Karen's Field Day Read online

I had had enough. I picked up the remote and clicked her off. Then I flopped down between Hannie and Nancy. My face felt hot and sweaty. I could hardly breathe. I decided maybe aerobics was not right for us.

  “I think I will give Mommy back her tape the next time I see her,” I said.

  Nancy and Hannie nodded.

  “I think that is a good idea,” said Nancy. “We can just do our own exercises.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed.

  Pamela, Schmamela

  By Monday I was feeling pretty good about the Three Musketeers’ progress with the three P’s. Despite the aerobics disaster, we were becoming Prepared.

  We spent all day Sunday Practicing our events.

  With two more weeks of Preparation and Practice, I was sure we would be ready to Perform up to our Potential. (Hey, I had thought of a fourth P! I would have to tell Sam and Charlie about it.)

  On the playground before school I sized up the competition. Some of the boys, such as Hank Reubens and Bobby Gianelli, were pretty fast. Some, such as Ian Johnson and Chris Lamar, were not.

  My pretend husband, Ricky, is sometimes fast and sometimes slow. When we play tag and I chase him, he is slow. But when he chases me, he is fast. I am not sure why this is.

  I knew that even though Hank and Bobby are fast, they were not going to win Field Day. A lot of the events would require teamwork. And I was sure Hank and Bobby were not Practicing the way the Three Musketeers were.

  Of the girls, I figured the most competition would come from Sara Ford. She was pretty tall and could run fast. (She had agreed to be the Three Musketeers’ fourth teammate in the relay race.) We would have to watch out for her.

  The other girls — Tammy and Terri Barkan, Jannie Gilbert, Audrey Green, Addie Sidney, and Leslie Morris — would not be a problem. I knew we could beat them.

  Oh, yes. There was one other girl in the class. Pamela Harding.

  I scanned the school yard. There she was. Sure, she could run fast and jump far. She was, I had to admit, pretty good at gym — even if she mostly exercised her mouth. But there was no way she was going to win Field Day. No way. I just would not allow it to happen.

  And besides, we had been Preparing ourselves and Practicing. Was Pamela doing either of those things? No. The only P she was doing was Prancing around looking silly.

  “Wow,” said Nancy. She was watching Pamela too.

  “Wow what?” I asked.

  “Wow, look at Pamela.”

  “She is just prancing around like a silly elf,” I said.

  “She is not prancing,” said Nancy. “She is aerobicizing. I heard her talking about it with Jannie. Pamela has been going with her mother to an aerobics class. She is showing Jannie the routine they do in class.”

  My eyes widened. I watched Pamela closely. She no longer looked like a silly prancing elf. She was kicking her legs high in the air. She was jumping up and down. She was leaping from side to side.

  Pamela reminded me of the blonde woman on Mommy’s exercise tape. Pamela had a lot of energy. I even thought I heard her shout “Earn the burn!” once or twice.

  Uh-oh. Pamela was going to be harder to beat than I had thought. The Three Musketeers would have to Prepare ourselves and Practice even harder if our Performance was going to be good enough to win.

  Workout Diary

  When I told Kristy about getting ready for Field Day, she suggested I keep a Workout Diary, so that I would know how much Preparation I was getting. (Kristy is a gigundoly great athlete.) It was a good idea. I got excited about exercising all over again. Here is how my week went:

  Well, that just about summed up my week. It was Prepare, Prepare, Prepare, with some Practice thrown in.

  By Friday evening I was completely worn out. I went to bed at seven o’clock, right after dinner.

  I was tired. But it was a good tired. I was getting in shape. I was doing all I could to get myself ready for Field Day. I pictured myself accepting the gift certificate from Ms. Colman. I pictured myself buying some cool sports equipment and sharing it with my friends. I fell asleep smiling.

  Morning Sky

  A body needs rest sometimes, to recover from working out. Afterward, when you start exercising again, you have more energy than ever. That is what Charlie told me.

  So on Saturday I took it easy.

