“I know it’s one of the most special things you can do,” I say, and I feel my lower lip start dancing up and down. “And I still just wish he wasn’t going.”
The tears come again, and I don’t even try to hide them. Frankie gives my arm a squeeze. We sit that way a while and watch the fireflies start their show across Knee-Deep Meadow.
In the yard, Will is telling Anna May a story. It’s about the night a few winters back when Dad arranged some railroad flares in a giant circle in the snow. He woke us boys up and told us aliens had landed.
“And you believed him?” Anna May laughs.
“You’d have believed him too if you’d seen a red circle glowing in the snow,” Will tells her.
“What happened next?” Anna May asks.
Will laughs. “Dad told us, ‘Stay here while I go and see what they want.’ So we did and he went out and smoked a cigar in the field and let us get more and more scared wondering why he wasn’t coming back. When he finally came in, he told us the aliens wanted us to do our homework and clean the dishes after dinner every night. That’s when we knew he was faking.”
“That all true?” Frankie asks.
I sniff and nod. “You bet.”
In the yard there’s a sound like a giant snake hissing. Next thing we know, one of those rockets is whizzing skyward, a trail of orange sparks spitting out behind it. It climbs a hundred feet.
Pop!
White smoke hangs in the air, blows out over the trees.
Anna May claps her hands.
“That’s just the start, Anna May!” I call out. “Just wait until—”
A sudden shape racing across the yard makes me stop. It’s Butch, running lickety-split for the lane, scared out of his mind from the rocket’s burst. We forgot to tie him up. That dog is terrified of loud noises. He just takes off running for miles and miles. Next thing we know, my dog is gone into the night.
I am up and about to chase him when Ma comes through the screen door. “Sit down, John Thomas. Don’t you forget you’re still sick. If Butch doesn’t like the loud noises, he’s better off running than being chained up having to listen to them. He’ll be back.”
She’s right. I just don’t like him to be scared is all.
Ma sits down beside Frankie and me. “Relax and enjoy the show. Look, your father and brother are lighting another one.”
In the field, there’s another hiss as Pete and Dad set off a new rocket. Then another and another. There’s pops and bangs and flashes of red and green sparks. One leaves a white-hot splotch on the sky that burns its fuzzy shape on the backs of our eyeballs so we’re seeing it long after it’s gone. Next comes a high-pitched whistler that makes us cover our ears.
Dad and Pete keep firing off rockets, and after a time I get used to the explosions. The breeze blows the smell of burnt fuses and cordite back our way while above, wisps of smoke stretch pale and thin across the moon. I almost forget about Pete’s joining the Marines this morning. I almost forget that he’s going to a place where the rockets don’t just shoot up and explode harmlessly into pretty pictures. But then it all comes back to me in the dark and I stop my oohing and aahing.
Ma knows. Ma understands. She puts her arm around me and draws me in close. She rocks me gently as those rockets take off.
“This has been a hard summer for you, John Thomas,” she says. “But you are holding up. I’m proud of you. And I love you.”
She squeezes me tight.
We watch the fireworks for what seems like hours as the dew falls and that white smoke becomes part of the mist creeping up the creek. At last Dad and Pete’s crate is empty and they come back, smelling like smoke.
Dad brings the pickup around to drive Anna May back to her house in town. She and Will are just about to climb up when she lifts a finger and points.
“What’s that?”
Across the valley, a light twinkles at us. A flickering light.
Then Ma says in a low voice, “My God, Gene, you’ve started a fire.”
Chapter 22
BACK TO MADLINER PLACE
It’s a tiny little light. Noiseless. Gentle. Like the flame from a candle.
Pete hops up on the truck fender to see better. “Can’t be us. Our rockets can’t reach that far.” He squints. “That looks like it’s clear across the valley. That looks like . . .” His voice trails off. “Like it’s at the Madliner place.”
A hush falls over us.
Then Will says suddenly, “It ain’t us. It’s him. Caleb’s lit a fire. He’s a firebug! What’d I tell you?”