Wabash Boy

By Edward Louis Baumgartner

Eleven-year-old Eddie Ableton is one of a million kids who feels very average. And since his mother died, hes feeling scared of a dad who has become an ogre.

But recently, Eddie has something more to think about. A pushy mockingbird has appeared in his backyard, and unbelievably, its communicating with him.

An increasingly agitated Mr. Ableton suddenly uproots Eddies life and whisks him away to his grandfathers farm, where Eddie suspects he will be dumped.

Eccentric characters and mystery awaita tall mute Miami Indian farmhand, an old sheep farmer, outrageously rambunctious fifth graders, including the smartest fifth-grade girl in the history of the world, and an ancient Miami Indian cave.

And then, the pushy mockingbird reappears. Follow me . . .

In this engaging and original mystery, Wabash Boy learns that even average kids possess remarkable talents, eager to be discovered by those who conquer fear and believe in their calling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Aug 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781426976162

Edward Louis Baumgartner

Edward Louis Baumgartner was raised on a busy Midwestern farm where Native Americans once lived. After college, he taught fourth and sixth grade students for twenty years in Indiana, Caracas and Cairo. Wabash Boy is his first novel. He lives in Key West, Florida.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Breakfast dishes rattling awakened Eddie. He sat up in his bed but didn’t move until he heard another comforting sound coming from the kitchen.

Rosa’s here, he whispered. His left fingers reached around his body and stretched to touch his right shoulder blade. He grimaced when he located the two day old tender spot with his fingertips. In a day or two he wouldn’t have to worry that Rosa, or anyone else, would notice, and ask nosey questions. He glanced at another faint bruise at the top of his right arm.

The mockingbird’s mimic of a catbird issued its summons in the back yard garden, almost as if the bird knew Eddie was ready to start another day.

Not today, groaned Eddie as he shook his head. How do you always know when I wake up? Just one day off, please. The eleven year old dropped his legs over the side of his bed, and waited.

As expected, the catbird rendition resumed with more intensity. Mew, Mew, Mew.

Yeah, yeah. You pushy bird.

MEW! MEW! MEW! The call beckoned like a hungry cat demanding to be fed.

Eddie cupped his hands over his ears. You’re so impatient, he muttered as he trudged to his dresser.

He stripped off his pajamas and pulled out a pair of jeans, and paused to consider his right arm and shoulder blade before choosing a long sleeve pullover sweatshirt in preparation for another day at Harris School. Once dressed, he opened his bedroom’s French doors, and waited. The mockingbird’s catbird mimic ceased, and Eddie sensed the bird was staring at him. The French doors, like stage curtains, had opened, and the audience of one had appeared.

Eddie tilted his head and acknowledged two beady mockingbird eyes staring at him. The mockingbird’s long tail feathers twitched to maintain balance atop the skinny papaya tree.

You keep me waiting

Why did I ever let you in my brain? asked Eddie as he shook his head.

Three wooden steps to the garden created tiers of theatre seats. Eddie sat down in row two, as he had many times since the mockingbird appeared. A towering twenty foot high night blooming cereus cactus from Madagascar, an avocado tree stretching higher than his home’s tin rooftop, and a papaya tree with its cluster of leaves at the top had been fixtures in the back yard for as long as he could remember. Eddie’s attention drifted from the mockingbird to the gigantic cactus, where a lazy, greenish gecko lay sunning on a thick, spiny arm.

Look at me

Eddie’s head whipped around to face the mockingbird. "I’m here already. Can’t you speak another language? Meow, meow," he mocked.

The bird fell silent, almost as if it accepted the challenge. The dreamy warble of the red-winged blackbird shot out from its yapping beak.

"Oh, so you do have a new song today. How impressive. You’ve been hanging around the mangroves with the blackbirds. Better learn that one fast. They’re about to head back north, bird." The red-winged blackbird warble resumed, and Eddie thought it remarkable that the bird’s beak never changed positions no matter the song.

The loveliness of the morning and the bird’s performance abruptly faded from his mind. As was often the case since his mother’s funeral, a vision of men he didn’t know sliding her coffin into a large white, concrete vault came out of nowhere and invaded the moment.

He wasn’t a serious sort of boy, for he never thought too deeply about ideas such as death, success in school, career, or even why a mockingbird would display jealousy for attention. But, he had learned how to miss someone dear to him at a young age, and what all can go wrong when a mother becomes ill, dies, and disappears into a concrete tomb.

Since Celeste died the previous November, Rosa frequently prepared meals for Eddie and his dad. On this particular morning, the aroma of bacon frying was overtaking the delicate perfumes of the back yard plants.

Eddie, called Rosa from the kitchen. Breakfast is ready. Come join your father at the table.

The mockingbird performed a double aerial somersault and landed back atop the papaya tree.

