Tru & Nelle: A Christmas Tale: A Christmas Holiday Book for Kids
304
Tru & Nelle: A Christmas Tale: A Christmas Holiday Book for Kids
304Hardcover
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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781328685988 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | HarperCollins |
| Publication date: | 10/24/2017 |
| Pages: | 304 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.40(w) x 8.40(h) x 1.30(d) |
| Lexile: | 680L (what's this?) |
| Age Range: | 10 - 12 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
1Surprise Visit
“Do you think he’ll be any taller?” asked Big Boy. Nelle squinted into the hot Alabama sun. It was a balmy seventy-eight degrees in December. So much for a white Christmas. They’d been standing on the side of the red dirt road from Montgomery for more than an hour. The only sign of life was the buzzards circling overhead. “Nah. I reckon he’ll still be a shrimp,” she answered. Big Boy took off his glasses and wiped the dust from them with his shirtsleeve. “Maybe he’ll be all fancy and big-city now,” he said absent-mindedly. Nelle looked at him like he was crazy. “You remember that white suit he used to wear all the time? I think he was the only boy in Monroeville who even had a suit!” Nelle was the kind of ten-year-old girl who wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress. She wore her usual tomboy outfit: beat-up overalls and white T-shirt, with bare feet. “Heck, he couldn’t be more highfalutin and big-city if he tried,” she added, spitting into the dirt and watching it turn burgundy. Big Boy was a farmer’s boy; no matter how many baths he took, he always smelled like cows, something the girls never let him forget. Despite his nickname, he was not overly big for an eleven-year-old. A red cloud rising from the horizon caught his eye. They stood and stared at the gathering cloud as it grew closer. It took a few seconds before they could see a black speck causing the red tornado of dust. A minute later, the black speck became a fancy black convertible. “Finally,” said Big Boy. The closer it came, the faster Nelle’s heart seemed to beat. It had been over two years since their best friend, Truman, had been ripped from their lives. In the beginning, it seemed like she’d gotten a letter from him at least once a week—stories about high-society life in New York, the endless parties, sightings of famous writers and actors, and skyscrapers tall enough to touch the sun. Then, as winter gave way to spring, and another fall and winter passed, the stories grew shorter and shorter, until they tapered off altogether. She had not heard a peep from him for the past five months—that is, until his older cousin Jenny received a telegram saying he, his mother, and stepdad were suddenly coming to town for the holidays. “Maybe we should call him Sherlock. You know, for old times’ sake?” asked Big Boy. Nelle broke into a smile, but it quickly faded. Truman was eleven and had been going to some expensive private school. He was sure to be different. Maybe he wouldn’t even remember them. Maybe he’d forgotten all the adventures they’d shared or even the mysteries they’d solved together. The car came up on them fast. At the wheel was a dark-skinned man in a fancy tan suit, smoking a fat cigar. A woman was asleep in the passenger seat. “Is that them?” asked Big Boy, excited. A horn blasted, sending Nelle and Big Boy scrambling to the side of the road. As the car flew past, Nelle caught a glimpse of someone in the back seat, slumped out of sight, his white-blond hair blowing in the wind. They were swallowed up in a tailwind of dust. “Come on.” Nelle spat as they grabbed their bikes and followed in the car’s wake.