  I went to Hannie’s house. Nancy was there too. We were a little sore from all the exercise. We did quiet things that did not require much moving around. We read. We played with dolls. We drew. We talked. It was very pleasant. When you have good friends like Hannie and Nancy, you can have fun doing lots of different things. Even quiet things. (Usually I do not do so many quiet things.)

  That night, after supper, I was sitting in the living room, still taking it easy. David Michael was lying on the floor, drawing airplanes. Daddy was sitting in his big chair, reading the paper. Elizabeth was starting a new needlework pillow. I felt very happy, surrounded by my family.

  I curled up on the couch next to Elizabeth. I opened a book I had started at Hannie’s house. Hannie had lent it to me. It was called The Attic Mice, by Ethel Pochocki. It was excellent.

  I had just gotten to the part where the little boy mouse eats a cake of soap when I overheard Kristy talking on the phone.

  I know it is rude to listen to other people’s telephone conversations. But I was not doing it on purpose. I was minding my own business and could not help overhearing.

  “It was the best movie I have ever seen,” Kristy said into the phone.

  I love movies. Which one was she talking about?

  “Mary Anne, you have to go see Morning Sky,” Kristy went on. “It is about a young woman pioneer, Eliza Hutton. She is traveling the Oregon Trail in a wagon train. Some bad guys in her group pick a fight with a couple of Native Americans. A Sioux man is killed. So the Sioux attack the wagon train in revenge and take Eliza prisoner.”

  Gosh, Morning Sky sounded exciting. I listened closely.

  “Yes, that is right,” said Kristy. “She is taken to live with the Sioux. They are not very nice to her at first, but they are not exactly mean either. Slowly she learns to speak their language. A handsome young man named Black Arrow is especially kind to her.”

  There was a pause for a moment. I could hardly wait for Kristy to tell the rest of the story.

  “No,” Kristy said, “Black Arrow was not one of the men who kidnapped her. He had been against the idea of attacking the wagon train. Anyway, Black Arrow starts teaching Eliza the Sioux way of life. He gives her a Sioux name, Morning Sky, because she reminds him of the dawn. He even carves her a beautiful pendant that shows a rising sun. She falls in love with him.”

  How romantic, I thought.

  “Then the U.S. Army attacks the Sioux, and Black Arrow gets ready to go to war. Morning Sky does not want him to go. He does not like war, but he has to defend his people. It is totally sad when he goes.”

  Golly, it did sound sad. I was getting teary eyed just hearing Kristy tell about it.

  “Well, I will not tell you exactly how it ends,” said Kristy. “I will just say that I cried hard, and Morning Sky finally makes it to Oregon. She goes on to marry a settler there and raise a family. But she never forgets Black Arrow. Though she is called Eliza, in her heart she knows her true name is Morning Sky. And when she is an old, old lady, she returns to the country of the Sioux and places Black Arrow’s pendant on the battlefield where he died.”

  I closed up my book and placed it on my lap. I could not read any more anyway. Tears were running down my cheeks. What a wonderful, sad story!

  Biggest Pumpkin

  Mommy had told me about lots of the Packett women. But the only Brewer woman Daddy had told me about was Great-aunt Josephine, who threw parties. There had to be other Brewer women I could write about.

  On Sunday morning I found Daddy working in the garden. He was planting flowers in the bed near the front steps.

  “Daddy,” I said, “I still do not have a woman ancestor to write abou
t.”

  “Great-aunt Josephine was not good enough for you, eh?” he asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Okay, let me think.” Daddy put down his trowel and took off his work gloves. “Well, my grandmother Ida Brewer was an interesting woman.”

  I opened my notebook and got ready to take notes. “Go on.”

  “I remember Grandma Ida telling me about how she traveled when she was young,” said Daddy. “She took the grand tour of Europe. For three years she was on the road. She stayed in luxurious hotels in all the great capitals. She dined in the best restaurants.”

  “That sounds like a very nice vacation,” I said. “But did Grandma Ida ever actually do anything?”

  “She was an expert skier,” Daddy said.

  “Really?” I asked. “Did she go to the Olympics?”

