The Bell Bandit

by Jacqueline Davies

  But Jessie didn't care. "I'm going to break every window in your barn until your mother comes out here to see what all the noise is, and then you can tell her what you're doing in there."

  Oh man, thought Evan, feeling his insides crumple up. Now we're going to get murdered.

  "If you throw even one more rock—" The boy took a step toward Jessie. Evan took a step toward the boy. The younger kid circled around behind Evan. Here it comes, thought Evan.

  But a voice called out. "Jeff! Mike! Where are you?" It was a woman's voice, and it came from the direction of the house.

  "Good!" said Jessie. "Now you have to go inside, or she's going to come looking for you. And then what? Huh?"

  To Evan's surprise, the older boy hesitated. The younger boy stopped, too—frozen.

  "Right now, you two!" The voice rolled across the yard like a bowling ball. "If I have to call you a second time, you'll be sorry I did!"

  The younger boy took off.

  The older boy looked at Evan and Jessie and said, "You better be gone in five minutes. I'm going to come back out here, and you better be gone." He started walking toward the house, but once he passed the barn, Evan saw that he broke into a run and didn't stop until he was on the porch. He disappeared inside the house, swallowed up by the front door.

  Before Evan could say anything, Jessie started to run inside the barn. "We have to get that frog out of there!"

  But when they got inside the barn and found their way to the wood storage room, the frog looked more dead than alive. It was hanging by its front legs, its back legs making weak kicking movements that seemed like the feeble waving of a surrender flag. Jessie didn't want to touch the frog, so Evan held the frog's body in his hands while Jessie plucked at the strings tied to each leg. When they got the last one off, Evan put the frog down on the dirt floor of the barn.

  It was as if the frog had forgotten how to move. It wiggled its back legs, but couldn't seem to get a solid footing on the cold ground. First one leg and then the other shot out from its body, kicking at the air, but unable to move forward. Evan and Jessie watched, waiting.

  "It's going to die," said Jessie, and Evan thought she was probably right. The frog had forgotten how to jump, or maybe its legs had been broken or permanently damaged in some way. Evan felt a sudden wave of sadness for all the things in the world that were damaged and broken.

  Evan looked down at the frog and said, "We can't just leave it here to die. We need to take it home." But what he was thinking was, And put it out of its misery. He reached down to pick up the small animal, and when his hand was just an inch away, the frog leaped through the air and disappeared under the woodpile.

  "Hey!" said Jessie. "He's okay! Did you see him jump? Wow!"

  Jessie smiled at Evan, and he wanted to smile back, but he couldn't. The dark thought was still banging inside his head. "C'mon," he said. "We gotta go. And we don't have a lot of time."

  Chapter 13

  The Missing Bell

  They went back to the top of Lovell's Hill, where the empty crossbeam stood, because they needed a place to start their search and Jessie couldn't think of anywhere else. Night had fallen, and a thick cover of clouds hung low in the sky. Luckily, Jessie had brought a flashlight on the stakeout. The thin yellow beam illuminated the ground just enough for them to make their way.

  At the top of the hill, Jessie flashed the light ahead of her. There was the heavy wooden crossbeam with its empty space where the bell should have hung.

  The missing bell. What a lousy spy she'd turned out to be! She hadn't learned a thing on the stakeout. She still didn't have any proof that the Sinclair boys had stolen the bell in the first place. And Maxwell had ended up half out of his mind, running off—to where? Where was Maxwell now? Was he missing, too?

  "Maybe Grandma was here," said Jessie, skipping the flashlight beam over the ground. There were hundreds of footprints in the snow. Both Jessie and Maxwell had crossed this hill several times over the last few days, and Evan had come straight over the hill when he heard Maxwell's scream and the broken glass. There were footprints everywhere. The ground was a tangled-up dance of feet.

  "Think, Jessie," said Evan. "It's like a puzzle. You're good at puzzles. Where would she go?"

  Jessie looked up toward Black Bear Mountain, but there was no way she could see it in the darkness. The woods behind her were a thick brushstroke of blackness, too. Blackness in front of her. Blackness behind her. Where could Grandma be in all that dark?

