Because of Winn-Dixie

“That old building?” said Amanda. “That big spooky one?”

“It is not spooky,” said Miss Franny. “It was the birthplace of the family fortune. It was there that my great- grandfather manufactured the Littmus Lozenge, a candy that was famous the world over.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” said Amanda.

“Me neither,” I said.

“Well,” said Miss Franny, “they aren’t made anymore. The world, it seems, lost its appetite for Littmus Lozenges. But I still happen to have a few.” She opened the top drawer of her desk. It was full of candy. She opened the drawer below that. It was full of candy, too. Miss Franny Block’s whole desk was full of candy.

“Would you care for a Littmus Lozenge?” she asked Amanda and me.

“Yes, please,” said Amanda.

“Sure,” I said. “Can Winn-Dixie have one, too?”

“I have never known a dog that cared for hard candy,” said Miss Franny, “but he is welcome to try one.”

Miss Franny gave Amanda one Littmus Lozenge and me two. I unwrapped one and held it out to Winn-Dixie. He sat up and sniffed it and wagged his tail and took the candy from between my fingers real gentle. He tried to chew on it, and when that didn’t work, he just swallowed the whole thing in one big gulp. Then he wagged his tail at me and lay back down.

I ate my Littmus Lozenge slow. It tasted good. It tasted like root beer and strawberry and something else I didn’t have a name for, something that made me feel kind of sad. I looked over at Amanda. She was sucking on her candy and thinking hard.

“Do you like it?” Miss Franny asked me.

“Yes ma’am,” I told her.

“What about you, Amanda? Do you like the Littmus Lozenge?”

“Yes ma’am,” she said. “But it makes me think of things I feel sad about.”

I wondered what in the world Amanda Wilkinson had to feel sad about. She wasn’t new to town. She had a mama and a daddy. I had seen her with them in church.

“There’s a secret ingredient in there,” Miss Franny said.

“I know it,” I told her. “I can taste it. What is it?”

“Sorrow,” Miss Franny said. “Not everybody can taste it. Children, especially, seem to have a hard time knowing it’s there.”

“I taste it,” I said.

“Me, too,” said Amanda.

“Well, then,” Miss Franny said, “you’ve probably both had your share of sadness.”

“I had to move away from Watley and leave all my friends,” I said. “That is one sadness I have had. And Dunlap and Stevie Dewberry are always picking on me. That’s another sadness. And the biggest one, my biggest sadness, is that my mama left me when I was still small. And I can hardly remember her; I keep hoping I’ll get to meet her and tell her some stories.”

“It makes me miss Carson,” said Amanda. She sounded like she was going to cry. “I have to go.” And she got up and almost ran out of the Herman W. Block Memorial Library.

“Who’s Carson?” I asked Miss Franny.

She shook her head. “Sorrow,” she said. “It is a sorrow-filled world.”

“But how do you put that in a piece of candy?” I asked her. “How do you get that taste in there?”

“That’s the secret,” she said. “That’s why Littmus made a fortune. He manufactured a piece of candy that tasted sweet and sad at the same time.”

“Can I have a piece to take to my friend Gloria Dump? And another one to take to Otis down at Gertrude’s Pets? And one for the preacher? And one for Sweetie Pie, too?”

“You may have as many as you want,” said Miss Franny.

So I stuffed my pockets full of Littmus Lozenges and I thanked Miss Franny for her story and I checked out Gone with the Wind (which was a very big book) and I told Winn-Dixie to get up, and the two of us left and went over to Gloria Dump’s. I rode right past the Dewberrys’ house. Dunlap and Stevie were playing football in the front yard and I was just getting ready to stick my tongue out at them; but then I thought about what Miss Franny said, about war being hell, and I thought about what Gloria Dump said, about not judging them too hard. And so I just waved instead. They stood and stared at me; but when I was almost all the way past, I saw Dunlap put his hand up in the air and wave back.

“Hey,” he hollered. “Hey, Opal.”

I waved harder and I thought about Amanda Wilkinson and how it was neat that she liked a good story the same as I did. And I wondered again . . . who was Carson?

Chapter Eighteen

When we got to Gloria Dump’s, I told her I had two surprises for her and asked which one did she want first, the small one or the big one.

“The small one,” said Gloria.

I handed her the Littmus Lozenge and she moved it around in her hands, feeling it.

“Candy?” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” I told her. “It’s called a Littmus Lozenge.”

“Oh Lord, yes. I remember these candies. My daddy used to eat them.” She unwrapped the Littmus Lozenge and put it in her mouth and nodded her head.

“Do you like it?” I asked her.

“Mmmm-hmmm.” She nodded her head slowly. “It taste sweet. But it also taste like people leaving.”

“You mean sad?” I asked. “Does it taste like sorrow to you?”

“That’s right,” she said. “It taste sorrowful but sweet. Now. What’s surprise number two?”

“A book,” I said.

“A book?”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “I’m going to read it out loud to you. It’s called Gone with the Wind. Miss Franny says it’s a great book. It’s about the Civil War. Do you know all about the Civil War?”

“I have heard it mentioned a time or two,” said Gloria, nodding her head and sucking on her Littmus Lozenge.

“It’s going to take us a long time to read this book,” I told her. “There are one thousand and thirty-seven pages.”

“Whoooeee,” said Gloria. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her hands on her stomach. “We best get started then.”

And so I read the first chapter of Gone with the Wind out loud to Gloria Dump. I read it loud enough to keep her ghosts away. And Gloria listened to it good. And when I was done, she said it was the best surprise she had ever had and she couldn’t wait to hear chapter two.

That night, I gave the preacher his Littmus Lozenge right before he kissed me good night.

“What’s this?” he said.

“It’s some candy that Miss Franny’s great-grandfather invented. It’s called a Littmus Lozenge.”

The preacher unwrapped it and put it in his mouth, and after a minute, he started rubbing his nose and nodding his head.

“Do you like it?” I asked him.

“It has a peculiar flavor . . .”

“Root beer?” I said.

“Something else.”

“Strawberry?”

“That, too. But there’s still something else. It’s odd.”