The automobile eluded them, but Monroeville was just a dusty old hamlet and not so big that they couldn’t spot a fancy car like that. As Nelle and Big Boy rode through the town square, shopkeepers were just putting up their Christmas decorations, which was always a funny sight, given that a Monroeville Christmas was never like the snowy ones in the picture shows. A winter heat wave was not uncommon in these parts. “Maybe we should stop and get a Christmas present for him?” suggested Big Boy. “First we need to find out why he’s really here. Something smells fishy to me,” said Nelle. In front of the hardware store, Nelle spotted Mr. Barnett, who had a wooden leg, holding a plastic snowman and staring off down the road. She followed his gaze right to the fancy car, which was parked smack-dab in front of A.C. Lee’s office! Nelle and Big Boy ditched their bikes by one of the grand oak trees that ran down the center of Alabama Avenue. They made their way through a small group of gawkers surrounding the convertible. Truman was not in the back seat. But somebody had filled in the New York Times crossword puzzle with the scribbled scrawl of a child. Nelle gazed up at the second-floor window of her father’s office. “Do you think . . . ?” Big Boy shrugged. There was only one way to find out. They tore up the stairs as quietly as they could, pausing in front of the second-floor office door on which was etched these words:
Amasa Coleman LeeLawyer LegislatorFinancial Manager Editor at Large
Instead of knocking, Nelle motioned Big Boy toward an unmarked side door, which led to a storage room filled with boxes and cleaning supplies. “What are we doing here?” whispered Big Boy. She shushed him and closed the door behind them. They stood in the dark except for a crack of light that emanated from another door in the back of the room. Nelle headed for the light. “That’s A.C.’s office,” she whispered. They tiptoed forward until a voice stopped them dead in their tracks. “Who does he think he is?” shouted a woman. “To do this around the holidays? That is so typical of him. Ruining it for everyone!” Nelle looked at Big Boy. That was Truman’s mother, Lillie Mae, talking. “Nina, Nina, don’t let him upset you so,” said a thickly accented male voice. “Nina?” whispered Big Boy. Nelle shushed him again so she could hear. “Mi corazón. He cannot win, he cannot,” said the man. “Isn’t that right, Mr. A.C.?” “Is that Tru’s dad—I mean, stepdad . . . What’s his name? Cuban Joe?” asked Big Boy. “And who’s he talking about?” There was a pause. Nelle could hear a light tapping; A.C. always tapped a small pocketknife against a table whenever he was thinking. Her father spoke slowly and deliberately. “Nothing is ever certain in this world. But a wounded and cornered animal should never be underestimated.” “Then we should do what you do to a rabid dog,” hissed Nina. “You put him out of his misery!” “Nina, mi amor!” cried Joe. “I sympathize with your ex-husband. He is wounded because he lost the battle for your heart. Don’t you see that all he can do is to try to get back at you? Óyeme, listen to me: desperate men do desperate things. His only resort is to take our Truman away from us.” Nelle took a step back and bumped into a box that had an old lamp sitting on top of it. She turned just in time to see the lamp teeter on the edge, and before she could grab it— Crash! “What was that?” said Joe. There was the creak of a chair, the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor, and the rattling of the door handle. Nelle and Big Boy stood frozen like deer in headlights. The door swung open and the silhouette of A.C. Lee towered over them. “Seems like word has gotten out. Nelle, Big Boy, why don’t you join us instead of spying on Mr. and Mrs. Capote from the broom closet.” Nelle’s eyes fell on Lillie Mae, who was dressed like a Nina, or what Nelle imagined someone named Nina might look like. She had a sleek bob of a haircut, long lashes, and a shiny dress Nelle thought a woman might wear to a dinner club. Holding her hand was Joe, dark-skinned and built like a boxer, with a barrel chest, but his horn-rim glasses made him look soft and kind. A.C. cleared his throat. Nelle gave him her saddest puppy-dog-eyed look. “We didn’t mean nothing by it, A.C., honest. We didn’t mean to spy. We