Free The Flower Plantation by Nora Anne Brown Page A

tooth,” she said. I was surprised to see two big tears burst from her eyes, which she wiped away before taking a deep breath and placing the tooth in her own pocket. “And what are you doing?” I pointed to the jar thatI'd placed on the table. She gave a funny little smile and shook her head. “Just don't make a mess, whatever it is.” Then she disappeared with Monty following behind her. My tooth had distracted Mother from my missing coin and my Saturday clothes. I was glad about that.
    Finding nothing for my caterpillars on the shelves, I opened the fridge, where I found a gallon-sized container of orange juice. It was perfect, but still a quarter full. I took off the lid, gulped down the contents and immediately felt sick. Romeo seemed to cast me a knowing eye – the previous night he'd eaten hot mashed potato from the dinner table and thrown up on the laundry-room floor. Celeste hadn't been pleased – she wasn't that keen on dogs at the best of times: she said they were only good for killing rats and didn't understand how Mother could have them in the house.
    â€œCareful, Arthur – you be sick,” she said, coming in with a bucket of water.
    I stumbled to the back door, jar and juice container in hand, and turned on the outside tap. The water shot into the container and out of the neck in a cold spray that splashed my face. Romeo jumped out of the way and watched from a distance, along with the chickens. I filled it to the very top, then let it slosh out in glugs. It was clean.
    My body shook from the cold water and the quarter-gallon of orange juice churning in my belly. Bending over, I heaved the juice up, vomiting easily like Romeo. I examined the contents and turned on the tap, washing the sick away. Itwas only after it had disappeared and my head had stopped spinning that I noticed, by the gate to Mother's side garden, two skinny black legs – the buddleia girl.
    I tried not to feel embarrassed about the girl having watched me throw up. More importantly, I needed twigs for the caterpillars to pupate. “Pupate” – I liked that word: I'd learnt it from my book.
    After picking up my things I walked, head down, towards the woodshed, with Romeo following behind. The girl inched her way towards the back door. I went into the resin-filled shed and moved towards the back. From there I could see her without her seeing me. Romeo hunkered down and snapped at flies, apparently uninterested in the girl, but I watched her every step. She was against the back of the house, clinging to the kitchen wall. Sliding her way along, arms by her sides, she looked like a capital A.
    I collected a fistful of sticks from the floor, then emerged from the dark of the woodshed and sat in the opening next to Romeo. Now the girl could see me and I could see her. She looked startled, like a gecko when you turn on the light.
    Keeping her in view, I held up the juice bottle and angled the twigs to see which ones I could use. They had to fit snugly so that the caterpillars had something solid to cling on to. The girl crept closer towards the back door. Her spindly dark body in a bright-red dress made me think of Mother's crocosmia flowers.
    Between where she stood and the door I spotted a handsaw. “Just what I need” – I thought – “I can chop off the top of the container and cut the sticks down to size.” I laid the jar, juice bottle and twigs on the ground and picked up the saw. I'd never held one before, but I'd seen Joseph saw plenty of things. I placed my hand firmly on the bottle and set about it. The vibrations tickled my arm but it worked. As the plastic shavings gathered on the ground I could feel the girl watching – her bare feet creeping closer. Her toenails were like the shells on the shore of Lake Kivu.
    Eventually the top of the bottle dropped to one side and I was left with a neat-edged tub. I pushed the sticks at angles until they fitted perfectly. I