“Well, don’t stand there staring, boy,” Miss Hooper was saying. “Open the door for me, like a proper gentleman.”
Gib jumped to do as he was told, but once inside the wide entry hall he froze again, caught up in a whirlpool of memories. Recollections not so much of the house itself, but of things that had happened there. Things like studying in the library with Miss Hooper as teacher, and with Olivia Thornton as fellow student. And the day he’d stood all alone at the library window just watching while the rest of them went out to admire the family’s new Model T. Lost in the memories, he stumbled after Miss Hooper as she stopped, once to peer into the parlor, and then again to hang up her wraps on the hall coatrack.
“Gibson,” she said impatiently, “your coat. You can hang it here.” Watching him closely as he struggled with the stiff buttonholes in the new mackinaw, she went on, “Hurry along, boy. You seem to be all thumbs today. They’re probably waiting for us in the library.”
It was then, as the library door opened and the sound of familiar voices drifted out, that Gib realized that his heart was pounding and that something swollen and heavy seemed to be stuck at the bottom of his throat. His feet had gone clumsy and awkward too, so that he stumbled a little as Miss Hooper shoved him ahead of her into the room.
There they all were, looking the same, and yet strangely different. It took a moment for him to realize that part of the alarming difference was only the color black. Black for mourning. Mrs. Thornton, in a high-necked black dress, looked a little paler perhaps, but as elegant as ever. Actually it was Livy, sitting on the sofa with a book in her lap, who seemed to have changed the most. As if a plain black dress instead of ruffled and pleated pinks and greens had suddenly changed a rambunctious eleven-year-old into a proper young lady.
The color black seemed to be everywhere. Even Mrs. Perry, whose dress and apron were flowery gingham, had a black mourning band on her right arm.
They were all looking at Gib. Staring as if they’d never seen him before, or anything like him. Waiting, no doubt, for him to do or say some expected thing. Gib gulped, tried to swallow, and wondered frantically if there was some special way one was supposed to behave around ladies in mourning. Or perhaps something one was supposed to say. The way one said “congratulations” or “many happy returns” for other kinds of special occasions.
Gib was still gulping when Miss Hooper said, “Well, here he is. Rescued by yours truly from the clutches of the Wicked Witch of the West.”
Everyone else laughed, and even Gib managed to smile a little, and for a moment, that helped. Gib was just about ready to say hello and how sorry he was about Mr. Thornton’s passing on, when Mrs. Thornton held out her hands.
“Gib, dear,” she said as she pulled him down beside her wheelchair and gave him a quick hug. “How wonderful to see you again.”
It was the hug that did it. Gib’s eyes went hot and wet and the lump was back in his throat so big that he nearly choked on it. He stared down at the carpet, feeling tongue-tied and witless, and when he did manage to look up, the amused expression on Livy’s face didn’t help at all. But then, once again, Miss Hooper came to his rescue.
Taking over, just as firmly as she’d done in Miss Offenbacher’s office, she pushed Gib toward a chair. “Sit here, Gibson,” she said. “For just a minute.” Then she turned to the others. “Gib and I will have to go freshen up soon, but it looks like Delia has something good and warm on that tray, and that’s exactly what we need. Came close to perishing of the cold in that buggy. Didn’t we, Gib?”
As Gib sat down Mrs. Thornton was saying, “Olivia, dear, could you clear away some of your books so Mrs. Perry can put the tea tray on the table? And Delia. Please sit down and have a cup of tea with us while we all get reacquainted with Gibson.”
Then there was the choice of tea or coffee, and cream and sugar, to talk about, and the unusually cold weather for the beginning of November, and how long the trip from Harristown had taken, and after a few gulps of coffee Gib’s throat began to relax enough to at least say things like “Yes, ma’am, the wind was right out of the north. Hy thinks it might be fixing to blow up a blizzard,” and “No, ma’am, I didn’t know Miss Hooper was coming to get me. Not till she showed up.”
After that it got easier, because with four talkative ladies in the room, Gib didn’t have to say very much. And also because it soon became obvious that it already had been decided that it was too soon to talk about anything important. Anything like why Gib was back at the Rocking M, and what might be going to happen next.
And then it was over. Mrs. Perry went back to the kitchen, and Livy went over to crouch beside her mother’s chair and whisper in her ear. To whisper and nod, and whisper again, while she watched Gib out of the corners of her eyes. Talking about him, Gib felt sure, or at least pretending to. But then Miss Hooper was ushering him out into the hallway and up the front stairs.
The upstairs in the big house was brand-new territory for Gib. He’d been well acquainted with the kitchen and library, and once or twice Livy had let him peek into the dining room and parlor. But he’d never been down the long hall that led to the new wing of the house, where the Thorntons lived, or up the stairs to the second floor.
At the top of the wide front staircase Miss Hooper led the way down a hallway decorated with striped wallpaper and framed photographs. Lots of old-fashioned pictures of carefully posed families, and then one of a slightly familiar-looking man on horseback. The man was wearing a wide grin and fringed chaps. And the horse, which in the photograph looked to be a light sorrel with a flax mane and tail, was something really special.
Miss Hooper noticed Gib staring at the picture. “That’s Daniel Merrill,” she said. “Mrs. Thornton’s father.” Gib wasn’t surprised. Something about the shape of the man’s face and the high arch of his eyebrows made him think of Mrs. Thornton. Still looking at the photo, Miss Hooper nodded approvingly. “Good man, Daniel was. Built the Rocking M up from a couple of homestead holdings into one of the biggest ranches in the state.”
Gib hung back, wanting to ask questions. Questions about Daniel Merrill, and maybe about the sorrel too. But Miss Hooper hurried him down the hall. She pointed out the upstairs parlor and opened the door so he could peek inside. It was a grand-looking room with lots of windows, elegant furniture, and beautiful flowery paper decorating the walls. Gib had never seen anything like it.