was just curi—” Her eyes fell on Truman, who was sitting in a chair in the corner, scribbling in a small notebook. He looked up at her. His eyes were just as pale blue as she remembered. He seemed older but somehow smaller than before, his feet not even touching the floor. His blond hair was longer and whiter, if that was possible, and he was dressed in a simple suit with tennis shoes. “Hiya—” she started to say. Lillie Mae cut her off. “Great! Now everyone is going to know,” she said, rising from her seat. “These two cannot be trusted.” “But—” said Big Boy. “Nina, they are just children looking for their friend,” said Joe. “They won’t say a word. The custody hearing will be but a simple matter that no one needs to know about. Right, kids?” “Yes, sir,” they both answered while staring at Truman. Nelle had to ask: “Does that mean you’re going to live with your dad—with Arch Persons?” Before Truman could answer, Lillie Mae growled through her dark red lipstick, “If I hear that you two have been gossiping—” A.C. cut in and ushered Nelle and Big Boy toward the office door. “Perhaps it’s best if you go. You can catch up with Truman back at the house,” he said. “But . . . Tru—” Nelle said, looking over her shoulder. Truman just watched as A.C. gently pushed them into the hallway. “And not a word to anyone,” said A.C. before closing the door in their faces. Nelle and Big Boy looked at each other. “Boy, she is the most uptight person I ever met,” said Nelle. “Why does he call her Nina?” said Big Boy. “Did you see the way they dressed? All high-society and the like. Joe must be loaded.” Nelle snapped her fingers. “Maybe Arch is trying to kidnap Truman for ransom. I hear he’s lost everything,” she said. “I can still hear you,” said A.C. on the other side of the door. “Go home. Now.” Nelle sighed as she and Big Boy turned and headed slowly out into the sunlight.
On the way home, they paused in front of Cousin Jenny’s house. Nelle could see that preparations had been under way all morning in anticipation of Truman’s return. They’d broken out the Christmas decorations earlier than usual, since they knew Truman loved the holidays. Nelle could smell the delectable scent of Sook’s lemon meringue pie, Tru’s favorite, coming from the kitchen. But she and Big Boy needed to talk about what they’d heard back at A.C.’s. And there was only one place for secret discussions: the treehouse. Since Truman left, the treehouse in the double chinaberry tree that divided their properties had not seen much use. Big Boy lived on a farm out on Drewry Road, and without Truman around, he rarely came over to see Nelle, who was clearly becoming a young woman, despite her best efforts not to. They snuck past Jenny’s house and made their way up the ladder, Big Boy first. When he poked his head up through the escape hatch, he stopped in his tracks. “Hey, Big Boy. Take your sweet time, why don’tcha?” said Nelle. “I can’t hang around here all day, you know.” “Um . . .” Nelle saw Big Boy glance down at her nervously. She stiffened. “Is it a snake?” When Arch Persons’s head came into view, she saw that she was partially right. “What’re you doing here?” she said. “Can’t you read?” She pointed to the No Adults Allowed sign posted by the entrance. “Ho, ho, ho! Good to see you too,” Arch said. “Now get your behinds up here before anyone spots you.” Big Boy squeezed by him and Arch extended his hand to Nelle. “I can make my own way, thank you very much,” she growled. When she came up into the fort, Arch was peering at Jenny’s house through a cutout window. “They’re still at A.C.’s office,” said Big Boy. “So you know, then,” said Arch, as if some big secret had been revealed. He looked silly, a large man in an old suit and cheap glasses scrunched up in a kids’ treehouse. “You hiding from the law again?” said Nelle, suspicious. “I thought you were headed to prison.” “Those charges were all hat and no cattle, for Pete’s sake,” said Arch. “I’m a churchgoing man now, I’ll have you know.” “Uh-huh . . .” Nelle wasn’t buying it. “Look, we don’t know nothing and ain’t interested in any scheme you got cooking up in that head o’ yours.” Big Boy cleared his throat. “Well, except that Nina was all upset that you was trying to take Truman from her and all—” Arch beamed. “Really? You heard that? Serves ‘Nina’ right.” Nelle stared daggers at Big Boy. “Just calm down, honey. I’m here to give you an early Christmas present, so give the theatrics a rest, will ya?” Arch said, trying to find a comfortable position to squat in. “You do want Truman back, don’tcha?” Big Boy glanced at Nelle, who tried to contain herself. “What do you mean?” she asked cautiously. Arch knew he’d gotten her attention. “I mean, if Truman plays his cards right, he could be back to live at his cousin Jenny’s by the end of the week, and I mean for good.” Nelle stared at him closely. She knew better than to trust Arch Persons. There was no scheme he didn’t like as long as there was something in it for him. “What’s he gotta do?” He sighed, as if it pained him to say. “Look, you both know as well as I do that his mother doesn’t really care for him. She’s a treacherous woman who’s just using Truman as a pawn to get back at me,” said Arch. “Well, I’m sick and tired of that boy getting used. I’m not trying to get custody. She’s got me on that count. But if I win, I might be able to—” He paused, looked around dramatically, then whispered, “Look, I’ve been talking to the judge, and he agrees that living at Jenny’s, surrounded by his elder cousins, would be best for the boy. So if I win, I’d do what’s best for him.” “You mean . . . you’d have him move back here forever?” asked Big Boy. Arch nodded. “If I can put Truman on the stand at the hearing tomorrow and he gets going about the fast life they all live up there in New York, with all the parties, gambling, and drinking and who knows what else—any judge in his right mind would see Lillie Mae for what she is: a sinner who married a gambling, dark-skinned foreigner for his money, for Pete’s sake. She’s an irresponsible child who needs to be stopped.” Big Boy’s mind was racing. “So what do you want us to do?” he asked. Arch smiled softly. “Talk to Truman. Get him to see that what they’re promising him ain’t on the level, that he’d be much better off here with Sook and Queenie and you two mutts.” “What’s she promising him?” asked Nelle. But a car started honking and they all peered out the window just in time to see Joe pulling up to Jenny’s house. “Good, they’re here,” said Arch. “Look at ’em. Their money offends me. People are suffering in this town and they act like it’s still the Roaring Twenties. They’ve got plenty of dough, but they come after me for child support? It ain’t right.” Nelle could see his face turning red. His voice dropped and got real serious. “Now get down there and start asking him about all the scandalous things they do up there in the big city. I know how Truman loves spicing up stories to entertain folks. That’s all he’s gotta do. Perform for a crowd. Sell it like he’s being brought up in an immoral way.” “Is he?” asked Nelle. Arch leaned forward. “They don’t call it the Big Apple for nothing. It’s the place of the original sin. I heard those two have dealings with gangsters and all kinds of nefarious people. Believe me, the big city is no place to raise a boy as delicate as Truman.”
Nelle and Big Boy watched the greetings play out from behind a bush. Truman’s older cousins—Jenny, who was the matriarch, and Bud, the so-called man of the house—came out onto the front porch. Jenny was always dressed like she meant business, prim and proper but tough as a bantam rooster. Bud was just the opposite—tall and thin with a mountain of white hair, he always looked like he’d just woken up from a nap. Bud’s face lit up when he saw Joe and Lillie Mae getting out of the car. But Jenny’s mouth turned into a scowl. She and Lillie Mae always butted heads, and her showing up on such short notice was never a good sign. “Jeenneeee—so beeeauuuutiful!” said Joe, bounding up the stairs and trapping Jenny in a hug. She managed to squirm out of his arms and pushed him into Bud. “And, Bud, looking gooood! Come, Nina, it’s a Christmas reunion! Even though there’s no snow!” “It never snows here. Why, the children don’t even know how to ice-skate,” said Nina. Jenny stared at her. “Hello, Lillie Mae.” She gritted her teeth. “It’s Nina. People in New York use more sophisticated names.” “Oh, please,” said Jenny. “You were born Lillie Mae and you’ll die Lillie Mae, regardless of what you call yourself. You can’t escape your past. Now, where is that