Alan Armstrong - Racing the Moon

This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical and public figures, are products of the authors imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical or public figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright 2012 by Alan Armstrong

Jacket art and interior illustrations copyright 2012 by Tim Jessell

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Childrens Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
eISBN: 978-0-375-89309-4

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v3.1

She was quick and quicker to learn
Bold and bolder to dare.

Oregon legend
(adapted from Rudyard Kiplings Kim)

for Zora

Early Sunday morning, Alex headed up the hill. The weight she was carrying was heavy on her shoulder, but she was unaware of it. Hi, Amelia, she called to a blue dragonfly darting by. There were grass flowers in the warm breeze, a sweet scent that was almost dizzying. Then the sharp smell of fresh asphalt from the new road hit her with the thrill of a slap.

She stopped in front of one of the new houses. The ground around it was raw red clay. A large woman was on her knees, planting a bush. Her back was to the road.

Hi! the girl called as her dogs tail began waving in expectation.

No response.

She cleared her throat to get the womans attention.

Nothing.

Finally Alex hollered, Lady! Would you like to buy some plants?

The dog barked, thinking it was some sort of game.

Huh? What? the woman called out, almost falling over as she jerked around, her trowel flying.

Sorry, Alex muttered, starting to turn away. Im selling plants.

Oh! the woman exclaimed, her face clearing a little. Well, hold on, she called in a friendlier voice as she stood up slowly like youd fold out a pocketknife.

The woman was tall and square-shouldered, in jeans and a dark red shirt. She had dark curly hair and strong-looking hands. Her face was long. She looked like shed been out in the sun a lot.

Alex was an eleven-year-old in a not-too-clean T-shirt and dirt-stained jeans. Shed just cut her hair herself for summer. The plants she was selling were in two baskets hung on the notched broomstick she carried across a shoulder like a coolie. The large brown dog wagged happily beside her.

The womans face softened as she studied Alex. Lets see what youve got. I like plants, and I sure do need something around here.

Alex figured the woman felt bad about getting angry. She pointed to her left basket. These are azaleas, reds and whites, she said in a professional voice. Theyre a dime each. In this other basket theres hollyhocks and foxgloves. Theyre two for a nickel. The foxgloves official name is digitalis. You get heart medicine from the leaves.

The woman looked closely, then nodded. Right! Ill take em all if youll show me where they should go.

Sure, said the girl as she lifted off her carrying pole and started emptying the baskets, delighted to have made such a big sale.

First tell me your name, the woman said, wiping her big hands on her jeans. Tell me about yourself and how you got into the plants business. Tell me inside. I havent got my money on me. Ive got milk, and I can give you a bomber bar I invented for the high-altitude pilots.

A bomber bar? Whats that?

Come on in; Ill show you.

Alex hesitated. Shed been warned about going alone into a strangers house, but there was something intriguing about this woman. Alex imagined herself a spy, read all the spy stories in the magazines, figured she was pretty good at telling who was dangerous. She decided to risk it.

Can Jeep come in too? she asked. He wont do anything.

She didnt say so, but Jeep was her protection. If she said Sic! hed attack.

The woman understood. OK.

Got something for him? Alex asked.

I reckon, the woman said, smiling and sticking out her hand. Im Captain Ebbs. Call me Ebbs. She had a nice smile.

Alex rubbed her hand clean and shook Ebbss. It was rough and twice as big as hers. Ebbs didnt paint her nails like Alexs mother did.

Im Alexis Hart, she said. I live down the hill, last house above the creek. You can call me Alex.

Ebbss house was a small white clapboard box like the others in the development, but inside it looked strange. The floors were bare and it was almost empty, except tacked to the walls were photographs of fighter planes, bombers, different-sized rockets, and a big balloon with a gondola underneath. In one corner there was a dark painting.

Alex stared at the photographs, the rockets especially. They were bigger, much bigger, than the ones in her book. Ebbs was in one picture standing with some officers and a tall man in a suit. She wore a military uniform with a narrow slant hat.

Alexs house was filled with rugs, stuffed chairs, and little tables with photographs of old people in polished silver frames.

You waiting for the rest of your stuff? she asked as Ebbs pointed her to one of the two kitchen chairs and plunked down a glass of milk and a plate with a grainy-looking brown bar on it. Ebbs shook her head. Nope, this is it, she said, motioning around. I move a lot because of my work, so I cant keep much, and anyway, things slow you down. Do you bicycle?

Sure, said Alex, taking a tentative bite of the bar, then putting it down. It tasted bitter.

Ebbs noticed but kept talking. I sail a small boat. You dont want anything extra on a sailboat either. It took me a while, but now I live like Im sailing, everything essential and shipshape. Do you like to sail?

Never done it.

If you want, Ill teach you.

Thanks, said Alex. Then she asked in a polite voice, Is there a Mr. Ebbs?

Ebbss eyebrows went up a little. My older brothers, she said. But they dont live here. Its just me, she added quietly. No family.

Oh.

The dog whined.

Right, I forgot! Ebbs said. Does he like cheese? Ive got some old cheddar I can give him, but its pretty hard.

Hell eat anything!

As Ebbs sat down with a yellow chunk in her hand, the dog waved his big forward-curling tail. He was shorthaired but his tail was bushy. He came up to Ebbs slowly, stiff-legged and formal, sniffed, then took the cheese delicately and settled down to gnaw.

Very dignified, Ebbs said. Whats his name again?

Jeep. Hes my brothers dog, but he sticks with me. Alex paused, then added, Folks usually want to know why hes called that.