“Mama showed me.” I cut the crusts off the bread-they could go into the pudding-and sliced the sandwiches into little triangles to pile onto plates.
“Where is your mama?” Jack asked.
“She’s gone.” I grabbed up the tray of tea things and was out the door before he could ask where to. It was heavy and awkward to carry, piled with the towel-covered dishes, the teapot, and the sandwiches, and my hands were tired from all the work I’d already done. I was terrified I’d drop the whole thing on the way to the parlor. I kept my mind on the hundred-and-fifty and gripped the tray tight.
“Your tea, sir, ma’am,” I said as I backed through the parlor door.
“There now!” exclaimed Mr. Hopper. I set the loaded tray down on the table and started lifting the towels to show the heaps of sandwiches. “I told you Callie wouldn’t let you all go hungry! Dig in, my own! Dig in!”
The way those Hoppers fell on my sandwiches, you’d think they were half starved. But then, folks this rich wouldn’t be used to waiting to eat. They probably had servants and everything back home to bring them snacks whenever they rang a bell. It hit me that I’d forgotten the napkins. As I headed off to the downstairs linen cupboard to fetch some, I thought about how Mama used to smile with satisfaction when she fed people dinner, even if it was just salt pork and beans. Now I understood why. It felt good, seeing people enjoy something I’d made like that.
I knocked on the parlor door and went in. “I thought you’d need some…”
I stopped. I stared.
The sandwich plates weren’t just empty; they were polished clean. I thought the Hopper kids must be playing some kind of trick on me, until Mr. Hopper flicked a bit of deviled ham off his sleeve and burped.
“Pardon me! That was excellent, Callie!”
There’d been a dozen sandwiches when I left. I’d been gone less than a minute. I lifted the lid on the teapot. That was empty too.
“I’m afraid Hunter here’s still a bit hungry,” Mr. Hopper went on. “He is a growing boy after all!” Mr. Hopper laughed heartily, but Hunter just licked his lips. His tongue was bright pink against his white face.
“I’d better make up some more sandwiches,” I heard myself whisper. I didn’t want to be in that room anymore. Not with all those Hoppers looking at me with their big white smiles and their identical dark eyes behind their spectacles.
“Whatever you have on hand will be fine, I’m certain.” Mr. Hopper clasped his hands across his broad stomach and leaned back on the sofa.
“But do hurry, Callie,” said Mrs. Hopper. “It’s not just Hunter who still has an appetite. We’ve all had such a long journey today.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I grabbed up the tray and ran back to the kitchen.
“What’s the matter?” Jack had been busy while I was gone, slicing carrots and onions. He already had a good pile.
“They ate them.” I set the tray down on the counter. “The sandwiches. They’re gone.”
“That ain’t possible! Not even if they was starving!”
“I know.” In my mind I saw the white bones lying in the broken glass on the mercantile floor. I would have given anything not to have that picture in my head just then. “They want more.”
“More!” cried Jack. “What are you going to do?”
I forced myself to straighten up. I had to give them what they wanted, or Mr. Hopper might change his mind about the money.
I told Jack to keep going on the vegetables for the chowder. I sliced up the rest of the Pullman loaf and made a bunch more sandwiches. I still had the other one for the bread pudding. I drained two cans of peaches and forked some sardines into a bowl for good measure.
“There. This’ll hold ’em awhile.”
I toted the heavy tray back into the parlor. All the Hoppers looked up and smiled as soon as I pushed through the door.
“Now then!” Mr. Hopper clapped his meaty hands. “See what you can do with just a little motivation, Callie? Dig in, my own! Dig in!”
I barely had time to get clear of the table before they were on it. All the Hoppers, all at once, crowded over the tray. I backed off until I bumped up against the door. Those rich people in their white clothes slurped and smacked and slobbered as they grabbed at the food. Mrs. Hopper snatched up the bowl of sardines, opened her mouth wide, and poured them all in. Her cheeks bulged like a squirrel’s, but only for a minute before she swallowed. She didn’t even chew. She tossed the bowl aside, swatted Clarinda’s hand back, and grabbed up a fistful of yellow peaches, squishing them between her fingers as she crammed them into her bright red mouth.
Under all the slobber was a clicking, buzzing sound I felt sure I should recognize. But I was seeing those white bones on the mercantile floor again, and all I could think was,
I backed up, but too fast. My heel caught the footstool, and I toppled hard onto the carpet. A big cloud of dust puffed up around me. I shook my head and blinked.
Through the rosy cloud of dust, I saw the Hoppers elbowing each other around my tray. Only they weren’t people anymore. I saw the horsey faces and huge eyes made up of a million shining facets, waving antennae, hard black skins, and delicate legs with saw-sharp ridges.
The Hoppers were locusts. Black locusts the size of people.
I screamed. The chomping and buzzing stopped, and all those bug heads tilted to look at me. The dust was settling, and they were the Hoppers again, except not quite. Because now I could see how their eyes behind those thick glasses stayed round and lidless. Bug eyes.
“Why, whatever is the matter with Callie?” asked Mrs. Hopper.
“Poor girl’s fallen down.” Mr. Hopper reached out his big, meaty hand to me. This close, I could see through him, like Mr. Hopper was a chantilly lace curtain draped over the insect underneath. I could see hooked feet and skinny legs and the way its curved mouth parts moved back and forth. “Let me help you.”
“No thank you, sir.” I pushed myself up against the footstool. “I’m all right.”
“That’s good.” He grinned, way too wide for his face. “Because I’m afraid my family has eaten all those excellent sandwiches.”
It was true. The plates and bowls were empty. Hunter had peach juice and crumbs all over his face, and he grinned at me, exactly like his daddy.
“They’re hungry, Callie.” Mr. Hopper’s voice buzzed and rattled. “A man can’t let his family go hungry, now can he?”
“N-n-no, sir.”
He clapped his hand on my shoulder. It was heavy. It was light. It had fingers. It had a hook. I could feel it both ways, just like I could see the man and the locust. “You’ll bring us something else, won’t you? Whatever you have on hand will do fine.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
I backed the rest of the way out of the parlor. I stood in the hallway, panting hard. I’d gone stone cold despite the fact that I was still sweating.
Every nerve I used to have snapped in two, and I ran. “Jack!” I hollered as I slammed back into the kitchen. “We gotta get outta here!”
“What?” He looked up, knife in one hand and half-peeled carrot in the other. “Why?”
“They’re not people! They’re bugs! Giant bugs!”
“What’re you, crazy?”
“I swear! They’re locusts! That’s why they can eat like that! They…”
“Callie! Is that any way to talk about paying guests?”
It was Mrs. Hopper. Her hat had come off somewhere, and two black antennae stuck out of her yellow curls. They both pointed right at me. Jack must have seen them too, because he turned white and green, and backed away, just like I had.
“What
