"Read it," I said.
"'Afar their bones may lie, but here their patriot blood baptized the land for aye and widened freedom's flood.'" She turned to us with confusion in her eyes. "What's that mean?"
"They tortured and buried Boyd and Parker in Cuylerville. Remember the plaque that marks where the ‘torture tree' used to be?"
Siegfried nodded. "It's a park now, right?"
"Right. And I think they buried their bodies there, but they were first attacked and captured here. So they spilled their blood on this ground." I looked at the grass beneath my feet and imagined it stained with blood. "And their bones lie far from here, across the valley."
Siegfried smiled. "Nice job. And the analogy of ‘freedom' to a flooding river is rather interesting. ‘Freedom's flood.' I like that."
Elsbeth touched my arm. "It's so horrible. And I don't know who to feel the sorriest for, the soldiers who were slaughtered, or the Indians whose villages were burned."
A vision of orchards being chopped down, homes and fields burned, and children murdered raced across my mind's eye. I felt sick to my stomach. "I think I feel sorriest for the Indians. They were here first."
Elsbeth piped up. "But they attacked and massacred the settlers. Why couldn't they all just have gotten along? I don't understand."
Siegfried stroked his chin. "Violence breeds violence."
We listened to his words with hands clasped in front of us and heads bowed.
"Amen," Elsbeth said. "But we still don't know how Penni died."
I took her hand. "Or why she's still hanging around here."
Siegfried broke the spell first. "Maybe Mr. Stone will know something. Aren't you supposed to mow their lawn again soon, Gus?"
I headed for the horses, deep in thought. "Huh? What?"
"Mow their lawn? Aren't you supposed to do that pretty soon?"
"Yeah. Day after tomorrow, Wednesday."
"Good. Then you can ask him about it. See if he knows about Penaki. And who used to live in the old house."
"Good idea. I will."
Elsbeth's limp had worsened. I offered to give her a leg up onto Golden Boy and she accepted with a demure smile. "Thanks, Gus."
With a gentle upward motion, I lifted her to his back. She landed lightly and pulled her hair behind her ear. "Beat you back to Sullivan Hill."
I tamped down the little thrill that crept into my heart and swung onto Pancho's back. "Not if I get there first."
Siegfried turned Frisbee's head toward the white fence and pavilion. He dug his heels into the gelding's side and got a head start, laughing hysterically. "I'm going to beat both of you!"
With an inward shudder to shake off the images of the men who'd died on the turf beneath Pancho's thudding hooves, I pushed my steed fast and leaned forward, flipping the long reins from one side of his neck to the other. "Hyah!"
We barreled along the dirt road, back up past the cemetery, and onto Barber Hill. After a brief stop to check the traffic on Maple Beach Road, we bolted into a gallop again. When we reached the cut-off point near the Marggranders' driveway, I pulled back just a little bit. I'd let her win. This time.
Chapter Twenty
That night, I lay on the braided rug in the living room and stroked Shadow's ears, wondering if there were dog ghosts, and if some day when the horrible, unthinkable, unimaginable day came, he would come back and visit me. Maybe poke me with his cold ghostly nose, or shake his tags and make a tinkling sound. He rolled over on his back and wiggled his legs, begging for a tummy rub. I obliged, vigorously scrubbing my fingers all over his white underbelly.
My father was deeply engrossed in his book, another Agatha Christie novel, and my mother hummed Polly Wolly Doodle while she finished up the dishes in the kitchen.
I turned to my father. "Dad?"
He raised his eyes over his reading glasses. "Yes, son?"
His voice resonated with kindness, but I could tell he was in a good place in his book and hated leaving it. It was funny how just two little words could imply so much. I asked my question, anyway. "Do you believe in ghosts?"
He issued a barely perceptible sigh, slid a bookmark in to save his place, and leaned forward to ruffle my hair. "I loved listening to ghost stories around the campfire when I was a Boy Scout."
I rolled over to lean on one elbow and persisted. "No. I mean real ghosts. Do you think they exist?"
