Yours Truly

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  Hatcher and I exchanged a glance over Lauren’s head. He lifted an eyebrow. I knew exactly what he was thinking. He was thinking that if our parents got wind of this—if Lieutenant Colonel Jericho T. Lovejoy got wind of this, to be exact—we’d be grounded until we were thirty. Lauren had us over a barrel, and she knew it.

  “Fine,” I snapped at my sister. “You can come along. But I don’t want to hear a word out of you, understand? Not a single word.”

  She held up a finger to her lips and nodded.

  Making a big show of turning my back on her, I looked at my friends. “Let’s go.”

  My brother took over the lead as we continued up the trail. Dad said Hatcher was a natural leader, and it was true. I hadn’t spent much time with him lately, and it was nice to have him along. My brother and I used to be inseparable, but ever since the move to Pumpkin Falls, things had been different, especially now that wrestling season and swim team were in full swing. Practically the only time I got to see Hatcher anymore was at the dinner table.

  Fifteen minutes later he held up a closed fist. I stopped abruptly, and my friends all piled into me.

  “What’s the matter with you, Truly Drooly?” Scooter demanded.

  “Don’t call me that!” I shot back. “And what’s the matter with you—don’t you ever watch movies?” We Lovejoy kids had known the military hand signals since we were still being pushed around in strollers. I held up a closed fist. “It means ‘stop,’ duh.”

  Scooter reddened and opened his mouth to retort. Before he could, though, my brother shushed him.

  “Zip it,” he said. “We’re about to pass Coach Maynard’s place, and he’s got a dog.”

  I’d forgotten about that. We all fell silent as we snuck past Maynard’s Maple Barn. A few minutes later we reached the edge of the Freeman family’s property.

  Franklin must have been watching for us, because he stepped out of the shadows almost immediately. “Hey, guys,” he whispered, motioning us over. “Thanks for coming. My dad and I found more evidence of tampering today. It looks like the sap rustler is still at large.”

  As quietly as we could, we followed him single file to the spot where we’d been photographed yesterday morning by the Pumpkin Falls Patriot-Bugle.

  “This is where we’ll set up, then,” said Scooter, putting his camera bag down. He unzipped it and rummaged inside, pulling out a video camera, a funny-looking tripod, and several attachments.

  “It’s freezing out here!” Mackenzie complained, hopping from one foot to the other.

  “Cold nights plus warm days equal a good sap run, remember?” Franklin told her, moving closer and rubbing her nearest arm briskly.

  Leaving his camera bag, Scooter sprang into action too, and began rubbing Mackenzie’s other arm.

  “Thanks, y’all,” said my cousin, as a beet-faced Lucas shifted from one foot to another, looking for an opening. Only Calhoun was oblivious; he was too busy examining the surveillance equipment.

  The corner of my brother’s mouth quirked up as he watched my friends. He looked over at me, and I stifled a giggle. I might not be seeing a lot of Hatcher these days, but at least our sibling shorthand was still working loud and clear. One of the things I liked best about my brother was that the same things strike us funny. That and the fact that we rarely even had to say a word to know what the other was thinking. And right now, we were both thinking that my classmates were completely twitterpated.

  “How does this thing work?” asked Calhoun, who was still fiddling with the camera equipment.

  Scooter pried himself reluctantly away from Mackenzie and picked up the tripod.

  “See these flexible legs? You can wrap them around just about anything,” he told us, demonstrating on a nearby branch. Once the tripod was secure, he attached the camera and angled it so that it pointed directly at the maple tree in question. “I’ve already programmed in my cell phone number.” He glanced over to check and see if Mackenzie was impressed, and she smiled at him in encouragement. “Let’s give it a test.” He pressed a button on the camera, and a second later his cell phone vibrated. “Check it out!” he crowed. We clustered around him, and he showed us the image that had just been sent.

  “That’s really awesome,” said my brother.

  “How long will it record for?” I asked.

  “For as long as it senses activity,” Scooter said.

  “What if the battery wears out?” Mackenzie wanted to know.

