The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate

Somberly he regarded the mootant jar. Then he sighed once, and even though I saw no blame in his face, I thought my heart would shatter. I resolved then and there that I would crawl on my hands and knees across our six hundred acres with a magnifying glass if that’s what it took, for as long as it took. We closed up the laboratory and walked back to the house in silence. Never had I felt so wretched.

DO YOU THINK there was any sleep for me that night? I lay flat in bed like a corpse, unable to generate the energy to toss and turn. Question for the Notebook: How could Calpurnia Virginia Tate be so stupid? An excellent question, that. My grandfather had taught me to note the location of every specimen, and I had done so, right up to the one moment—the only moment—when it truly mattered. Another Question for the Notebook: How could I expect him ever to forgive me? Again, an excellent question, Calpurnia. Perhaps he won’t forgive you. Perhaps he won’t be able to bear the sight of you. In which case, you’re done for.

I got up in the morning with huge, dark half-moons under my eyes; Mother regarded me with some alarm. I was unable to look at Granddaddy at breakfast.

School was an agony of exhaustion and nervous tension. I came perilously close to snapping at Miss Harbottle and being sent to the Corner of Shame for the rest of my natural life when she made me go to the board and solve a long division problem. Which I got wrong.

At recess, Lula said, “Callie, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, Lula, I’m fine!” I shrieked. She backed away from me and went off to play with that simp, Dovie Medlin. “Hey, Lula, I’m sorry. Come back,” I called out, but Miss Harbottle rang her bell.

I dragged myself home at the end of the day, lagging far behind my brothers, who had given up trying to cajole me out of my mood. I thought about Ajax as I trudged along. If only I weren’t so exhausted, maybe I could get my brain to focus. The stupid dog was the key to it all. I’d taken his turtle away from him. We’d walked away from the river. I’d hauled on his collar. Because. Because. Because he’d stuck his nose in a big hole.

“Yes!” I screamed and my brothers turned around to look at me. I jumped up and down and screamed, “Yes! The badger, the badger! I know where it is! I know where the vetch is!” I ran up to Lamar and Sam Houston and shoved my schoolbooks into their hands. “Take my books home for me, I’m going to find the mootant!” And I ran into the brush, heading for one of the deer paths.

“What are you doing?” Lamar called out. “What’s a mootant?”

But I was too busy crashing through the brush, my heart pumping yes yes yes as I ran. It had been the biggest badger hole I’d ever seen, so big I’d meant to come back and investigate it further. Granddaddy had found the vetch a few yards away, hadn’t he? I could find it, I would find it. The world was mine. My grandfather would be mine again.

Three hours later, scratched, blistered, thirsty, I stepped in said badger hole in the gathering twilight and almost snapped my ankle in two. I also woke the badger. He responded with an irritable hissing and thumping from deep in his burrow, causing me to pull my leg out of there double-quick, despite the pain.

There wasn’t much time left. Soon it would be too dark to see, and besides, the badger would be emerging soon to make his rounds, terrorizing the local moles and gophers. A grouchy badger was something to be avoided. I hobbled a few feet away and thought. We had been coming from the river. We had been heading toward the house. So that meant we were traversing . . . that way. I set off limping, eyes fixed on the ground. And there—right there—was a small green clump of possible vetch. I fell to my knees, praying let this be it, this has to be it, please let this be it. I scrabbled in the hard-packed dirt with my fingernails, loosening the soil to free up the roots as much as possible, cursing myself as an idiot for not bringing a trowel and a jar of water.

Panting with anxiety, I got it out of the earth after a good five minutes’ work. Most of the root was intact. I sank back onto my heels, drained, ignoring the pain in my ankle. I would have rested longer except for the indescribably rank smell and loud snuffling coming from a few feet away. I turned and saw the badger trundling toward me.

I made good time for a crippled girl bearing a priceless treasure.

VIOLA RANG her bell on the back porch as I reached the driveway. There’d be trouble for arriving late to dinner, especially since I was so filthy, Arriving late for dinner was a serious offense in our house, but if I went in right away, there’d be explanations and delays and cleaning up to deal with, all postponing the critical moment of putting the vetch in water. I drew back under the trees and skirted around the house to the laboratory, adding to my tardiness and the repercussions I’d have to face at the table.