Don't Let the Wind Catch You (LeGarde Mysteries Book 6)

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  I nodded as if it made sense, but the last thing on my mind was William and his ankle. Millie walked across the kitchen without the usual hitch in her step. I flopped into a chair. "You're walking better today."

  She took the pitcher from the Frigidaire and poured two tall glasses. "Here you go, son." A plate of cookies magically appeared in front of me. "And yes. I'm walking pretty well today. It's up and down, you know."

  I wolfed down three cookies and covered a burp. "'Scuse me."

  "Better?" she asked.

  I nodded and wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve. "Much. Thanks. We went to the funeral this morning, and my dad had to drop me off right after. So I didn't get my lunch."

  "Oh, honey! You should have said something earlier."

  I gobbled another cookie. "The funeral was pretty weird. It was in St. Mary's."

  She nibbled at a cookie. "A little different from our church, isn't it?"

  "Yeah. And we saw Mrs. Brown with her brother. My parents were pretty shocked." I drained my glass. "And so was I."

  "Oh! You didn't know Zachariah and Eudora were siblings?"

  I shook my head. "Nope. Neither did my folks."

  Millie's gaze fell to her hands. "I see."

  "Millie? Can't you please tell me why they hate Mr. Tully so much? He's the nicest guy in the world. I'm sure he wouldn't have hurt them in any way."

  Her eyes softened. "Oh, honey. He didn't hurt them."

  "Then what happened?" I beseeched her with my eyes. "Please tell me."

  She issued a soft sigh, got up to check the driveway, and sat down again. "Okay. I'll tell you some. But you must promise not to bring it up to your parents."

  "Okay."

  "Is it a deal? You swear?"

  "I swear."

  "All right." Millie sat back in her chair. Her shoulders slumped and she started to knead one hand with the other. "You know your grandfather was a doctor, right?"

  I looked at her as if she were crazy. "No. I didn't. He was in the war. I knew that."

  "Right. But when he came back, he went to school and got a medical degree."

  "Wow. How come I didn't know that?"

  She shook her head. "I'm not sure. Maybe because it's too painful a memory for your mother."

  "Why?"

  "Zachariah's parents came back from one of their exotic haunts to Egypt, or Nigeria, or the Amazon—I can't remember which it was that time—they brought back a bad sickness to East Goodland."

  "I heard about that. That's what Mr. Tully's parents died from, right?"

  "Right. But it wasn't just his parents that had it. Both Tully and Eudora caught it, too."

  "Holy cow."

  "Right. Zak and Eudora were both getting graduate degrees in Rochester, but they moved home to care for their parents when they got sick. Both were infected in days. Everyone started calling it the Genesee Valley fever, after the sickness that wiped out whole families in the late 1700s. The Tullys' home was quarantined, and folks were warned to stay away."

  "Then what?"

  "In spite of your grandmother and mother's pleas, your grandfather insisted on treating the Tullys. He set up a cot there and stayed for weeks, so he wouldn't bring the illness back to your family. Your grandmother threatened to leave him if he went, but he said he had to do it. The Hippocratic Oath, don't-you-know."

  I tented my fingers. "He was really brave."

  "He was. And although Mr. and Mrs. Tully didn't pull through—the illness was too far advanced by the time he arrived—he saved Zachariah and Eudora."

  "Then what was the problem? He did good, right?"

  "Right. But then he got sick. He died from the fever, Gus. Because he helped the Tullys."

  I stared at the chickens and roosters on Millie's wallpaper.

  So that was it. Marlowe Wright died saving Tully and his sister. And my grandmother and mother could never forgive him for it. Or Tully, for living when Marlowe hadn't.

  It was the most unfair thing I'd ever heard. Tully couldn't help surviving the fever. Nor could Mrs. Brown. But they had, and my grandfather had saved them. I felt inordinately proud of him. He'd been a hero. A true hero. I shook my head, grabbed another cookie, and turned to Millie. "Thank you. I feel better knowing. But you said there was more, right? Can you tell me? I promise not to tell."

  She stood up and faced the window. "Some day, dear. I promise. But right now you'd best get started on the lawn."

