Blown Away! Read online

  Both boys were fishing off their pier when I arrived. Their little sister, Bessie, was digging in the sand and filling the hole with water from a bucket. Bessie was about the same age as Star, and they often played together. “Hi, Jake,” Bessie said, looking up. “Where’s Star?”

  “She’s home,” I answered. Bessie went back to her digging.

  Their dog, Ginger, who was sitting next to Bessie, barked and came to meet me. “Hey, Jake!” Roy called. “We got something to tell you.”

  “We’re gonna have a fishing contest!” Billy yelled. “All the kids in Islamorada can enter the contest, and whoever gets the best fish wins.”

  I ran down the pier to the boys with Ginger at my heels. “What kind of fish?” I asked breathlessly.

  “Any kind—except mudfish don’t count,” Roy said, casting his line and fly into the waves.

  “And if someone bags a bonefish, they’ll automatically win,” Billy added.

  Bonefish are the fastest and smartest fish ever—real fighters and hard to catch. I knew of a place they fed in schools, on the flats over on the bay side. “What’s the prize?”

  “Our dad said he’ll take the winner to Miami next week on the train,” said Roy.

  “And to a movie show,” Billy added.

  I sure would love to win, I thought. I hardly ever got to see a movie. “When’s the contest?”

  “As soon as the gear we ordered comes in,” Billy said.

  “Dad said your fishing equipment came in today,” I told them.

  “Let’s go up to the store and get our new poles,” Roy said, reeling in his line.

  Billy pulled in his fishing rod too. “We can have the tournament Friday—tomorrow.”

  “Not tomorrow!” I protested. “I’m going to Key West with Sharkey tomorrow.”

  Both kids looked like they’d been shocked by an eel. Their mouths dropped open and their eyes bugged out. “With Sharkey?” they gasped in unison.

  “Yep,” I said. “I’m working for him now.”

  “Since when?” Roy looked unconvinced.

  “Since today. He and I talked about it this morning.”

  Again the boys’ eyes widened. “That won’t be any fun,” Billy said.

  “He’s too mean and grumpy,” Roy added. “He yells at us and chases us away every time we as much as pass by his stupid-looking hut.”

  “He never did that until he caught you snooping around his place last year,” I reminded him. I had heard the story a dozen times or more.

  “And Roy tried to hide in his rain barrel,” Billy said with a laugh. “There you were, Roy, up to your nose in water. It’s a wonder you didn’t drown. I’ll never forget how you squirmed and kicked and splashed when Sharkey pulled you out.”

  “You were a big help, hiding in the bushes,” Roy complained. “And then Sharkey made me clean out his old rain barrel.”

  “That rain barrel was the only fresh water he had, and you ruined it jumping in with your dirty shoes on,” I said. “I’m glad I wasn’t there.”

  “Just listen to Jake stick up for his new buddy Sharkey,” Roy said to his brother. “And now he’s going off to Key West with him tomorrow.”

  “So you can’t be in our tournament, then,” Billy said.

  I started to walk away. “That’s too bad, ’cause I know I’d win.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Roy asked scornfully.

  “I’d catch a nice fat bonefish, and—as you said—a bonefish wins.” I headed up the wharf toward shore, walking slowly. I was hoping they’d take my challenge and hold off on their contest. I wanted to be in the competition really badly, but by now Dad had probably told Sharkey I could go with him on Friday, and I sure didn’t want to make Sharkey mad.

  I looked back and could see Roy and Billy with their heads together. Then Roy yelled out, “Okay, Jake. The contest will start on Saturday morning and end at noon. That will give us all day tomorrow to practice with our brand-new gear, and then you’ll see who wins!”

  3

  KEY WEST

  Mom packed sandwiches, a thermos of orange juice, and some paper cups in a sack. “In case you or Sharkey gets hungry on the way,” she said.

  Sharkey told Dad that he’d meet me at the train station Friday morning, where we’d catch the eight o’clock train to Key West. I was excited but uneasy. Sharkey was the grumpiest and most unfriendly person I’d ever met.