  Something cold and wet landed on Jessie's cheek. Then another and another. It was beginning to snow.

  "Oh, Grandma," said Jessie, quietly.

  "C'mon, Jess," said Evan. "You can think this out. I know you can."

  In her mind, Jessie made a list. "She wouldn't walk on the road. She hates walking on the road. So forget that. She didn't go to a neighbor, because they would have brought her back. She's not in the barn?"

  "I checked."

  "Don't you think she's on the farm somewhere?"

  Evan nodded his head. "Yeah, but where?" It was a big farm. A hundred acres.

  "Let's go back to where she started. The house. And then we'll take the backward loop." That was Grandma's favorite walk, the one that took you all the way to the foot of Black Bear Mountain and then looped back through the woods, up the hill to the New Year's Eve bell. Jessie had done that walk a hundred times with Grandma.

  When they got to the dark house, Evan ran inside to grab an extra flashlight and leave a note for their mother. Then they both strapped on snowshoes—the snow was coming down faster now—and headed down the path.

  It was hard going. Evan led the way, and Jessie trudged behind. As they walked, they swung the beams of their flashlights from the path, to the woods on the left, back to the path, and then over to the woods on the right. Jessie called out "Grandma!" from time to time. Once she heard something scrabbling close to her feet, but she told herself it was just a squirrel or maybe a rabbit. Nothing to be afraid of. Still, she picked up her pace so that she was right behind Evan—so close that the tip of her snowshoe caught the tail of his and caused him to stumble. She thought he was going to turn around and yell at her, but he didn't. He just kept going.

  When they reached the foot of Black Bear Mountain, Jessie was hot and sweaty under her ski hat, her bangs plastered to her forehead. Her mittened fingers were damp, too, but her cheeks were stinging from the cold.

  Jessie wiped her hand across her face. "We haven't found her yet," she said, pausing to rest at the bend in the path that turned away from the mountain and into the woods. She wanted Evan to say something back, something that would give them hope. But Evan didn't say anything. He just shone his light in a circle all around them. The feeble yellow beam danced across trees and rocks and drifts of snow—snow everywhere, covering everything and falling thicker and faster now.

  They kept on walking. Now they were cutting through the woods that covered the far side of Lovell's Hill. There wasn't even a real path here. The only way to navigate was to look for the marked trees, but the markings were invisible in the pitchblack. Even when they focused the beams of their flashlights directly on the trunks of the trees, the falling snow made it impossible to see.

  "Grandma!" Jessie called out, but more softly now. The woods were so silent that every sound seemed amplified. Evan kept stopping. Jessie could tell he was trying to get his bearings. It was easy to veer off course in the woods, even in the daytime. At night, with no moon to guide by, it would take all their concentration to find their way to the top of the hill.

  Where are you, Grandma?

  When they reached the top of the hill, they stood on either side of the heavy wooden crossbeam and stared at the darkness all around them.

  "Evan?" said Jessie. "I don't know where she is." Jessie felt a heaviness sink into her body, and she knew she was not going to be able to solve this puzzle. She had failed.

  Evan's voice came out weak and bedraggled. "You'll figure it out, Jessi
e. I know you will."

  Jessie looked at her big brother and saw that he was crying. There were wet patches on his cheeks, and his long eyelashes glistened in the dim glow of the flashlight.

  "Why are you crying?" asked Jessie.

  "Because I'm cold! And I'm scared! And—." Evan waved his arms at the nothingness all around them."It's dark. It's dark, Jessie. And she's all alone out there somewhere. And I bet she's feeling like I am. Cold and scared and afraid of the dark."

  Jessie thought about this. This was new information, and she tried to add it to the puzzle.

  "Well, if she's cold ... then she's going to want to go someplace warm," said Jessie. "And if she's scared, then I guess..." Jessie thought about the places she went when she was feeling frightened or overwhelmed: the nurse's office at school, her bedroom, the pages of a favorite book. "She probably wants to hide away somewhere."

