Stanley stared at him. It was impossible. Zero was delirious.
Zero’s “confession” seemed to bring him some relief. The muscles in his face relaxed. As he drifted into sleep, Stanley softly sang him the song that had been in his family for generations.
“If only, if only,” the woodpecker sighs,
“The bark on the tree was just a little bit softer.”
While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely,
He cries to the moo—oo—oon,
“If only, if only.”
40
When Stanley found the onion the night before, he didn’t question how it had come to be there. He ate it gratefully. But now as he sat gazing at Big Thumb and the meadow full of flowers, he couldn’t help but wonder about it.
If there was one wild onion, there could be more.
He intertwined his fingers and tried to rub out the pain. Then he bent down and dug up another flower, this time pulling up the entire plant, including the root.
“Onions! Fresh, hot, sweet onions,” Sam called as Mary Lou pulled the cart down Main Street. “Eight cents a dozen.”
It was a beautiful spring morning. The sky was painted pale blue and pink—the same color as the lake and the peach trees along its shore.
Mrs. Gladys Tennyson was wearing just her nightgown and robe as she came running down the street after Sam. Mrs. Tennyson was normally a very proper woman who never went out in public without dressing up in fine clothes and a hat. So it was quite surprising to the people of Green Lake to see her running past them.
“Sam!” she shouted.
“Whoa, Mary Lou,” said Sam, stopping his mule and cart. “G’morning, Mrs. Tennyson,” he said. “How’s little Becca doing?”
Gladys Tennyson was all smiles. “I think she’s going to be all right. The fever broke about an hour ago. Thanks to you.”
“I’m sure the good Lord and Doc Hawthorn deserve most of the credit.”
“The Good Lord, yes,” agreed Mrs. Tennyson, “but not Dr. Hawthorn. That quack wanted to put leeches on her stomach! Leeches! My word! He said they would suck out the bad blood. Now you tell me. How would a leech know good blood from bad blood?”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Sam.
“It was your onion tonic,” said Mrs. Tennyson. “That’s what saved her.”
Other townspeople made their way to the cart. “Good morning, Gladys,” said Hattie Parker. “Don’t you look lovely this morning.”
Several people snickered.
“Good morning, Hattie,” Mrs. Tennyson replied.
“Does your husband know you’re parading about in your bed clothes?” Hattie asked.
There were more snickers.
“My husband knows exactly where I am and how I am dressed, thank you,” said Mrs. Tennyson. “We have both been up all night and half the morning with Rebecca. She almost died from stomach sickness. It seems she ate some bad meat.”
Hattie’s face flushed. Her husband, Jim Parker, was the butcher.
“It made my husband and me sick as well,” said Mrs. Tennyson, “but it nearly killed Becca, what with her being so young. Sam saved her life.”
“It wasn’t me,” said Sam. “It was the onions.”