  At the station Sharkey was leaning on his cane and waiting with a knapsack and a huge wheelbarrow full of dried alligator hides. He wore a short-sleeved plaid shirt, tan pants, and a straw hat that tied under his chin. “’Bout time!” he hollered when he saw me. “We need to get these hides on board. And we’ll take the wheelbarrow, too. It’ll be handy for stuff I might buy.”

  When the train chugged into the station, we heaved the hides and the barrow into the freight car, and then we took seats in the smoking car. By the time we boarded, the car was almost full with loud veterans from the highway project. Friday meant payday, and this group was on its way to Key West for a good time, as my dad would say.

  I held the lunch in my lap. “Want a drink?” I asked Sharkey over the din.

  “Not right now.” The seat in front of us was empty, so Sharkey reversed it, shoved his knapsack under it, then put his bad leg up on the seat. “Might as well get comfortable. It’s a long ride from Islamorada. About eighty miles, I’d say.”

  “If we go sixty miles an hour, we should be there in an hour and a half or so,” I said. “That’s not too long.”

  As soon as the train started, it seemed as if everyone in the car lit up a cigarette. The man across the aisle from us was chomping on a cigar.

  “I’m going to the other car,” I told Sharkey. “The smoke is making me sick.”

  “Sit down. Don’t be a sissy.”

  “You don’t want me to throw up, do you?” I said sharply.

  Sharkey shrugged. “Oh, go ahead,” he answered crustily. He lay back and pulled his hat over his face. “Wake me when we get there.”

  I took the bag of sandwiches and stepped out onto the platform between cars. I stayed outside breathing in the salty air. The Flagier railway from Miami to Key West was called the eighth wonder of the world. No one had thought an ocean railway could ever be built, but Mr. Flagler made it happen.

  I was beginning to feel better and was enjoying the ride, when the door to the car opened and Sharkey came out in a cloud of blue smoke, carrying his knapsack.

  “I thought you were sleeping,” I said.

  He stood next to me, squinting out at the view. “Couldn’t sleep. My leg’s bothering me.”

  “How did you hurt it, anyway? Dad said it happened in the war.”

  “That’s right. After the railroad was finished and the Great War began, I joined the army. Some German Jerry got in a good shot over in France. The bullet went into the bone. I was in the hospital for months and couldn’t wait to get back to the Keys. My old boxcar never looked so good as the day I came home. But the leg’s bothered me ever since.”

  We stayed on the platform between cars, listening to the clicking of the wheels and watching the dark-blue Atlantic on the left and the turquoise Florida Bay on the right as we moved from one Key to another. My town of Islamorada is on Upper Matecumbe Key, about halfway down to Key West. Now we were dashing over the lower Keys—all of them like jewels on the sea.

  When we crossed the Seven Mile Bridge, I held my breath. I’d crossed the bridge several times, but each time it was as if the sky and sea melded together and the whole world was shining and blue. I was sure that nowhere on earth was there such a miracle as the seven-mile-long bridge that Mr. Flagler had built right out on the sea, and which seemed to be disconnected to the rest of the earth.

  After a while we went into the forward car and ate our lunch. Sharkey took a bite of the thick sandwich and spilled some on his shirt. “Egg salad,” he muttered. “Too messy.”

  Sharkey had some nerve to complain about Mom�
�s sandwiches! “Better than nothing,” I answered brusquely.

  “Yep, a whole lot better than nothing,” Sharkey agreed.

  Key West was a busy, bustling port filled with ships flying the American flag at the top of their masts and the flags of other nations beneath it. Catches from fishing vessels were being unloaded, and the smell of fish filled the air. In another area of the port, fancy white yachts were hitched to the docks while their well-dressed passengers and crew meandered through the town.

  Sharkey and I pushed the wheelbarrow full of hides to a place where people were trading and exchanging goods. “Hey, Sharkey!” folks yelled as we passed by, and Sharkey nodded or gave a small salute. I was surprised to see how well known he was here in Key West.

  We stopped at a booth where Sharkey emptied a bag of wooden figurines he had in his backpack onto the table. “Carved ’em myself,” I heard him say. “Good for souvenirs.”

  They were amazingly good! Some were of gators, some of fish, and there was a real pretty one of a leaping dolphin. The man at that booth handed Sharkey a wad of bills and took the entire batch. I was impressed that Sharkey, a hunter and fisherman, was also a talented artist. He sure was popular around here. And folks around Key West seemed to respect him.