  What kind of place was like that on the farm? A place that was warm. A place that was hidden away. A place that made you feel safe. Jessie tried to imagine such a place. She closed her eyes so she could concentrate. She tricked her brain into feeling cozy and safe and protected.

  Then she opened her eyes and looked at Evan. "I know where she is."

  Chapter 14

  Waiting for a Bus

  They couldn't find the tepee. If you'd asked Evan yesterday, he would have said, I can find that tepee blindfolded. But here they were, as good as blindfolded because of the darkness, and Evan had no idea where to look. He and Jessie wandered through the woods, flashing their lights in every direction, but either they'd gone too far or not far enough, because the tepee wasn't there.

  What if they couldn't find it in the dark? Evan knew his grandmother wouldn't survive a night out in the cold like this. Even if the police managed to get together a search party soon—and Evan hadn't seen a single flashlight or heard any voices in the woods yet—it might be too late by the time they found her. His grandmother was old, and she had a broken wrist. She got confused. She needed help. He started walking faster, but he had no idea if he was getting closer to the tepee or farther away.

  "Stop," said Jessie. "We need a system. We can't just keep walking around hoping we're going to find it."

  So they followed their tracks back to the bell and stared at the edge of the woods they had just come out of.

  "Where's the Lightning Tree?" asked Evan. They swept their flashlight beams back and forth, but they couldn't see through the thick falling snow. So they split up, each starting at one edge of the woods and working their way to the middle, checking each tree that they came to.

  Finally, Evan said, "I found it!" And he had. Up close, the tree was unmistakable, burned black and naked without any branches except the single stubby one. The branch pointed their way into the woods, and they plunged deeper and deeper in. Evan kept telling himself, We're getting closer, we're getting closer, but it seemed to him that they were taking way too long to find Grandma.

  "There it is," said Jessie, pointing with her flashlight through the trees.

  And there it was. Just where it had always been. The tepee they'd built the summer before last. The tepee that was strong enough to survive a hundred winters. Evan broke into an awkward run, his snowshoes flopping and slapping the ground. When he reached the opening, he stopped, suddenly afraid to see what was inside.

  Jessie caught up behind him, looked at him, then reached out to pull back the tarp.

  "No!" said Evan, grabbing her hand and pulling it back. He didn't know what they would find inside, but if it was bad, he didn't want Jessie seeing it first.

  He took a step forward so that his body blocked Jessie's view, then he slowly pulled back the top edge of the tarp, just enough for him to poke his flashlight inside and peer into the circle of light.

  There was Grandma.

  Sitting on the ground, cross-legged.

  Her eyes blinked like an owl's, caught in an unexpected light. How long had she been sitting like that?

  "Hi," said Evan, afraid to call her Grandma in case that spooked her. It felt to him as though she were standing on the edge of a cliff and any sudden movement could topple her over. He noticed that her hat was crooked and Jessie's scarf dangled from one shoulder.

  "Is the bus here?" asked Grandma. "I've been waiting for hours."

  "Grandma!" shouted Jessie from behind Evan. Suddenly he felt Jessie shoving his body out of the way, sliding past him and into the tepee. He wanted to grab her and keep her back, but he was holding the flashlight and the tarp, and she slipped by before he could stop her.

  "Why are you here, Grandma?" Jessie was practically shouting, or at least it seemed that way to Evan. "Why didn't you come home?"

  Grandma looked bewildered. "I'm waiting for the bus. It's been hours. What's the delay?"

  "What are you talking about Grandma? There's no bus!"

  "No bus! What do you mean? Of course, there's a bus. I take this bus three times a week."

  "Grandma," said Jessie, sounding like she was about to cry. "Stop it. Stop pretending. It isn't funny!"

  Grandma gave Jessie a disapproving stare. "Who are you? Why are you yelling at me? Where's the bus?"

  "Evan!" yelled Jessie, and now she was crying. Evan could see the first few tears pooling up in her eyes, and he knew if she really got going, there would be no stopping her. She hardly ever cried, but when she did, it was a thunderstorm.

  "Jess, it's okay," said Evan, pulling on her arm. She tried to shake her arm free, but he got a good firm hold of her. "C'mon. Come out here."