  “Well, no,” Daddy said. “She was not that expert. She gave lessons, though, when she came home to America. That is how she met my grandpa Bill. He was a student of hers in Vermont.”

  “Huh,” I said. Being a ski instructor was kind of neat. But it was not really neat. And I wanted really, really neat.

  “Anybody else?” I asked. “Were there any women who did anything? Won anything? Anything at all?”

  Daddy thought for a long, long time. I began to lose hope.

  Finally Daddy said, “Aunt Carol. She won a prize at the Ohio State Fair. Took first place for Biggest Pumpkin. This was back in nineteen sixty-six, I believe.”

  Biggest Pumpkin? Boo and bullfrogs!

  I was getting desperate. “How about glamour? Mystery?” I asked.

  “Glamour?” Daddy chuckled. “Well, Great-aunt Josephine was as glamorous as it got in our family, Karen. And you have already heard about her.”

  I sighed loudly.

  “Okay, here is something,” said Daddy. “I am not sure if it is true or not. But family legend had it that one of my mother’s great-grandparents was a Native American woman. A Cherokee. She would have been your great-great-great-grandmother. So you may be a tiny bit Native American, Karen. That is kind of interesting, isn’t it?”

  “Yes!” I said. “So I am … what? One-quarter Native American?” I do not look very Native American.

  “No, you would be, let me see … ” said Daddy. He thought a moment. “You would be one one-hundred-and-twenty-eighth Native American. Maybe. I think.”

  My face fell. I had maybe three drops of Native American blood in me. No wonder I have blonde hair and blue eyes.

  “I wish I could tell you more about our possible Cherokee ancestor,” Daddy said. “But I do not know anything about her. She is just a story that has been handed down in the family. And now I am handing it to you.”

  “Thank you,” I said politely.

  Daddy pulled his work gloves back on and picked up his trowel. He started digging a hole to plant a flower in.

  I had heard all the stories about Brewer women that I was going to hear.

  Where Were the Brewer Spies?

  Yikes! All of a sudden it was Sunday afternoon. I was in my room, sitting at my desk. My report on my female ancestor was due the very next day. And not only had I not started to write it yet, I did not even have anyone to write about. How had this happened? What was I going to do?

  Not a single Brewer or Packett woman had done anything really great.

  I thought about Hannie’s brain surgeon and Nancy’s war hero. Those were impressive ancestors. What were my ancestors doing while the Papadakises and Daweses were curing cancer and winning wars? Having tea? Fixing their hair? Knitting?

  Where were the brilliant Packett doctors? Where were the Brewer spies?

  I thought about myself. I had helped Nannie win a cooking contest. I had caught an art thief in Chicago. I had become friends with a real live movie star. All this, and I am only seven!

  I was a pretty outstanding kid, I thought. It was hard to believe that I did not come from more heroic stock.

  There must be an explanation for my lack of great ancestors. Maybe I had plenty of them, but no one remembered them now. For example, whatever-her-name-was, my possibly Cherokee ancestor, could have been a truly fascinating woman. In fact, she probably had been. The problem was that no one remembered her story. Daddy did not even know her name.

  The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I must have had an ancestor who had led an amazing life. What’s-her-name, my possibly Cherokee ancestor, could have been like Morning Sky, the woman in that movie Kristy saw.

  Maybe my ancestor was not born Cherokee, but spent time among them and took a Cherokee name — just like in the movie. That would explain why Daddy was not sure whether she was Cherokee or not.

  Yes, that was it. My ancestor must have been just like Morning Sky. I was sure of it.

  I started to get excited about my ancestor who had lived among the Cherokees and fallen in love with a handsome warrior. It was such a sad, thrilling, romantic story. Much better than a boring old doctor or spy.

  I took out a pencil and paper and started to write.

  “My Ancestor,” by Karen Brewer

  The next day, Ms. Colman asked us to read our reports aloud in front of the class. I love reading aloud. This is what I read:

  I looked up from my paper after I finished reading. All of the kids in Ms. Colman’s class clapped hard.

  I glanced at Ms. Colman. She was giving me a funny look.