  The kids back home looked at Sharkey in a very different way—a fearful, run-when-you-see-him kind of way. Of course, he did catch the Ashburn boys spying on him, so I guess you couldn’t blame Sharkey for being crabby. The Islamorada kids often spied on him or sneaked around his property.

  At a large tent a man came out and talked with Sharkey. Then he looked over the pile of hides, carefully examining each one. While the two men argued about prices and quality, I meandered around the area checking out souvenirs, fishing gear, and leather wallets and belts.

  Soon Sharkey caught up with me. He set the empty wheelbarrow down and stuffed another wad of bills in his pocket. “I’m all set.” He seemed satisfied. “Let’s take a look at the auctions.”

  Sharkey explained that the auctions were sales of overstocked or damaged goods that wreckers had salvaged from shipwrecks and brought to Key West to sell.

  We passed by places where folks had gathered in small groups to bid on everything from bolts of cloth to kapok life jackets that had been pulled from sunk or sinking ships. Then I noticed a crowd of people looking over a mule that was tied to a nearby post.

  “You’ll be surprised to see how much pack this here little mule can carry,” a man crowed. He appeared to be the owner. “She can pull a wagon as well as any horse. She’s strong and good-mannered.”

  “She’s a mule, Frank!” someone snorted. “They don’t have good manners.”

  “They’re not sissified fancy horses,” Frank snapped back. “They’re workers, and they don’t have time to prance around.”

  The pretty brown and white spotted mule stood quietly, her tail switching at flies. As Sharkey limped over to get a better look, I swear she blinked her eyelashes at him. “Will she take a saddle?” Sharkey asked as he ran his fingers through the animal’s thick coat.

  “Why, sure she will. I’ll even throw her saddle in with the sale.” The man eyed Sharkey’s limp. “Someone like you could use a good working animal like this. You can ride her or hitch her up to a cart and she’ll pull you around nice as pie.”

  The mule moved closer to Sharkey and leaned against him. I was getting nervous. I’d heard how mules could kick in any direction at a moment’s notice. This mule seemed calm enough, though. In fact now she was leaning her head on Sharkey’s shoulder and nuzzling his neck.

  “How old is she?” Sharkey asked, rubbing the soft spot between her ears.

  “Fifteen or so. Used to work for the railroad.”

  “She’s older than fifteen if she worked for the railroad,” Sharkey scoffed. “Will she lift her legs for shoeing?”

  “’Course!” Frank must have thought Sharkey was a good prospect, as he stopped speaking to the rest of the crowd and gave Sharkey his full attention. “Her name’s Jewel,” he said. “I love her like a child—I swear she’s a sweetheart—but I can’t keep her anymore.”

  “Why not?” Sharkey asked.

  “Costs too much to feed her—” Frank stopped short when he realized his mistake. “Actually, she doesn’t eat a lot.” He backtracked. “A bag or two of oats every day. She works hard, and she’s worth her keep.”

  “But you can’t afford her,” Sharkey retorted with a hard look at the man.

  “Ah—well, er—” Frank stammered. “I’m retiring. Don’t need a mule anymore.”

  “How much do you want for her?”

  The owner’s eyes widened. “She’s a bargain at five hundred dollars.”

  Sharkey hobbled away without another word. I headed after him.

  “You can have her for three hundred fifty,” Frank called out.

  “Let’s go,” Sharkey said to me, limping at his top speed.

  “You don’t really want the mule, do you?” I asked breathlessly, hurrying to catch up while steering the clumsy wheelbarrow.

  “Naw, I don’t want her,” he answered over his shoulder.

  “Three hundred!” Frank yelled.

  We kept walking.

  Suddenly Frank cried out in a loud, sad voice. “Since no one wants to buy Jewel, I’ll have to get rid of her. My poor, sweet mule will have to be put down.”

  Sharkey stopped dead in his tracks, and I stumbled into him, nearly knocking him over with the wheelbarrow. He pushed me aside and swung around. “One hundred dollars!” he bellowed, waving his cane.

  “Sold!” Frank sang out. “You just bought yourself a mule!”