  “It won’t. The camera only comes on when something’s actually moving.” Scooter pointed to a small attachment that perched on top of the camera. “See? That’s a motion detector.”

  “So now what?” asked Lucas.

  “Now we wait,” Scooter replied.

  “Here?”

  “Weren’t you paying attention, Winthrop? The camera will send the video feed directly to my cell phone, so we can all go home. I’ll let you know the minute it alerts me to any activity.”

  Franklin dropped us off at the edge of the path leading back to town, and we said good night and squelched off into the forest. The walk home seemed longer. We were all tired and cold. Lauren had kept her promise and hadn’t said a word, but her teeth were chattering audibly. I glanced back at her. The little moron had run out of the house with only a sweatshirt on. I felt a prickle of guilt. I should probably give her my jacket, I thought. She was my sister, after all.

  Before I could do it, though, Calhoun beat me to it.

  I looked at him in surprise. His eyes met mine, and he shrugged and looked away. Cool on the outside, marshmallow on the inside, I thought. That was part of the mysterious equation that was Romeo Calhoun.

  “I am so not looking forward to swim practice tomorrow morning,” said Mackenzie, who was shivering despite all of the arm rubbing earlier.

  “Me neither,” said Lucas.

  Mackenzie looked over at me, a hopeful expression on her face. “Maybe we could skip it?”

  “You could get away with it, but not me,” I told her. “Dad would never let me skip.”

  “What if you told him you were sick?”

  Hatcher snorted. “He knows every trick in the book.”

  “We’ll just have to power through,” I said, and Mackenzie made a face. I could see my brother grinning at us in the darkness.

  “Gotta think like a wrestler,” he said. “No pain, no gain.”

  Mackenzie groaned.

  A few minutes later we reached the corner of Maple and Hill Streets.

  “Don’t forget to text us if the camera picks anything up,” I whispered to Scooter.

  “I won’t.”

  My classmates vanished into the darkness. Hatcher and Mackenzie and Lauren and I turned down Maple Street and headed for home.

  “Uh-oh,” I said as we drew closer. The lights in the kitchen were on, and I could clearly see my parents sitting at the table. Aunt True and Professor Rusty were with them. “Do you think they noticed we were gone?”

  “I hope not,” said Hatcher.

  “There’s no way we’re going to be able to sneak past them!” Mackenzie had a panicked look on her face. “Uncle Jericho will probably put me on the first plane home.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got your six,” my brother assured me, using Dad’s military-speak for “I’ve got your back.” “You guys go wait in the bushes by the front door. Give me a minute or two, and I’ll let you in.”

  “You’re going to get caught!” I protested.

  He flashed me one of his sunflower smiles. “I’ll just tell them I went for a run.”

  Mackenzie and Lauren and I did as Hatcher told us to. Sure enough, a minute later the front door opened a crack and he motioned us inside.

  “Piece of cake,” he whispered.

  There was a burst of laughter from the kitchen. The three of us darted past him and started upstairs. Lauren and I automatically remembered to avoid the creaky step, but it let out a screech as Mackenzie stepped on it. We all froze.

  “H
atcher?” my mother called.

  “Yes, Mom?”

  “Hurry up and get to bed—you need your rest for wrestling tomorrow.”

  “Just heading up now!” Hatcher called back.

  “And don’t wake the girls.”

  Hatcher grinned at us. “Too late,” he whispered, and we grinned back at him.

  The four of us tiptoed the rest of the way up as quickly and as quietly as we could.

  “Let me know if you hear anything from Scooter,” Hatcher murmured, and I nodded as he disappeared down the hall toward the third-floor stairs.

  I took Calhoun’s coat from Lauren and made sure she went directly to her room. I didn’t want her sneaking back downstairs and double-crossing us. Back in my room, Mackenzie and I changed into our pajamas. My cousin flopped down onto the air mattress with a contented sigh.

  “I’m exhausted!” she said. “That was fun, though.”

  “Yeah,” I replied, crawling under the covers. “I hope Scooter’s scheme works.”

