pad of paper. The open page was filled with sketches of dogs—big dogs, little dogs, smooth dogs, dogs with whiskers.
    She glanced up at me. “All mine,” she said. “I miss them so much. This is Chips. He’s a boxer. This little guy is Willie. He’s only got one eye but he doesn’t miss a thing.” Her voice was soft and full of longing.“I don’t know if I’ll let myself get this far away from them ever again. Or from my husband,” she added, giving me a grin.
    Behind her, Geneva bobbed up and down in the back seat, mouthing “C’mon, c’mon” at me.
    â€œYou’re a really good artist,” I told Midge. “I’m going to be a writer. Maybe, when I publish my book, you could do the drawing for the cover.”
    â€œYou’re writing a dog book?”
    â€œUh-uh. A mystery,” I told her. “But there may be dogs in it.” I thought of the dogs that had jumped up at Stavros’s bag.