  I gave up the quest, happy with the knowledge I had. It explained a lot. "Okay." With a much lighter heart, I stepped outside to mow the lawn during the hottest part of the day.

  Chapter Thirty

  My father rolled into the Stones' driveway at four thirty. I lay outside under the towering American Yellowwood tree, watching the dried pods from this year's blossoms chitter in the wind. Although I'd taken a hundred drinks from the hose during my grueling stint under the blazing sun, I still thought I might die from exposure. Millie had checked on me a few times, but then had gone inside to lie down.

  The car windows were wide open. "Come on, son. Time to go." He said it as if I hadn't been waiting for the past half hour for him to pick me up.

  "Dad. I'm going to die of heat exhaustion. When can we get a pool?"

  He watched me climb in beside him and chuckled. "I'd say when Hell freezes over, but your mother would kill me."

  I gawked at him as if he'd grown two heads. Had he really said the double hockey stick word?

  He grinned and patted my knee. "Sorry, son. Must be the heat. But we can't afford a pool. How about we set up the sprinkler?"

  I sighed. That sounded good. Anything to get the sticky, cloying clothes off my back and feel cool water rinsing away the grimy salt on my skin. "Okay."

  A brown paper bag sat between us. He nudged it toward me while backing out of the Stone's driveway. "Here. I got you something."

  My heart flipped. A present? "What? It's not my birthday." I reached for the bag in spite of my protests. "What is it?"

  "Open it."

  I tore into the bag. A rectangular package slid into my hands. At first I thought it might be a small model kit, but with a start I realized it was some kind of little radio. It looked like those the waitresses at my grandparents' camp had been listening to last summer.

  "It's a transistor radio. The newest thing. You can listen to your station while you're outside. No need to plug it in."

  I pried open the box and slid the turquoise plastic device into my trembling hands. A nine-volt battery fell out of the bag when my father turned the corner, and I fingered a white wire with a tiny plug on one end and something that looked like it went in your ear on the other.

  "That's for listening in the car, when your mother and I are talking. Or at night, when you're falling asleep."

  My mouth dropped open. I felt like I'd been given admission to some secret club, and I hadn't even had to go through the initiation. It was a windfall. "Keen, Dad." It was all I could manage.

  "Go ahead. Try it. The battery goes in that little compartment, right there. The door slides open." He watched while I fumbled with it. "There you go. Now plug the battery into that little cap."

  I did as he instructed, and thumbed the switch to the "on" position. A grating buzz erupted.

  "Turn it down with the little wheel. See?" He motioned to the volume control and then the tuner. "Now rotate that big one and look for your station."

  I lowered the volume and started to search for music.

  "Go ahead and plug in the ear phone, son."

  I did as he suggested and realized he'd probably be asking me the same thing a thousand times in the future. With a smile, I settled down in the comfy seat and sped through the channels. Finally, I located the station in Rochester that had just started playing the latest songs from England. The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and all my favorite bands were broadcast all hours of the day and night. I adjusted the wheel to get a crisp sound, and turned up the volume.

  "Satisfaction,"
by The Stones, whooshed into my ear and brain with a sound that filled my entire being with longing. I wasn't quite sure what it was I yearned for, but it felt almost illegal. My insides churned with delight and I even forgot how hot I was. The driving beat resonated in my body, producing primal, aching sensations. I looked up suddenly at my father, embarrassed that I'd been drawn into such exotic feelings while driving in the family car. But he just whistled a soundless tune and kept his eyes on the road.

  I pulled the earpiece out for a minute. "Thanks, Dad. It's the coolest. I can't wait to show the twins."

  His face softened, and he reached over to ruffle my hair. "You're welcome, son. You're a good boy. You deserve this."

  I smiled, replaced the earpiece, and settled back to listen. I wondered if my father had simply had the urge to buy me a present, or if he'd been trying to make up for the weirdness of how my mother had acted earlier. Either way, I didn't care. I was in Heaven.

  When we arrived home, I was startled to see Mrs. Brown's car pulled up by the porch. She and my mother sat on the glider, glasses of lemonade in hand. Mrs. Brown had changed out of her black dress and veiled hat, and wore a dark blue skirt and white blouse instead.