Don’t go yet

Yes, Rosa. I’ll be there in a second. Eddie reached up and waved good-bye to the mockingbird, now speaking finch, before turning to reenter his bedroom.

I am not finished

Eddie sighed as he turned to give the mockingbird a parting glance. I’ve got to go. The bird’s tail feathers twitched. Go find someone else.

Good morning, young man, Rosa greeted as Eddie stepped into the kitchen. What are you mumbling about in the back yard?

Eddie ignored the question and gave the woman a hug.

Rosa was simultaneously cooking breakfast at the stove and packing a banana, sandwich, and fresh baked chocolate chip cookie in Eddie’s yellow Walt Disney School Bus domed metal lunch box.

It was reassuring when Rosa was in the house, even though she had a persnickety personality. Eddie certainly wanted someone to prepare his meals, and keep things safe, but he had no desire to enroll in finishing school.

Rosa stopped what she was doing and returned Eddie’s embrace. She released him and attempted to straighten his hair with her fingers. Oh my, I’ll fix this bird’s nest after breakfast. The woman paused to read the boy’s expressionless face as she kept a gentle hand on his shoulder. I know this is a difficult adjustment, but you mustn’t start talking to yourself. She examined Eddie’s clothes, and suddenly looked perplexed. Why are you wearing a sweatshirt? It’ll be eighty degrees today.

Eddie shrugged, and Rosa sighed. Go on to the dining table. I’ll be right there with your breakfast.

Charles sat mostly out of view behind The Key West Citizen. Eddie didn’t say anything as he approached the dining table and noted President Lyndon Johnson’s picture and a headline about the war on the front page. Life remained simple in Key West, while unending conflict continued somewhere on the other side of the planet in a place called Viet Nam.

Well, sit down, ordered the man.

Eddie pulled out his dining chair and obeyed. He didn’t blame his father for taking little notice of his responsibility. Charles had made it clear. He had much less free time now that he was single-handedly raising an eleven year old.

All right, Eddie, clucked Rosa as she entered the dining room with the hot breakfast. Your father has eaten, so here are your scrambled eggs, toast with jam, and bacon crispy. Now I shall get my coffee and join you gentlemen for a morning chat, she told no one in particular as she returned to the kitchen. Eddie raised his fork to take his first bite of egg. Eddie, Rosa admonished out of sight from the kitchen. Remember yesterday’s lesson. Don’t rake your fork on your teeth when you eat. Someday you’ll want to marry a pretty girl. What will she think if you clatter your utensils over your teeth?

But Rosa, the eggs are too hot to put in my mouth.

Blow gently on your food, but don’t make a sound as the utensil goes into your mouth.

Are you ready for today’s spelling test? growled Charles. Eddie glanced at the newspaper held in the air by thick fingers.

Yes sir, answered Eddie, as he carefully raised his glass to sip orange juice without making a sound.

Rosa reentered the dining room with her china coffee cup. She paused to stroke Eddie’s hair. Very nice, Eddie, complimented Rosa. You’re drinking your juice without dribbling this morning. Oh, Mr. Ableton, you’re out of coffee, observed Rosa with mild alarm. Her pirouette resembled a ballet dancer’s move, and in one graceful swoop she returned to the kitchen for the silver percolator with glass bobble on top.

"Let’s practice the spelling words I helped you study last night. Spell relief for me," said Charles. He lowered his newspaper for the day’s first look at his responsibility sitting at the other end of the table.

Eddie resented the spelling unit, and couldn’t imagine a more complicated language than one that had a whole spelling unit of ei and ie words in it. He wondered what sort of demented person composed such a cruel spelling list for eleven year olds. Eddie hesitated, as he often lost his ability to think around his dad.

Well, come on, demanded Charles.

R e l …i e f.

Did you write the spelling list words three times like I told you?

Rosa, toting the silver coffee percolator, arrived from the kitchen. Eddie saw her expression pale when she glanced into Charles’ eyes as she bent forward to refill his coffee mug. The spout of the percolator lightly clanked on the mug, and in one quick surge, spat coffee over the mug and tablecloth.

Oh, dear me, Mr. Ableton, look what I’ve done. I do apologize.

Eddie sat motionless in his chair.

Charles’ eyes widened, and grew darker. Let’s get it wiped up, Rosa. He stood up to keep his newspaper dry, but didn’t assist as Rosa sponged up the small pond of coffee with a towel.

Eddie recognized his father’s expression. It was the one that hid anger, like a silk glove over an iron fist, but this time he breathed a sigh of relief. The iron fist wouldn’t be directed toward him, and the spelling review would be dropped for now.

Eddie wasn’t brilliant or slow, athletic or clumsy, or popular or unpopular. He was one of a million grade school students around the world who got average grades, had average friends, and played average baseball. In fact, he was so average, his teachers had always been challenged to say much of anything at all about him, or write meaningful comments on his report card. He blended in, and for the most part, caused only the type of occasional trouble a person would expect from an ordinary kid.