He sifted through his thoughts for a few seconds as if weighing a very important question. "I guess it's possible, son, but I've never actually seen one. Why do you ask?"
I knew I'd been forbidden to talk to Tully, so I didn't dare tell the truth. I turned back to Shadow and smoothed the whiskers around his snout. "No reason. Just curious."
My mother peeked in from the kitchen, through the alcove that separated two rooms. "I love Casper, that friendly little ghost. He's adorable."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, Mum. He's just a cartoon." I didn't want to admit it in front of them, but I secretly loved Casper, too.
She wiped her hands on her apron, untied it, and hung it over the back of a kitchen chair. "How's the book coming, André?"
"Really good. Hercule Poirot just discovered that—"
"Wait! Don't tell me. I want to read it next."
My father showed that special smile he kept just for her. "Okay, Gloria. Not another word from me."
Before she could respond, the phone rang. My mother unclipped her pearl button earring and scooped the phone to her free ear. "Hello?"
My father and I looked up with interest. We got a few calls a week, mostly from my father's parents in Maine.
"Eudora! Oh you poor dear, how are you managing?"
I got up and walked into the kitchen so I could hear better. A feeling of dread crept into my throat. She must be so devastated, so very lonely. I hated thinking about her pain. I didn't even know Mr. Brown, and it upset me more than I wanted to admit.
"Wednesday morning? Why, of course, we'll be there. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime? Do you need a ride? No? I planned to bake you a casserole and some cookies. Well, you think about it." She listened for a short time, then grabbed a pen and paper from the counter and scribbled. "Okay, got it. When things settle down for you, I'd like to invite you for dinner."
She twirled her hair on one finger and flashed a sad smile at me. "Okay, dear. We'll see you at St. Mary's."
In a flash I realized we were going to the funeral. In the abstract, I thought it would be a noble thing to do. But when faced with the reality of sitting in the church with a dead body nearby, I wanted to run for the hills.
"Gloria?" My father put his book down again, though I don't think he'd read a word since the phone rang. "How's Mrs. Brown doing?"
"As good as can be expected, I guess. The funeral is Wednesday at ten. Can you make it?"
He’d have to close the pharmacy to attend, but my father didn't hesitate. "Of course. We need to be there. It's only fitting."
My mother strode to my side as if fired up with the need to get things done. She ran her fingers through my hair and frowned. "We'll need to visit the barber tomorrow."
I frowned and pulled back. "No! It's just starting to get good, Mum."
My dad chuckled. "If we don't cut it soon, you're going to look like one of those crazy Beatles."
I grabbed both of my mother's hands and gave her my best puppy dog eyes. "Mum. Please? Please let me grow it out. I want it to look like Siegfried's. And if I could grow it as long as Paul McCartney's hair I'd be the happiest kid in the world!"
She frowned and slid her slender fingers through my hair again. "But it looks so messy."
"No! It's cool this way. You don't want me to be the only boy in school with an out-of-date crew cut, do you? Those went out of style in the fifties, for Heaven's sakes." I was pushing it a little. I'd never really had a crew cut, but I thought it might work.
She looked to my father for support. "André?"
He flipped a page in his mystery a
nd didn't even look up. "Whatever your mother decides, sport. It's up to her."
"But I'm twelve. Can't I decide how I look by myself yet?"
My mother's face softened. "I know you're twelve, honey. But—"
"Oh, Mum. Please? I'll wash the kitchen floor for you every week. I'll keep my room clean. I promise."
She grabbed me by the arms and pulled me to her, hugging me as if she was afraid I'd disappear and never come back. "Oh, Gus. What am I going to do with you?"
I looked up into her pretty face and grinned. "Let me grow my hair out?"
"My goodness, you're persistent. How about this? Let's get a tiny little trim tomorrow to even it out, but I'll tell the barber to let it stay a little longer each time. But if you start getting mistaken for one of those British mop tops, I'm going to make you cut it."
I whooped and hollered, ran around the room, almost did a cartwheel, but thought better of it. The last time I'd done that in the house I'd broken one of the globes on the chandelier. "Thanks, Mum."