child of yours?” she said, looking at the car. Truman was sitting in the back seat, reading the newspaper. “Why’s Tru acting so weird?” whispered Big Boy. “You’d think he’d be excited to be back.” “I don’t know,” said Nelle. “But he sure does look full of himself.” “Little Chappie!” shouted Bud. “Get yourself up here so we can have a look-see!” Truman put down his paper and straightened his tie. He calmly got out of the car and walked over to them like a little aristocrat. He approached the stairs as if he were being introduced to a new group of adults for the first time. He held his hand out to Bud, who looked at him quizzically. Bud grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, pushed the hand away, and gave him a big ol’ hug. “How’s my little writer doing? When you gonna write a story about me?” “Let me see him!” said Jenny. She put her hand on the side of Tru’s face and then suddenly leaned down and bear-hugged him too. But she felt awkward and let go, smoothing out his hair. “My, look at you,” she said, patting him on the head. “Getting bigger, I see.” “I’m the tallest one in my class,” he said proudly. Big Boy couldn’t help it—he laughed. Nelle nudged him but found herself giggling too. When they glanced up, Truman was staring at the bush they hid behind. “Callie isn’t here, as you know,” said Jenny. “She’s been very ill and staying at the rest home, but she sends you her best.” “I’m sure she does,” he said, looking past them into the house. “Where’s Queenie?” he asked. “Queenie’s out at Big Boy’s. He’ll come for a visit soon enough,” said Jenny. Truman looked offended. “Sook didn’t want to keep her here?” he asked, his voice rising. Bud leaned down and whispered in his ear, “You know Jenny don’t much care for dogs.” Nelle pushed Big Boy into view, where he reluctantly piped up. “Don’t you worry, Truman,” said Big Boy. “I’m taking good care of him—I mean, her?” Truman didn’t say anything. He was watching Nelle. “Speak of the devil—look, it’s Big Boy and Nelle. Say hello, Truman,” said Bud, nudging him. “Hello,” he said shyly, staring at the ground. “Truman, is that how you treat your friends after all this time?” asked Joe. “Oh, I saw them already, remember?” He quickly glanced at them. “Hello again, Big Boy, Nelle. What do you know?” His voice had always been peculiar, high and soft with a quiet Southern lilt. He spoke like an ethereal angel with a wicked streak, so it was hard to tell if he was serious or not. Nelle squinted at him, sizing him up. She was still a head taller. “I know you ain’t too big for yer britches, that’s what I know.” “Hiya, Truman,” said Big Boy. Truman looked him up and down too. “My, Big Boy, how you’ve grown.” Big Boy smiled. “Have I? It’s hard for me to tell since I see myself just about every day.” Nelle rolled her eyes, then got to the point. “How come you haven’t written us in five months?” she asked. Truman didn’t seem to have an answer. He wanted to say something, but no words came out. But then Sook called from deep inside the house: “Trueheart, is that you? Has my little buddy finally come home to visit his Nanny Rumbley for the holidays?” Suddenly, his demeanor changed. He was like a six-year-old again. His gaze was drawn to the house, where his beloved Sook sat by the dining table, her face lit up by a toothless smile as she held out the lemon meringue pie she’d made especially for him. As if in a trance, Truman moved past everybody toward her. “My Tru.” Sook beamed, almost shaking with joy. She was the eldest of the ancient cousins who lived under Jenny and was wearing her homemade quilted housecoat, a gingham dress, and tennis shoes. Her thin white hair glowed bright in the afternoon sun, her eyes wide open and twice as big behind the Coke-bottle glasses she wore. Truman gazed upon the lemon meringue pie he’d been dreaming about for ages. But his smile suddenly turned into a frown once he took a closer look. Nelle could almost feel it coming. Truman examined the pie closely, ignoring his dear ol’ Sook. Suddenly, he stamped his foot. “They’re not tall enough, Sook,” he said, pointing at the peaks of sugary meringue on the pie. “You know I only like lemon meringue pie when the peaks are very, very tall!” Sook looked confused, her eyes filling with tears. “Uh, I guess . . . I guess I’ll just