  “Do you think Professor Rusty brought the diary back?”

  At the bookshop earlier today, he’d about jumped out of his skin when we showed everyone the diary and told them what Gramps had said. He’d begged us to let him take it over to the college so his colleagues in the history department could examine it. My parents agreed only after he promised to bring it right back.

  “Want to go downstairs and check?” I asked.

  “I’m too tired,” my cousin said, her eyes already shut.

  I threw off the covers. “I’ll go. Back in a flash.”

  I yawned and rubbed my eyes as I entered the kitchen, feigning sleepiness. “I heard voices,” I said in my best you-just-woke-me-up voice. “What’s going on?”

  “Sorry, honey. We didn’t meant to wake you,” my mother replied. She glanced over my shoulder. “Or you, Lauren.”

  I turned to see that Little Miss Tagalong had followed me downstairs. She gave me a smug look, then pretended to yawn too. I glared at her.

  “Just too much excitement around here today!” said Aunt True, smiling at us both.

  “Is that the diary?” Lauren’s gaze was riveted to the small blue leather-bound book that lay open on the kitchen table in front of my aunt. “The one Truly told us about at dinner?”

  “It is indeed!” said Professor Rusty. His wild halo of hair was wilder than usual, as if he’d been running his hands through it a lot in excitement today. Which he probably had.

  “Professor Rusty and his colleagues think your ancestor’s diary is credible evidence of an Underground Railroad operation here in Pumpkin Falls!” my mother told us. “Isn’t that thrilling, girls?” Her eyes were shining. Her professor’s love of history was clearly contagious.

  “ ‘Packages’ is definitely Underground Railroad code for runaway slaves,” Professor Rusty had told us back at the bookshop, after I’d read a couple of the passages Gramps had told me to share. “This is amazing!”

  Aunt True had immediately put the CLOSED sign up on the door.

  “I don’t know about you all, but I have goose bumps,” she’d announced. “I need to see where you found the diary right this minute.”

  “No need to close the shop, True,” my father had told her. “I’ll man the fort.”

  “You will not! This is a Big Moment in Lovejoy History, and you need to be there too, J. T.”

  My mother nodded and linked her arm through my father’s good one. “True is right. We’re all going home.”

  Outnumbered, my father had shrugged, placed a sticky note on the door that said Back in an hour—“just so we don’t miss out on too many customers”—and followed us to the minivan, where we all piled in for the short drive back to Gramps and Lola’s house.

  “I just can’t believe it,” Aunt True kept saying as Mackenzie and I showed off the loose floorboard in my closet and the crevice beneath it where the diary had been hidden. “All those years when this was my bedroom—it was right here waiting!”

  Now, standing in the kitchen, I was glad that Professor Rusty had kept his promise. I very much wanted to find out what happened to the original Truly. I reached out to pick the diary up.

  Lauren beat me to it.

  “I want a turn too,” she said, snatching it away.

  “Lauren! I was the one who found it!” I tried to tug it away from her, but she gripped it tighter.

  “Girls!” said my mother, sounding shocked. “Be careful!”

  “Put the diary down this minute.” The warning note in my father’s voice meant business.

  “Historical artifacts require special handling,” Professor Rusty added anxiously as I let go, and Lauren reluctantly set the small blue book back on the table. Professor Rusty slanted a disapproving glance at the two of us, then turned to my parents. “I highly recommend that the diary remain at the college for safekeeping. There are professionals on staff who will know how best to preserve the fragile pages. Plus, our curator has offered to have it transcribed. That way, scholars and researchers can read it too. This is a find of major historical significance, and deserves a wide audience.”

  Aunt True must have seen the crestfallen expression on my face, because she said, “It’s an important historical artifact, Rusty, true, but it’s also a family heirloom, and one with a direct connection to me, and to my niece and namesake. We’d like a chance to read it first. All of us.”

  “True, you don’t under—”

  “Erastus Peckinpaugh,” said my aunt, pulling herself up to her full height. Which is the same as me—six feet tall—and impressive, at least when she does it. “You can wait another day or two.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Professor Rusty replied meekly.