"Well, all right. But we'll have to see if your black suit still fits you. If not, I'm going to have to bring you to Mr. Robert's tomorrow. I don't think there's another quarter inch to let out on those pants."
"He's growing fast, Gloria. Pretty soon he'll stand six feet tall and want an electric guitar for his birthday."
I looked from one to the other. "How did you know? That's exactly what I want! I want to play the Beatle's songs. The twins and I are going to learn all the lyrics, and sing in harmony."
My mother draped her arms around his shoulders. "The world's changing, André. And our little boy is changing with it."
He shook his head as if he disapproved, but his smile gave him away. "I know, dear. Guess we'll just have to adapt, huh?"
My birthday had passed several months ago, so I switched my tactic to Christmas. "A guitar is going to be at the top of my Christmas list. Is it too expensive?"
This time my father answered. "We can't afford an electric guitar, son. But maybe we could swing a second hand acoustic. You could learn to play like Segovia."
I tossed the idea around in my head. Some of the cooler folk singers had classical guitars, like Joan Baez and Bob Dylan. "Sure. That would be great."
I got up and yawned. Lately I'd been going up to bed extra early so I could read my Hardy Boys books before falling asleep. Watching my father so engrossed in his book made me want it even more. "Guess I'll head up."
Shadow jumped to his feet and ran to the foot of the stairs. I swore he understood English.
My father put his book down and held his arms out for a hug. I leaned down to kiss his cheek and hug him tight. He felt so strong and warm, and I never felt safer than when in his arms.
He finally released me, but held onto one of my hands. "You're really getting into that Hardy Boys, aren't you?"
I nodded. "Yeah. It's a great story."
"Well, don't forget your school reading list. You have to squeeze those books in, too."
"I know." I headed for the stairs. "I'll read them. Don't worry."
My mother threw me a kiss.
I turned to catch it.
"Sleep tight, honey. Don't let the bed bugs bite."
I climbed the stairs two at a time, following the white-tipped tail of my faithful hound. "I won't. G'night."
Chapter Twenty-one
I fell asleep around nine to images of jewel thieves and daring rescues. At five past two, I woke with a start.
The floor of the room was lit by moonlight, and the filmy curtains in the windows blew inward with the warm breeze. Shadow sat up in bed and sniffed the air, as if he, too, sensed something was amiss.
It started with a soft moan. I sat straight up and threw back the covers. “Who's there?"
With trembling fingers, I turned on my bedside lamp. My mouth and nose filled with the scent of peppermint.
The sound came again, but this time it almost seemed to resonate from inside my skull.
Tully. Help Tully.
"What?"
Help Tully. Help Tully. Help Tully.
I stood up and looked in the closet, then poked my head out the window. No one stood on the roof or below my window. The words came again, but this time accompanied by a quick flashing vision of the abandoned house. It was as if someone had aimed a super-eight-movie projector on the inside of my eyes, but only for a second.
Blood roared in my ears, and I felt all tingly. "Penni?"
The curtains rose and took the shape of a young woman, revealing the outline of her lips, nose, and forehead. The fabric moved in and out, as if she were breathing. Right there in my bedroom.
I rubbed my eyes to be sure I wasn't still dreaming, and approached the curtain. "Penni?"
A hand reached out from behind the gauze material, and almost touched mine. Help Tully. Now.
I touched my fingers to the curtain, but it fell down before I could rub my fingers against it. Before I could think too hard about what I was doing, I rushed to the chair beside my bed and grabbed my clothes from the day before. In seconds, I'd jumped into them. I tiptoed past my parent's bedroom in my socks, and then hastily scribbled a note to them on the pad of paper in the kitchen.
"Went for an early morning ride. Back for lunch."
I wasn't sure if Tully was really in trouble, but I couldn't ignore the plea. And if it took me more than a few hours, I didn't want my parents to wake up and panic if I was gone.
