Blossoms Meet the Vulture Lady by Betsy Byars

actually had to fork over, he would pretend he had meant a dollar between them. The little brother read his thoughts. “One dollar each?”
    Ralphie was truly desperate. Maggie had gone on without him. If he didn’t leave right this minute, he might lose her in the woods. “Each.”
    They extended their hands, palms up.
    “Not now. When we get home. Now go on. Go on.”
    “Ralphie?” It was Maggie calling him. “Are you coming?”
    Hobbling up the hill on his artificial leg wasn’t easy, but Ralphie hobbled. “Coming!” he called with sudden cheer.
    For the first time in his life Ralphie would be alone with the woman he loved.
    Mad Mary and Junior were on the rocky ledge in front of the cave—the porch, Mad Mary called it. Mad Mary was in her rocking chair. This was the only piece of family furniture she had. It was a porch rocker, and that was why it hadn’t been burned up in the fire.
    Junior was lying on his back. They were both watching the vultures overhead.
    The vultures must have been two miles up in the sky, Junior figured. He had never seen anything like it. He had never known birds had fun like that, wheeling round and round, never flapping their wings a single time, getting higher with each turn.
    “Oh, wow,” Junior said. These words— Oh, wow —had been the first words Junior had spoken as a baby, and he had used them all the time back then. “Here’s a cracker, Junior.” “Oh, wow.” “Here’s a ham sandwich?” “Oh, wow.”
    The family used to tease him about it, so now he only used the words when he was too impressed not to.
    Mad Mary broke the spell of the vultures by bracing her hands on the arms of her rocker and starting to get up. “We ought to get going.”
    Junior glanced at her in surprise. “Why?”
    Junior was having one of the most pleasant mornings of his life. Lying on Mad Mary’s porch, watching birds enjoy themselves, eating varmint stew. It was like something a person would pay money to do, buy a ticket for. It was the first real vacation of Junior’s life.
    And after their conversation about calling up their dead fathers on the telephone, Junior had felt very close to Mad Mary.
    “To get you back to your folks.”
    “No hurry,” Junior said. “They know I’m all right.”
    The last thing Junior wanted was to get back to his folks. First of all, they would want to hear what had happened, and he would have to start with the unfortunate incident of his trapping himself. It was far, far nicer to lie in peaceful silence with Mary and watch the birds.
    Junior changed the subject. “Do the vultures fly like that every morning?”
    “Just when the air’s right.” Mad Mary leaned back. “Vultures have a bad reputation,” she said. “Most people don’t like them.”
    “I do,” said Junior. “I like them a lot.”
    “I do too.”
    Mad Mary was glad to lean back and put off returning Junior. This was the first human company she had enjoyed in ten years.
    “Down in the tropics people can’t get along without vultures.”
    “Why?”
    “They eat dead things, keep the jungle clean.”
    “I didn’t know that.”
    “They never kill anything. Never hurt a living soul, just eat what’s already dead, the way I do. I enjoy the competition.”
    “I would too.”
    “Over in India—I read this in one of my books, I never saw it for myself—over in India they have towers where they put dead bodies, and the vultures come down and eat the flesh and then the dry bones drop down into the towers—very sanitary.”
    Junior’s mouth dropped open. “I wish I could read that book.”
    He looked back up at the sky. Now the vultures had begun a long, slow circling descent. Two more vultures joined them. “They must have spotted lunch,” Mad Mary said.
    “Do you still have that book?”
    “Which one, the vultures or the cave.”
    “Both.”
    “They’re in there somewhere,” Mad Mary said, nodding toward her cave. “I’ll try to find them for you.” Then she