  She let him pull her out of the tepee, where they stood side by side in the falling snow. "She's tired," he said. "And she's old. This is how it is now. We have to get used to it."

  "No! No, no, no!" said Jessie, shaking her head. "I won't get used to it. I'll never get used to it! She doesn't even know me!"

  "Yeah, she does," said Evan. "Somewhere in her brain she knows exactly who you are. She just can't reach it right now. It's like my bedroom at Grandma's house. It's still there. We just can't get to it for a while. It's off-limits. But she'll remember you again. When she's not so cold and tired."

  "I hate this," whispered Jessie.

  He bent his head closer to hers. "I know. But look, we've got to get her home. Can you go in there and talk to her? Get her to come out?"

  Jessie shook her head. "I can't. I can't."

  "Okay," said Evan. "It's okay. You don't have to. I'll go in. Just try to keep quiet, okay? Because I think, you know, we're scaring her."

  Jessie clamped her mouth shut and nodded her head yes. Evan stood for a minute outside the tepee, thinking. Then he undid the buckles on his snowshoes and stepped out of them, pulled back the tarp, and ducked inside.

  Two summers ago, when they first built the tepee, Evan could stand inside at the tallest spot. But now his head butted up against the sloping branches that leaned against the center tree pole. He started to lean over, then realized it would be easier just to kneel on the ground. This brought him eye to eye with Grandma, and one look at her face told him she was very scared.

  "Ma'am?" he said. "Are you waiting for the bus?"

  "Yes!" she said. "I've been waiting for hours!" She looked so relieved then—almost happy—that Evan wished more than anything he could make a bus appear, right here in the middle of the woods.

  "It isn't coming," he said. "There's been a problem. A flat tire. The bus can't make it here today."

  "Well, send another!" said Grandma. "That's ridiculous. There's a bus every hour on this route. I've been taking this bus for years. I know the schedule."

  "All the buses are broken," said Evan. "I'm sorry."

  "That's inexcusable!" said Grandma. "I'm going to write a letter." The hand on her good arm started to pluck at her coat.

  "Yes, you should," said Evan. "But right now, we have to get you home."

  "Wait a minute. Who are you?" she asked suddenly.

  "I work for the bus company. They told me to tell you that the bus is
n't coming and that I should take you home."

  "I've been waiting for hours!"

  "I know," said Evan. "It's awful. You should write a letter."

  "I'm going to!"

  All the time they were talking, Evan slowly moved closer to Grandma. When he rested a hand on her arm, she didn't back away, and when he helped her to her feet, she leaned on his shoulder and went along.

  "There's another passenger outside," said Evan. "She's been waiting for hours, too. Do you mind if she walks with us?"

  "Inexcusable. You can't expect people to wait for hours. People depend on the bus. And what happened to the bench? Who took the bench?"

  Evan ushered Grandma outside the tepee and nodded to Jessie, who had taken several steps back. "You know, kids probably," said Evan. "Kids do some really stupid things these days."

  He put her arm over his shoulder and his hand on her back, then shone his flashlight on the snow ahead of them. Jessie walked right behind, but Grandma never once turned around to look at her.

  Evan kept talking. Grandma seemed to think she was young again, in the days when she rode the bus three times a week to her classes at the community college. Every once in a while, she would stop walking and ask Evan, "Who are you again?" and Evan would remind her that he was with the bus company and it was his job to escort her home. Once she said, "I can't go home! I have to get to class!" But Evan told her that all the classes were canceled because of the snow. Grandma said she thought that was ridiculous, but she kept on walking.

  When they reached the house, Evan could see his mother's car and Pete's truck parked out front. He suddenly felt so tired, he wanted to stop right where he was and lie down in the snow. Grandma, however, seemed to perk up when she saw the house in front of her.

  "Thank you," she said, taking her arm off his shoulder and patting the front of his ski coat. "It was nice of you to walk me home. But you can go now." And she turned to go into the house.

  Evan watched her walk up the stairs, knock the snow off her boots, and push open the front door. He could tell she knew exactly where she was. She was home.