have to make another one—” “Please see to it, Sook. I’ve come all this way,” he said, frustrated. “All this way for nothing!” Sook sat there trembling. “I—I just wanted you to be . . . ever so happy.” She tried wiping her eyes with her housecoat sleeve while still holding her pie up, but as she did so, some of the meringue slipped off and plopped right into her lap. That was the last straw. Nelle rushed Truman from behind, grabbed him by the scruff of his stiff collar, and hauled him through the kitchen. She pushed him out the back screen door, where he fell, fancy suit and all, onto the dirt behind the house. “Just who in the heck do you think you are, coming in here and putting on airs in front of us?” She kicked dirt on him, swatting his leg or arm away when he tried to stop her. “Quit it, Nelle—” “You think you’re better than us, now that you live in New York City? How dare you make Sook cry! She spent all morning making that durn pie!” “Nelle, I’m—” “An’ her and Little Bit decorated the house just for you! Me and Big Boy waited by the road for an hour just to see you!” Her eyes welled up, her face red with hurt. “Just who do you think you are, you—you shrimp!” Truman hated being called a shrimp. He scrambled out from under her and drew himself up as tall as he could. He started to dust off his suit but saw how hopelessly dirty it was. “Look what you did . . .” “You had it coming. Now answer me.” She glared. He looked her straight in the eye. “Who do I think I am? I’m Truman Garcia Capote, that’s who,” he said defiantly. Nelle blinked. “Gar-ci-a Ca-po-tee? What kind of loony-bird talk is that?” “Truman!” shouted Jenny from the back door. “Come in here at once and apologize to Sook. You made her cry. What’s wrong with you, boy?” “You’ve made her cry plenty,” Truman said under his breath. He shot a look at Nelle. “If you must know, my mother is going to get full custody of me, and Joe will then adopt me and give me his name too! After that, we can finally all live in Manhattan as one big happy family.” “Truman! I’m talking to you!” said Jenny again. Truman seemed different from the confident little misfit storyteller Nelle had known a couple of years back. He seemed beaten down, defeated almost, but hiding it behind a cool veneer. “And you believe your mom?” asked Nelle. “How is custody going to make it any different than now?” He seemed unsure but tried to convince himself. “It’s different because now, every time she sees me, she thinks of Arch. But with him out of the picture, I’ll be her one and only,” he said. “And Joe will accept me as his own too.” “Truman, I’m going to count to three . . .” said Jenny. “I don’t know . . .” said Nelle. “Don’t you miss being here?” A shadow of doubt passed over Truman’s eyes. “I . . .” was all he said, his thoughts derailed. “Maybe you’re not getting the whole story,” said Nelle. “What if there was another way?” “One . . .” said Jenny. His eyes flickered. “Another way?” Nelle leaned in and whispered, “Arch told me to tell you that if he wins, he’ll let you live here with Jenny for good.” Truman took a step back. “He’s a liar . . . He’s desperate because he might be going to jail.” Nelle grimaced. “I hate to break it to you, but your mother ain’t so trustworthy herself.” “Two . . .” Truman rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know . . .” Nelle spoke quicker. “He says if you tell the judge all about the crazy life she leads in New York, he’ll win and then he’ll give his custody away to Jenny.” “Three—” “All right!” he said to Jenny. “I’m coming.” Jenny held open the screen door. Inside, Sook was still sobbing. Truman sighed. “Remember all those stories we used to write together?” he said to Nelle, half smiling. She nodded, and for a moment, Nelle saw his old self again. “You were good,” he said, looking her in the eye. “How come you stopped?” She wanted to answer him, to tell him that writing felt impossible without his crazy imagination around to inspire her. But he was starting back up the steps to the porch. “Isn’t it strange that all I ever wanted was to live with my mother, but instead I spent most of my time at a boarding school wishing I were back in Monroeville?” He gave Nelle a last look, hung his head, and walked inside, where he crawled up into Sook’s arms and quieted her tears.