  “My goodness, Karen,” said Ms. Colman. “That was very … interesting.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I smiled at Ms. Colman and took my seat. I was pretty sure my report would go up on the workboard.

  So far it had been one of the most interesting ones. Ms. Colman had said so.

  I know that some of the things in my report were probably not one hundred percent true. But the thing was, no one knew for sure. No one could be certain that Evening Star had not had the life I wrote about. And if no one could say that she had not, then there was a chance she had. And a lot of the other details were things Mommy or Daddy had said — about the pumpkin and High-gate Hall. So it was not as if I were making them up or anything.

  Field Day

  The rest of the week rushed by. I Prepared myself for Field Day every day by Practicing with Hannie and Nancy. By Friday I had forgotten all about my ancestor report. I was thinking about one thing and one thing only: Field Day.

  On Friday morning the weather was perfect — warm and clear. As soon as the teachers took attendance, all the students in Stoneybrook Academy gathered outside on the school field. I stood with the other kids in Ms. Colman’s class and did stretching exercises to warm up.

  I noticed Mommy in the bleachers. Next to her were Daddy and Andrew. Daddy had given me a ride to school that morning. Andrew had even skipped preschool. That is how important Field Day was.

  Mommy, Daddy, and Andrew waved to me. I gave them a huge smile and waved back.

  This was so exciting. Both Mommy and Daddy would be there to see my moment of victory over Pamela Harding. I was Prepared. I had Practiced. Now I was ready to Perform. I could imagine Mommy and Daddy shouting for joy as I won every event. They would be so Proud.

  Soon Mrs. Mackey was blowing her whistle and organizing events.

  Guess what. I did not win every event. In fact, I won only two events — the relay race (yea, Three Musketeers and Sara Ford!) and the wheelbarrow race (all that Practice with Nancy paid off).

  But I came in second in three events and third in another. As we started the last event, I was leading in total points — but Pamela was just behind me.

  The last event was the water-balloon toss with Ricky. If we could win this, I would be the highest-scoring person in my class. I would win the gift certificate. I decided I would share my new sports equipment with Ricky and Sara too.

  Ricky and I took our spots for the first toss.

  “Lob it nice and easy,” I called to him.

  Mrs. Mackey blew her whistle. Ricky tossed the water balloon to me. I caught it. It did not
burst! (Hannie and Nancy’s did. They were out on the first round. Boo.)

  Ricky and I each took two giant steps backward.

  “Careful,” said Ricky.

  “I will be,” I said.

  I threw the water balloon to him. Oh no! It was not a good toss. The balloon was blooping end over end…. Splat! It exploded all over Ricky.

  I felt terrible. Not only were we out of the balloon toss, but my pretend husband was soaking wet. Ricky did not seem to mind, though. He was shaking himself and laughing.

  My heart sank when I saw Pamela and Jannie grinning as they tossed their balloon back and forth. They ended up winning that event. Which gave Pamela the points she needed to tie with me.

  I had not won, and she had not won. We were Field Day Co-champions.

  I was about to say “Congratulations” to Pamela (I try to be polite, even to meaniemos) when Pamela said, “See? I told you I would win.”

  “I told you I would win too,” I shot back. “So there.”

  We glared at each other for a long, long moment. Then we looked away at the same time. We stomped off.

  The glaring contest had ended just the way Field Day had — in a tie.

  Oh, well. You cannot win them all. And with a person like Pamela, sometimes you cannot win any of them. The best you can do is tie.

  Who Is Evening Star?

  When the Field Day events were over, it was time for the awards. Ms. Colman gathered our class and all our parents in the middle of the school field. (Other classes were grouped around their teachers elsewhere on the field.) Andrew and I stood between Mommy and Daddy.

  “This year we have two winners of Field Day,” said Ms. Colman. “Karen Brewer and Pamela Harding tied for the most points. So they will split the gift certificate to Phil’s Sporting Goods.”

  Ms. Colman called Pamela and me to her. She told us each to hold a corner of the gift certificate while our parents took photos of us smiling. I smiled extra big for Mommy and Daddy. Hannie and Nancy cheered for me.