  My father parked the car and stared for a minute.

  "Why's she here, Dad?" I didn't mean it as an accusation. I was simply curious.

  "I've no idea, son. Let's find out."

  When we approached, our guest stood as if to leave. "Hello, André. Hello, Gus."

  My mother set her lemonade on the metal table and rose. She didn't look upset, which I figured meant she'd collected herself from the shock of discovering that Tully was Mrs. Brown's brother. "Hello, men. Eudora stopped by with a wonderful surprise."

  I climbed and perched on the top step after saying hello. Another surprise? Two in one day?

  Mrs. Brown's face still looked blotchy and red, and her eyes were swollen. I felt awful that she'd felt the need to come visit on the same day as her husband's funeral.

  She reached a hand to my father, who stopped on the bottom step, and spoke in a trembling voice. "I'm sorry to bother you; I know it's coming on dinner time. But I wanted to extend an offer to you as a token of my thanks."

  My father started to protest. "Eudora. Please."

  She tapped his hand. "Hush now. I heard through the grapevine that your family had to forgo your summer vacation in Maine this year. I found it very sad."

  My mother practically beamed. "She's made us an offer, André. A lovely offer."

  I wished they'd get to the point instead of beating around the bush. I came right out and asked. "What is it?"

  My impertinence earned a frown from my father and a hand on my shoulder.

  Mrs. Brown took a few steps forward and ran the back of her hand against my cheek. "You're a very good boy, Gustave. I've heard nice things about you."

  I panicked. Had Tully told her about the rescue? I knew I'd be killed if she revealed my secret.

  Before I could run for the hills, she gave me a look that spelled "confidante," and I relaxed. "I want to offer you and your family a week at my cottage in Onset. It's on the Cape. Are you familiar with it?"

  My father's eyes widened and he glanced upward to catch my mother's eye. "Oh, my. Onset?"

  My mother nodded. "Yes, dear. Isn't it lovely? Onset is glorious this time of year. Nice and cool, too. And Gus, you can walk outside the cottage and go swimming in the ocean."

  A huge grin blossomed across my face. Swimming. It was like I'd wished it into being. "Neato! Thank you, Mrs. Brown." I jumped up to hug her, then hesitated. Should one hug a person who's just buried their husband? I wasn't sure and pulled back.

  She saw my confusion and reached out both arms to me. "Come here, young man. I need a good hug."

  While she pulled me close, she whispered in my ear. "Thank you for what you did for Zachariah. You're a brave young man."

  She held me at arms' length and teared up. "I always wanted a little boy. But it never happened for us."

  My mother's second nature kicked in. "Oh, Eudora. How sad." She slid one arm over Mrs. Brown's shoulder and the other over mine. "We'll share our boy with you. You can come visit any time. How's that sound?"

  Our guest's eyes moistened again. "It sounds divine. Thank you."

  Her arms slid from mine and she dabbed at her eyes with a white hanky that appeared suddenly from her sleeve. Without another word, she walked steadily toward the very car where her husband had died, slid behind the wheel, and slowly drove away. I watched until it disappeared around the wooded corner, and headed inside to wash up for dinner.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  "Dinner's almost ready, men. Give me another half hour." My mother whisked into the kitchen and tied her apron around her waist. She hummed a happy tune and busied herself at the stove. A great weight lifted from my shoulders. My mother was back!

  I ran upstairs to my hot bedroom, turned on the window fan, and stripped off my shirt. With arms spread, I spoke to Shadow, who lay stretched out on my bed as if he were hot, too. "We're going on vacation, buddy. To Cape Cod!"

  He raised his head a fraction of an inch. That was it for his excitement level.

  "Anyway, I don't know when, but I'm sure you can come. We'll go running on the beach, and swimming, and it will be the coolest thing. I just wish the twins could come along."

  My father poked his head into the room. His necktie hung limp in his hand. "I don't see any reason why we couldn't invite the twins, Gus. They haven't had a vacation this year, either."

  My life was looking up. Way up. I whooped and hollered at no one in particular. "You mean it, Dad?"