  I smothered a smile. Lieutenant Colonel Jericho T. Lovejoy himself had nothing on my aunt when she was in full boss mode.

  Aunt True looked over at me again. “If you want access to the diary, Truly, there’s a condition.”

  “Fine. What?”

  “Lauren gets to read it with you.”

  I groaned. “Aunt True! No! She’ll ruin everything.”

  “Truly!” said my mother, shocked. She gave me that look she always gives me when I disappoint her.

  I hurtled on, oblivious. “It’s true, Mom! Ever since Mackenzie got here, all Lauren’s done is get in the way. She never leaves us alone! She’s a total pest.”

  “I am not!” my sister protested. “You’re the mean one—you don’t want to let me do anything with you! Mackenzie is my cousin too!”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want you around either—did you ever think of that?” The words came flying out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  Lauren’s brown eyes filled with tears. “I hate you!” she shouted. “Cross my heart and hope to fly! And I’m going to tell—”

  “That’s enough!” said my father severely.

  We Lovejoys know an order when we hear one. The room fell silent. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth hurt. If Lauren spilled the beans about what the Pumpkin Falls Private Eyes had done tonight, I’d—I’d—I didn’t know what I would do.

  “So,” I said after a long moment, “can I take the diary back upstairs with me?”

  “May I take it,” said my mother automatically, “and not a chance. Not after that outburst.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” said my father firmly. “It remains to be seen whether you get to read any more of it at all. We should probably just give it to Rusty and be done with it.” He pointed toward the hall. “To bed. Both of you. Now.”

  Lauren heaved one of her dramatic sighs, shot me a murderous look, and stomped out of the room. I was tempted to do the same, but figured if I wanted a chance at the diary again I’d better watch my step.

  “Yes, sir,” I said meekly, and went back upstairs.

  CHAPTER 18

  I awoke to the sound of rain.

  Rolling over, I gazed at the droplets spattering the nearest window and saw that Mackenzie was awake too.

>   “You’re up early,” I told her.

  “Yeah,” she replied. “I think I’m finally getting over the jet lag.” She sat up. “So what was going on downstairs last night? I was too tired to come see.”

  I filled her in on my argument with Lauren—leaving out the part I still regretted saying—and Aunt True’s ultimatum about reading the diary with my sister. “If we even get to read it, that is,” I finished glumly. “My dad was pretty steamed at Lauren and me. He may have given it back to Professor Rusty already.”

  But when we went downstairs a few minutes later, the diary was still on the kitchen table.

  “Power bar?” my father said nonchalantly, as if nothing had happened.

  “Thanks,” I replied, taking one. I looked at the diary. I wondered if I should mention it or just wait for my father to bring it up.

  He didn’t, though. He just grabbed his keys and headed out to the car.

  “Calhoun’s jacket!” Mackenzie exclaimed as we started to follow. “Weren’t we going to return it after swim practice? Hang on, I’ll go back upstairs and get it.”

  When we got to the pool, we found Coach Maynard in a grumpy mood again. He didn’t greet us in his usual cheerful manner, but just paced up and down silently on the pool deck, arms folded across his chest as we completed the warm-up.

  “Coach stopped by Lou’s this morning for coffee,” Lucas whispered to Mackenzie and me between sets of crunches. “The Farnsworths were there, and I overheard them talking. I guess he found more sap lines cut. Mom said the Freemans did too.”

  “Did you hear anything from Scooter?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Nope. You?”

  I shook my head too.

  “Pipe down over there!” hollered Coach Maynard. “Save your breath for the workout.”

  It was a punishing one, almost as if our swim coach was taking out his frustration by making us practice extra hard.

  I trudged my way through the sets of intervals and sprints. Up and back, up and back, I churned down my lane in one unending, uninspired slog. Most days swimming cleared my thoughts, but this morning they stayed a stubborn jumble: Truly and Matthew. Scooter’s ambush. Calhoun. Mackenzie. The severed sap lines. My pest of a sister.