  4

  GOOD THINGS COME IN PAIRS

  I was flabbergasted. Hadn’t Sharkey said he didn’t want the mule? But there he was handing out a hundred dollars for Jewel. He motioned for me to come, and he dumped the saddle into the wheelbarrow.

  “You push the barrow,” he told me, “and I’ll lead the mule down to the train station. Will she ride in the baggage car okay?” he asked Frank, who was counting the money again.

  “Sure. But you might stay with her back there. She could get lonely.”

  Sharkey took hold of the lead that was attached to Jewel’s bridle and gave it a tug. “Come on, girl,” he said. “We’re going home.”

  Jewel just stood there, looking at us with those dark, sleepy eyes, and wouldn’t budge.

  “Come on, Jewel,” Sharkey said in a commanding voice. “Get going!”

  Now this was worth watching. Sharkey had the reputation of being one tough hombre, as they said in the cowboy movies. No one could put anything over on him—least of all a mule. He gave her a tap on her flank. “Giddap!” he yelled. But Jewel simply ignored him. Several men nearby snickered, and Sharkey’s face began turning red.

  “What’s wrong with this animal?” he yelled.

  Frank looked up at Sharkey. “Not a thing,” he said matter-of-factly. “She just doesn’t go anywhere without Rudy.”

  “Who in the name of all that’s holy is Rudy?” Sharkey demanded.

  The man looked around. A rust-colored dog was sleeping under a nearby table. “There he is. Hey, Rudy, come here, boy.” The dog lifted his head drowsily and wagged a long silky tail. “I named him after the radio singer. You know, Rudy Vallee.” Slowly Rudy pulled himself up, sauntered over to us, and sat. “Rudy, shake hands with this nice gentleman here.”

  The dog obediently lifted its paw, but Sharkey didn’t respond. Instead he glared at Frank and shouted, “What has this dog got to do with the mule?”

  The man grinned sheepishly. “Rudy is Jewel’s buddy. They’re a pair. Jewel loves that dog.”

  “You’re telling me that if I take the mule …” Sharkey began.

  “You have to take the dog. One’s no good without the other.”

  Sharkey’s face went from red to purple, and I was certain Frank was about to get a punch in the nose. But the dog, who was still sitting at Sharkey’s feet, held his paw up
again, tapping Sharkey on the leg and tilting his head quizzically.

  I set the wheelbarrow down and petted Rudy. “He has a nice face. And he’d be good at scaring off the coons and that panther back home,” I said cheerfully.

  “Well, I was gonna sell him for a few bucks …” the man began.

  “I’m not paying one extra cent for that dog,” Sharkey declared with a warning glare.

  “… but you can have him at no extra charge,” Frank quickly added. He hitched a leash to Rudy’s collar and handed it to Sharkey. “Remember, pal, good things always come in pairs!”

  So we ended up trudging down the narrow streets of Key West with Sharkey leading Jewel, me pushing the wheelbarrow, and Rudy running along ahead of us, stopping now and then to sniff at a tree or a fence.

  When we got to the train, we looked at each other. How would we get Jewel into the boxcar? A trainman sized up the situation and found a ramp. But Jewel wouldn’t get near the thing. I pulled on her bridle and Sharkey pushed from the rear. Still she wouldn’t move.

  “Get Rudy on the ramp,” I suggested. “Come here, boy,” I called. Rudy looked at me and then sat down next to Jewel.

  Sharkey scratched his head, then his beard. “What a numbskull I am,” he mumbled. “Spending good money on a couple of duds.”

  By now several passengers about to get on board were watching our attempts to get the animals into the boxcar.

  “Light a fire under the mule,” one man joked.

  “It wants to sit in the passenger car!” another fellow scoffed.

  Then I noticed a nearby refreshment stand with a sign that read HOT DOGS FIVE CENTS.

  “Wait here,” I said to Sharkey, and I pulled a nickel from my pocket and ran to the food cart. I handed my nickel over to a man in a striped apron and placed my order. “One hot dog. Plain.”

  “Here, Rudy,” I called, frankfurter in hand. I held a piece out for him to sniff. Rudy stood up, tail wagging, and took it gently from my hand. “Come on, boy.” Breaking off more pieces of hot dog, I lured Rudy up the ramp and into the freight car. He followed me happily, munching away.