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, tim 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.” “I’m glad Becca’s all right,” Hattie said contritely.
“I keep telling tim he needs to wash his knives,” said Mr. Pike, who owned the general store.
Hattie Parker excused herself, then turned and quickly walked away.
“Tell Becca that when she feels up to it to come by the store for a piece of candy,” said Mr. Pike. “Thank you, I’ll do that.”
Before returning home, Mrs. Tennyson bought a dozen onions from Sam. She gave him a dime and told him to keep the change.
“I don’t take charity,” Sam told her. “But if you want to buy a few extra onions for Mary Lou, I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”
“All right then,” said Mrs. Tennyson, “give me my change in onions.”
Sam gave Mrs. Tennyson an additional three onions, and she fed them one at a time to Mary Lou. She laughed as the old donkey ate them out of her hand.
• • •
Stanley and Zero slept off and on for the next two days, ate onions, all they wanted, and splashed dirty water into their mouths. In the late afternoon Big Thumb gave them shade. Stanley tried to make the hole deeper, but he really needed the shovel. His efforts just seemed to stir up the mud and make the water dirtier.
Zero was sleeping. He was still very sick and weak, but the sleep and the onions seemed to be doing him some good. Stanley was no longer afraid that he would die soon. Still, he didn’t want to go for the shovel while Zero was asleep. He didn’t want him to wake up and think he’d been deserted.
He waited for Zero to open his eyes.
“I think I’ll go look for the shovel,” Stanley said.
“I’ll wait here,” Zero said feebly, as if he had any other choice.
Stanley made his way down the mountain. The rest and the onions had revitalized him, and he felt strong.
Following the trail he had created two days earlier was relatively easy. There were a few moments of uncertainty, but with a bit of searching, he always managed to find the path again.
He descended quite a distance but still hadn’t located the shovel. Looking back up toward the mountain’s peak, he realized he must have walked right past it. He couldn’t have possibly carried Zero all the way from this point.
Still, he continued downward, just in case. He reached a bare spot between two large patches of weeds and sat down to rest. He decided he had definitely gone too far. Exhausted from the descent, he realized it would have been impossible to carry Zero up from here, especially after a day without food or water. The shovel must be hidden in the weeds.
Before heading back up, he scanned the area one last time. He noticed a large indentation in the weeds a bit farther down. It seemed unlikely the shovel would be there, but he had already come this far.
To his amazement, there in the tall weeds lay the shovel and the sack of jars. He was surprised. He wondered if they might have rolled down the hill, but none of the jars were broken, except the one that had already been damaged. If they had rolled down, it seemed unlikely he would find them side by side
On his way back up the mountain, Stanley had to sit down and rest several times. It was a long, hard climb.