  "Sure. As long as Mr. and Mrs. Marggrander are okay with it."

  "Wow!" I danced around the room, swinging my soggy shirt over my head. "Swimming!"

  He grinned. "I'm going to shower. I suggest you do the same. Or do you want the sprinkler on?"

  I shook my head. "Nah. Sprinklers are for babies. I'd rather swim in the ocean."

  He chuckled and wiped his forehead with a sleeve. "How about a cool nice bath, then?"

  "Okay."

  "See you downstairs in a little while. Your mother made something special."

  "I know. Lasagna."

  He shook his head. "She changed her mind. We didn't have enough mozzarella cheese. She decided on something new." He disappeared before I could ask what it was. I'd smelled something aromatic and spicy cooking in the kitchen, but had been too excited to inquire.

  With a thrill of excitement, I realized I could take a bath and listen to my radio at the same time. I hurried into my bathroom and opened the tap, then unwrapped a fresh cake of Ivory Soap, since my last bar had dwindled down to a sliver. Tossing it in the water, I set a fluffy striped towel on the toilet seat and stripped down. With a guilty look, I closed the bathroom door and locked it. I reached under my sink and took out a bottle of bubble soap my Grandmother Sarah had sent me two Christmases ago. I was embarrassed that my parents might see me, but loved making a big tub full of bubbles. I poured a generous dollop into the water and watched the suds rise. With deliberate care, I set up the transistor radio on the counter near the tub, but not near enough that it could be knocked into the basin. I turned up the volume and was greeted with the newest Sonny and Cher tune, "I Got You, Babe."

  When the tub was filled halfway, I slid into the warm sudsy water and lay down on my back. I let the tub fill more, and as it rose, my body floated. Legs and arms first, then head. I sucked in my breath and my whole body floated in ecstasy to the sound of "Mr. Tambourine Man," by The Byrds. The events of the past week flew through my brain, like an eight-millimeter movie going too fast. By the time I'd sung along with "I'm Henry the Eighth, I Am," by Herman's Hermits and "I Like it Like That," by The Dave Clark Five, I realized something important. I needed to see Tully before we disappeared on vacation. He might worry. And I needed to know he'd be okay without us.

  My mother rapped on the door, startling me. "Gus! Dinner's ready."

/>   I sat up with a start. "Uh. Okay, Mum. Be down in a jiffy."

  I dried my pruned body while singing along to "Downtown," by Petula Clark. Life was good again. I smiled at myself in the foggy mirror, jumped into clean clothes, and ran downstairs to the dining room.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  "They're called tacos." My mother brandished a large tray of U-shaped things that looked a bit like crackers. "They're made with corn, and folks eat them in Mexico all the time."

  I'd heard about them somewhere, but had never really pictured what they were. They smelled fantastic, and the hamburger mixture she scooped from the frying pan to the big yellow bowl smelled good, too. It looked like Sloppy Joe mix, but the seasonings had to be much more exotic, because I felt almost heady with excitement.

  "Here you go. Now see, I've chopped up these things to add to them like toppings." She pointed to the bowls lined up like little soldiers in a row. "Shredded cheese, black olives, pickles, tomatoes, lettuce. And this sauce here is to drizzle over the top."

  I stared at the conglomeration of food and could hardly wait to taste it. "So you pack it all inside that taco thingie?"

  "Yes," my mother said.

  I picked one up and sniffed. The aroma was tantalizing.

  We went to work. It was messy and slow going, but the crunch of the taco combined with the hot spicy filling topped with cold chopped condiments was so delicious, it brought me to a new level of gluttony.

  While I polished off my fifth taco, my mother and father chatted across the table about Onset.

  "When can you break away, dear?" My mother grabbed for another napkin. She'd managed to stay clean and not spill anything, which was more than I could say.

  "Let's see. It's Wednesday today. If I contact Lew at the Lakeville Pharmacy, I can probably get him to take over for my customers' prescriptions next week. I'll have to have a few days to call them all to tell them I won't be in town."

  "I can help you with that, André." My mother's eyes sparkled. She seemed so much like her regular self, I almost cried with relief.