I slipped into my old PF Flyers and struggled into my sweatshirt. Grabbing my father's warm parka and my black rubber flashlight with the hand loop on the end, I headed for the barn with Shadow on my heels. No way was I walking all the way to the Ambuscade, and this time I wanted the company of my dog. I startled Pancho, who jumped when I turned on the lights and blinked as if he'd been dreaming, too.
"Sorry, boy. We've got a job to do. If I'm not crazy, that is." I threw the saddle on for an extra measure of safety, and gathered a coil of rope, the flashlight, and my father's parka and tied them to the D rings on either side of the saddle. With a well-practiced motion, I inserted my left foot into the stirrup iron and sailed onto his back. "Come on, guys. Let's go."
Shadow followed closely beside us this time, as if he knew we had work to do. I thanked God for the strong light of the nearly full moon, and watched for signs of Penni along the way. Nothing obvious caught my attention, so I headed for the Ambuscade and ultimately for the abandoned house. Black tree limbs—so benign and beautiful in the daylight—swayed overhead with menace. Chirrups, yips, and croaks filled the air, making me push Pancho a little faster than I should have. Thankfully he was a sure-footed animal who could probably pick his way across a minefield without detonating a bomb. Shadow loped beside us, his nose to the ground. I was glad he didn't give in to the urge to bay and follow the nighttime scents that probably tantalized him.
We reached the abandoned house in a half hour. A light shone from one of the bedroom windows, flickering and growing stronger and weaker, as if beckoning me.
I tied Pancho to the fence, disassembling my supplies. "I'll be right back, boy. Be good. C'mon, Shadow."
I sounded a lot braver than I felt. Inside, my stomach quivered and I felt like my heart would beat itself right out of my chest. But the knowledge that Tully was in trouble pushed me forward.
"In here, boy." I slid through the half-opened front door and turned on my flashlight. Shadow followed close behind. Upstairs, a light flickered, but this one looked more like a flashlight with dying batteries than a message from a ghostly Indian girl.
"Is someone there? Help! Please help."
Tully's voice sounded weak. Galvanized into action, I flew up the stairs after Shadow. "Mr. Tully? I'm here."
I shone the light to the left, where Tully hung onto a crossbeam in the rotten floorboard hole we'd avoided when we investigated the house the day before. I hurried toward him, throwing the rope and jacket aside. Shadow whined and tried to reach him.
"I fell through the rotten b
oards. Boy, can you help me? I can't hold on much longer."
The old house had very high ceilings, and if he fell through to the first floor, he'd surely break his neck, or at least a leg.
"Hold on. Try to hold on." I lay flat on my stomach and reached toward him, but couldn't grab him. Even if I could, I realized I wouldn't be strong enough to pull him up. I tossed him one end of the rope. He caught it and managed to wind the rope around the beam, securing it in a big knot.
I scrambled backwards, keeping the rope taut, and tied it as tight as I could around the thick carved bedpost in the parent's room. After four knots, I tugged on it. It seemed strong enough.
"Can you pull yourself out?" I crawled toward him. Shadow licked my face and whined again.
"No! Stay back. It's too dangerous. This whole section could cave in."
I stopped in my tracks and felt someone's breath on my neck. Turning quickly, I realized it was only Shadow. I put my arm around him and pulled him toward me. "Stay here, boy."
"I'm going to pull myself along the rope. Go down below, now, and push that sofa closer to the hole. If I fall, at least it might soften the impact."
"Yes, sir." I flew down the stairs and shone my flashlight upwards. Tully's legs dangled overhead, near the coffee table. I shoved it out of the way, shining the light toward the old horsehair sofa. With a herculean thrust, I pushed the heavy couch along the old Oriental rug until it lined up with Tully.
"Okay! It's done. I think you could drop onto it, Mr. Tully."
His voice sounded muffled, but I understood him. "Let me try to climb out first."
I waited and watched. Shadow jumped on the sofa and off again. Tully's feet swung back and forth as he struggled to move along the beam with one hand on the rope and one hugging the heavy timber. I ran back up the stairs, hoping I could help as he slid closer to the edge.
"Mr. Tully! Can you make it?"
Don't Let the Wind Catch You Page 7