Miss Grinnel wrote on his fourth grade report card comment section -

Eddie is a very nice boy.

In third grade, Mrs. Albury wrote -

Enjoyed Eddie in class.

But, when his mother died, teachers at Harris Elementary School were concerned. Eddie was suddenly recognized, not because he was the fastest runner, the best speller, or an all-star shortstop, but because Celeste had died. Perhaps the boy would need special attention now that he didn’t have a mother in the house. Or perhaps, if his dad grew weary of the responsibility, Eddie would simply be sent away.

Eddie didn’t shed a tear at his mother’s funeral. A shutter dropped down behind his eyes so tears couldn’t leak out. He didn’t miss a single day of school because Celeste died on a Saturday and the funeral was on a Sunday. Charles ordered that life must go forward.

Rosa held Eddie close after the funeral. Cancer will be cancer, but I’ll be there for you. Celeste was my best friend. You have a family as long as I’m around.

Eddie Ableton! Are you going to school or not? The question rifled through the den’s opened double hung window. Eddie looked out the window from his dining table chair and saw Daniel sitting on his bicycle, balancing himself by wrapping his left arm around a branch of the front yard Hong Kong orchid tree.

Daniel and Eddie had biked to school together since third grade after a calamity in their classroom’s doorway. Mrs. Albury hadn’t returned from outdoor recess playground duty, so the two boys used the classroom doormat as home plate, and made a quick attempt to get a ghost runner out. There was a costly error when Eddie’s throw to the plate didn’t curve as intended, and the classroom aquarium became the catcher’s mitt. In fact, the ball didn’t curve at all, and in real life, it would have sailed into the stands and likely crushed an inattentive fan’s nose. Gallons of water, seven fish, and a mostly naked glass mermaid sitting on a piece of coral gushed out of the jagged hole onto the classroom floor in just over eight seconds.

We got to get them to water, Susie Whitehead bawled. They’re gasping. And look! The glass mermaid snapped in two above her big boobs. You boys are in big trouble. Mrs. Albury bought Miss Mermaid at Cyprus Gardens last summer, she said as she fingered the two glass pieces, trying to restore the mermaid’s hourglass figure.

Eddie shuffled through his jabbering classmates huddled around the disaster site. He stooped down on the wet, glass covered tile floor to collect the seven flapping fish with his left hand, and collectively placed them on his right palm. The fish instantly became still, resembling long golden pancakes, and just as suddenly, the students stopped yakking, and studied the scene.

Susie broke the silence. They’re dead already. I didn’t know fish die so fast out of water.

Eddie stood up, careful not to drop any of the unmoving fish. Daniel, remove the toilet tank lid so I can drop them into water. We can’t put them in the toilet bowl or they’ll end up in the sewer. Eddie quickly, but carefully, hurried to the classroom toilet and plopped the seven fish into the tank. They instantly came to life and began swimming, seemingly eager to explore their temporary home.

That was so strange, whispered Susie. She looked at Eddie. "In fact, you’re strange."

Eddie dropped his school books and Disney lunch box in his bike’s basket. Daniel sat waiting on his bike, his arm still wrapped around the limb of the Hong Kong orchid tree as he eyeballed his friend.

You’re sure taking your good ole time this morning, said Daniel as he pushed off the tree limb to bicycle down the street beside Eddie.

Rosa dumped coffee all over the table.

Rosa made a mess? gasped Daniel. Are you kidding me? The Rosa I know? He shook his head. The world’s ending.

What do you mean? asked Eddie.

"Isn’t Rosa making a mess one of the Seven Signs of the Apocalypse? What’d your cranky dad say?"

Not much. You know how it is when adults mess up. No one says much.

Daniel thought for a second. Yeah, I know. You’d think they’d make fun of each other the way kids do.

I think they do. They just wait until the person who did it isn’t around, and then they gossip. Kids aren’t hypocrites. They get mad and make fun of other kids right to their faces.

Yeah, like how kids still make fun of us every time they hear the word aquarium, or mermaid.

Yeah, I know. You think they’ll ever forget about that? asked Eddie as he biked beside his best friend.

Nah, I doubt it. Kids always remember dumb stuff other kids do.

Yeah, you’re right, said Eddie. Maybe if we had more guts, other kids’ jabs wouldn’t bother us.

Maybe, but we’re not tough. You think we’ll ever develop some guts and not care what other kids think of us?

Doubt it, said Eddie as they biked through the cemetery gate.

The Key West Cemetery was the end of the road for tens of thousands of souls all resting in tombs above ground. Those gone on to the other side were stacked in rectangular, whitewashed concrete tombs. Daniel and Eddie biked up to Celeste’s tomb as they often did on their way to school.

Seems like you’d want to forget about this place, said Daniel. "Don’t you feel sad always coming by to