Jason and Elihu. Shelley Fraser Mickle
that Jason knew they had to be brother and sister.
Grampy Luke stepped close. “That’s a mighty fine-looking pony.” He reached out and petted its nose. “What pretty tiny feet. No bigger than teacakes. What’s the pony’s name?”
The girl slid her eyes across Grampy Luke.In that second, Jason saw the girl’s eyes were the color of a blue-bird’s wing, and they also touched down on Jason and Grampy Luke no longer than a shy bluebird would have landed. She had red pinprick dots of mosquito bites on her face and legs.
“She don’t talk to nobody. Just me.” The boy pulled in his cane pole line. On the end was a soggy worm. “And that ain’t no pony. It’s a silver buckskin miniature horse. Rare. One of the best anywhere. His daddy’s name’s Little Buckaroo. My own daddy got him in a trade.”
“I see.” Grampy Luke ran his fingers through the little horse’s thick mane. “Did you say its name is Bean?”
“No. The mini horse is Sundance. My sister’s Bean.” The corner of his mouth curled bitterly. “Her real name’s Deserai–Rai for short. But we call her Butter Bean ’cause she’s so fat.” He laughed.
“Well, I must say, Sundance is a mighty fine horse. He must be fun to ride. How long you had him?” Grampy Luke tilted his head kindly toward the girl called Bean.
But neither the boy nor the girl answered. The girl turned Sundance around and trotted back up to the pavement with the little horse’s mane flowing. Its ears were pricked as if he were looking for something. Suddenly, Sundance made the most mournful sound—a whistling whinny as if calling for someone.
Jason wasn’t sure if he heard right, but it sure seemed Bean fussed affectionately, “Oh, hush-it, Sundance! Just hush-it.” Soon there was again the sound of Sundance’s hoofbeats on the pavement.
The boy flipped his cane pole line back into the water and turned his back.
Grampy Luke put a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Let’s go on to the Tackle Shop.”
Up the slope, Grampy Luke walked onto the porch with Jason beside him and squeaked open the screen door.
Jason’s skin tingled. Inside, there would surely be more stories about Elihu.
Above them, Jason heard tapping on the bridge.
FIVE
FISHING FOR ELIHU
The Tackle Shop smelled of hot dogs and coffee, grass shrimp and worms, shaving lotion and wet boots. Jason took a deep breath, loving how it all smelled. Eight men were standing around, drinking coffee, buying bait and ice. They were just waiting for dusk to head out fishing.
Grampy Luke went to the cooler and pulled out two cold bottles of juice. He looked at Jason and winked. “Anybody seen Elihu lately?”
Bill dipped up minnows and put them in cartons to sell. “You mean besides Skeeter Nelson, who was in last week, telling how Old Snout nearly turned over his boat?”
“Yeah. That was a near miss, I guess.”
“T’was.”
“Was he using a lure when he hooked Elihu? Or live bait?” Obviously, Grampy Luke was fishing for some tips.
“Or a pig and jig,” Jason offered, proud of his knowledge.
Buck Irwin stepped forward. He was known as one of the finest fishermen at the lake. He held a cup of coffee that steamed up over his face like a kite-tail of smoke. A quick smile widened his jaw. From under thick brows, he looked at Jason. Lines decorated his eyes from many hours spent squinting in the sun, and his wrists looked as thick as the head of a bat. Indeed, he looked like a homerun hitter. It was said that his wife, Taffy, knew all the names of everyone who lived around the lake. She was the postmaster and liked to tease that she was keeping count of how many love letters each one received.
As Buck smiled at Jason, his black mustache curled. He pointed to the wooden beam over the cash register. “Hooked Elihu on a Devil’s Horse. That’s what Skeeter said. It’s a top-water plug, one like’s hanging up there.”
Stuck in the wood of the store’s beam was a long slender lure shaped like a cigar. Three stems, with three hooks on each, hung from its body similar to chandeliers. The lure was black-and-white striped with two yellow dots for eyes. It also had a silver metal propeller on its nose.
“What’s the propeller for?” Jason gazed up at the Devil’s Horse.
Bill took the lure down and handed it to Jason. He had to be very careful so the sharp hooks did not stick him.
“Supposed to look like an injured fish,” Bill said. “The propeller will kick up water when you reel it in. It’s called a top-water plug. You throw it out and twitch it as you bring it in. Bass will hit it like they think they’re about to have Thanksgiving dinner.”
Bill chuckled. Jason handed the Devil’s Horse back to him, and Bill returned it to the beam.
Jason studied again the pictures under glass of the enormous bass that fishermen had hooked and were holding up. How wonderful it was to imagine Elihu being even bigger and grander.
Buck put a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “When you want to get serious about hooking Elihu, get a Devil’s Horse. Elihu’s not likely to swallow that. You don’t ever want a fish to swallow your lure; it’ll kill it for sure, and in a cruel way. Got to set the hook just right—in the side of its mouth so you can unhook it and save your lure. And release the fish too, if that’s what you choose. All us around here practice catch and release, ’less we’re fishing for dinner. And you know what, Jason?”
“What?”
“I bet Elihu’s so smart by now, that old bass can spot a lure twenty feet away and dive for deep water. But a Devil’s Horse is a good way to start.” Buck winked at Jason. “Elihu has a lot to say.”
Jason stared at Buck. “And you think by now Elihu is way over twenty pounds?”
Of course he’d already been told that, but he would never get tired of hearing about the great bass. In just mentioning the name Elihu, he felt chills prickle up his arms.
“Oh, yeah.” Buck pointed. “And he’s twice as big as that.” He gestured toward the stuffed bass hanging on the wall over the ice machine. The fish’s tail was preserved as though it were flapping. Its great mouth was open like the top of a huge jar.
“Dooey Murdock caught that. Right now Dooey’s down at the filling station ’cause his truck tire’s going flat.” Buck laughed. “Dooey’s the worst I know about keeping a bass just so he can stuff it and show it off. He’s been after Elihu for three years now.”
“Three years?” Jason’s tongue tripped on the words. What did it mean if somebody like Dooey Murdock with his fancy boat couldn’t catch Elihu? What chance then would he have–just an eleven-year-old?
His dream of catching Elihu felt injured. It felt punctured, as if the dream itself had been something holding air and was now poked with a needle. Jason and Elihu. Elihu and Jason. He had to get it back. He had to bring the whole dream back.
He breathed deeply. He swallowed. He jiggled his knees.
He also knew now that the boy outside with the cane pole had surely lied. That boy had said Dooey wasn’t much of a fisherman, but the trophy stuffed bass here in the shop said otherwise.
Grampy Luke turned to Buck. “Have you ever hooked Elihu?”
“Yeah,