Chapter 4 of Dr. Dill's Antique Shop For Tohopka

Dr. Dill’s home is a stately plantation house located just a block away from his antique shop. It is two stories tall, like many of the homes in and around Natchez. Wide wooden steps lead up to a porch that stretches across the front. A fresh coat of paint sets off windows taller than Pickle and me. Each one has a set of black shutters that still open and close. The second story also features a full-length porch. A large door opening to the porch is between the four second-floor windows.

Most of the time, we stay at Doc’s house because he goes to bed early and sleeps like a rock. We can be as rowdy as we want without worrying about waking him up.

Tonight, Pickle and I are laying on the second-floor porch, head-to-head, staring up at the clear spring sky and discussing the most important issues facing the world.

“Superman would destroy Batman!” I say.

“Well, yeah, but Batman has cooler stuff than Superman. Including an awesome car. So Batman would pick up more girls than Superman,” Pickle argues.

“When did picking up girls become more important than saving the freaking world?” I ask, knowing the answer but testing my buddy.

“I didn’t say it is more important. It’s just... uh... something to think about,” Pickle stutters.

“Well, I pick up girls all the time,” I lie.Immediately I think, Why did I say that?

Pickle sits up, laughing. “How do you pick up girls? You don’t even ride a bike!”

I sit up too, but don’t turn to face him. “I don’t pick up girls, but I could if I wanted to.”

“Really? Who then?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about it. I was just wondering, Superman.” Pickle snickers, wiping his nose.

“And I’m not riding a bike because bikes are for kids!” I snap, raising my voice, still looking away.

Tears of frustration sting my eyes, and I wipe them away before Pickle can see.

After I was fitted with my prosthesis, I came home and tried to ride my bike. I could do it, but something didn’t feel right. It wasn’t like it was before the accident. A lot of things aren’t like they used to be.

So I parked the bike in the garage and tried to forget about it.

I tried to forget about a lot of things.

We lie back down on the porch. This time, neither of us says anything, we’re both lost in our own thoughts.

“Pickle?” I say, breaking the silence. “I want to explore the second floor.”

“Yeah, me too,” Pickle answers. “Maybe tomorrow we can…”

“No. Tonight.”

Pickle sits up again. “Are you nuts? What if we get caught? What if Pops wakes up and finds us gone?”

I sit up too. “What if, what if, what if? You saw how your grandfather acted when we asked if we could go up there. He’ll never let us! We have to do it tonight! We can see the store from here!”

I point in the shop’s direction, as Pickle follows my finger while wiping his nose.

Quietly, Pickle says, “We need to get the keys and a flashlight.”

***

The Tohopkas are scurrying about, preparing for their nightly harvest of acorns, pecans, and berries. Along with food, the creatures collect anything useful they can carry back, paperclips, cups, sticks, fabric, etc. The camp even has two iPhones in it.

The second floor of Dr. Dill’s shop is one large, open room. Their camp is concealed behind a wall of boxes stacked floor to ceiling, filled with antiques. Inside, the Tohopka camp consists of round, igloo-type huts made of sticks and mud. Each hut is simple, with one door and a couple of windows. The huts surround a raised mound of packed dirt, about a foot high off the wooden floor, with grass growing on top.

In the center of the mound, a small stone oven has been built where nuts are roasted and Tohopkas gather to gossip and sing ancient songs about their history.

Adoeeta gives the nightly orders to his small tribe.

“Tsula, you and Malia go and find us some string tonight,” he says. “We’re running low.”

“String? String is going to get tangled and make me trip,” Malia grumbles, arms crossed. His large bottom lip pokes out in a constant pout, and his bushy eyebrows are always set in a scowl.

“Now, Malia,” Adoeeta says, patting his shoulder. “We all have our part in the gathering each night.” The wise Adoeeta knows how to handle each of his tribe members.

“I know,” Malia says, moving a small pebble on the floor with his toes. “At least I have Tsula with me.”

Tsula walks up behind them. “Thank you, ole boy! We’ll find that string and have it back to camp in no time!”Tsula is the best gatherer in the tribe. Whether it’s string, buttons, nuts, or berries, if it’s out there, Tsula will find it.

Adoeeta moves on to the next crew.

“Where is Tooantuh?” he asks.

“Here I am!”

Tooantuh suddenly appears from between some boxes, running up to his chief. Before he reaches him, he does a somersault and snaps to attention.

Adoeeta laughs. “Oh, Tooantuh, so full of energy. Save some of that for tonight’s gathering.”

“Yes, sir!” Tooantuh barks, still at attention.

“You and Coahoma are to gather acorns under the oak trees at the church.”

“Tooantuh, if you run off like you did last time, I’m going to wring your little neck!” Coahoma warns.

Unlike most of the tribe, whose coats are brown or black, Coahoma’s is a dark red, even his ears have a reddish tint. The color matches his temperament. Coahoma is the hothead of the tribe, even though he’s never been in a real fight. Like most of the tribe, he wears a leather vest, but he also sports a leather belt holding a wooden club that he often pulls out and swings through the air. No one pays it much attention, they all know his kind heart lies somewhere deep down.

Adoeeta continues. “Chapawee.”

“Yes, Adoeeta,” the Tohopka replies, turning from his workbench. He’s nearsighted and wears goggles that make his eyes appear twice their actual size. The tribe’s engineer is constantly tinkering at his desk, inventing things to improve life for his beloved people.

“I need you and Pa’Akanti to harvest more mushrooms tonight.”

“I’ll help Chapawee real good,” Pa’Akanti says, bounding over to his friend.

“Adoeeta, I have a new mushroom harvester I’d like to try out?” Chapawee asks.

“Of course you can,” Adoeeta replies.

“I’ll tote it for you!” Pa’Akanti says excitedly, racing toward the contraption.

“Pa’Akanti! Pa’Akanti! You can wear it, but let me put it on you first!” Chapawee exclaims nervously, stopping his strong but clumsy friend.

Chu’si appears from the shadows of the camp.

“The large buffoon almost wrecked another one of your little inventions,” he sneers. The prideful Tohopka straightens his tuxedo jacket as he waits for Adoeeta to respond.

“Be kind whenever it is possible, Chu’si. It is always possible,” Adoeeta says. Chu’si looks down and traces a line in the dirt with his toes.

“Here, Pa’Akanti, let me show you how to wear the mushroom harvester,” Chapawee says, ignoring Chu’si as he slinks back into the shadows.

The mushroom harvester’s flat shovel is attached to a set of pipes that rest on Pa’Akanti’s broad shoulders. Cables run from the shovel to a pulley system operated by Pa’Akanti.

The harvester fits perfectly.

“You’re going to be the best mushroom harvester the Tohopkas have ever seen,” Chapawee says.

Pa’Akanti grins wide enough to show his sharp white teeth.

“Be careful and bring us home some delicious mush—”

Adoeeta’s words are cut short as he snaps his head toward the door.

“Tohopkas, hide!” he warns. “I hear the people approaching!

Tohopkas all have a keen sense of hearing. They have listened and secretly watched Zach and Pickle through the antique store’s air conditioning vents for years. What they don’t know, is why the two boys are at the antique shop at this late hour.