“I know,” Miss Hooper said in answer to his appreciative gasp. “Very nice, isn’t it? Used to be the Thorntons’ room until Julia’s accident.”
“The accident? On Black Silk?”
“Yes, of course,” Miss Hooper said. “That’s when the new wing was built, because of the wheelchair.”
They went on then past the door to Mrs. Perry’s room, and past the room which, ever since the windstorm, had been Hy’s.
There was a bathroom too, with a claw-foot tub and a washbasin. And next door, in a closet-sized room, a flush toilet. Miss Hooper demonstrated by pulling the chain. “You know how to use this?” she asked Gib.
Gib felt his face getting hot. Looking down at his feet, he mumbled, “Yes, ma’am. I know, ma’am.”
“Well, that’s good. Didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Miss Hooper sounded amused. “But I wasn’t sure, since the bunkhouse was a bit short on indoor plumbing, and I can only imagine what the facilities were like at Lovell House.”
As they went on down the hall Gib bit his lip, thinking how much he hated it when his face got red like that. When it “flushed” like that, he thought and then grinned, thinking how this time his face had, sure enough, been flushed.
But then Miss Hooper was opening a door at the end of the hall and he forgot about flushing faces and toilets too. Set back under the eaves, the room was smallish, all right, with a slanty ceiling and just one little window. But there were a closet and a chest of drawers, and best of all, instead of a metal cot, a real bed with headboards and footboards made of wood: Real wood, as dark and shiny as a bay ho
rse. Standing in the middle of the room and turning in a slow circle, Gib didn’t realize he was smiling until Miss Hooper said, “Well, as I told you, it’s not grand, but you seem to be pleased.”
“Oh yes, I’m pleased. Mighty pleased, ma’am,” Gib said. Before Miss Hooper left she pointed out the alarm clock on the chest of drawers, and the cord that turned on the electric light, and reminded him that dinner was at five-thirty. Her voice was sharp as she said, “Don’t you be late, now. And remember to turn out the light when you leave the room.” Her thin lips flicked upward in what, for just a moment, came close to being an honest-to-goodness smile before the phony frown returned. Nodding sternly, she said, “Good to have you back, Gibson. Very good indeed.”
Gib grinned and said, “It’s good to be back.” And then, imitating Miss Hooper’s frown, he added, “Very good indeed.” Miss Hooper went on frowning but her twisted lip and raised eyebrow said she got the joke.
Gib waited only until Miss Hooper’s footsteps faded and the door of her room squeaked open and clicked shut before he took a last quick look around and left the room. Almost running now, but very quietly, he went down the hall and the back stairs and out toward the barn. Toward the barn and Black Silk.
Chapter 4
INSIDE THE BARN THE light was dim, but the air was full of scent and sound. The warm, spicy odor of horse, and the contented rustle and munch of feeding time. Gib breathed deeply and then hurried on, past Comet and Caesar, stopping only long enough to notice that Hy had rubbed them down, at least a little. Busy with their hay, they only flicked an ear when he called their names, before they went back to eating.
Next came Hy’s old cow pony, Blue Lightning. The old blue roan was busy eating too but when Gib spoke to him he raised his head, took a step or two toward the stall door, and then snorted softly and went back to his supper. Gib grinned. “Okay for you, you old rascal. Didn’t miss you that much either.”
The next stall was Black Silk’s. By the time Gib reached it she was already at the door. Even in the fading light he could see that she really was as beautiful as he remembered. High crested, short backed, and long-legged, put together just right for speed, and purely black except for the three white feet and the diamond blaze on her forehead. Nodding and nickering, she reached out eagerly toward Gib, her eyes white-rimmed with excitement. Gib opened the stall door, slipped inside, threw his arms around the mare’s neck, and buried his face in her long mane.
He stayed there for a quite a spell, while Silky shoved his shoulder with her velvety nose and nickered questioningly. When he was sure he had control of his voice, he began to talk to her, telling her how glad he was to see her again, and how purely gorgeous she was. The most beautiful horse in the whole world, he told her, but then, standing back a way to get a better look, “But not the best groomed, and that’s for sure. Looks like you could use a good currying.” Silky nodded and nickered as if she understood, and Gib chuckled, remembering how much she’d always liked that old currycomb scratching the itchy places on her withers and back. He checked her feet to see if they were in good shape, and he was just telling her that her hooves surely could use a good picking too, when somebody giggled.
Gib could tell that Olivia Thornton really hadn’t grown that much in the three months he’d been away, judging by how much of her face he could see over the stall door. “Hey, Livy,” he said.
“Hey yourself,” Livy answered. Then she giggled again and asked, “Well, what did she say?”
For a second Gib really didn’t know what she was talking about. “What did who say?”
“Silky.” Livy sounded impatient. “I heard you talking to her. So I imagine she must have been answering?”
Gib grinned. “Course she did. Said she was right glad to see me again. Said nobody’s been taking care of her since I’ve been away.”
Livy frowned. “Well, she’s lying then. Hy’s been grooming her. And I helped. At least I did right at first. But then, after my father got so sick ... She shrugged and looked away.
“Hey,” Gib said, feeling mortified that he’d made Livy remember about her dead father. “I was just teasing. She’s looking great.” He opened the stall door. “ ’Cept for her feet. I was just heading down to the tack room to get the hoof pick. Thought I might—”
“You better forget it,” Livy said. “At least for now. It’s almost suppertime. That’s why I came out here. I knew you’d forget about eating once you saw Black Silk.” She opened the locket watch that hung around her neck on a gold chain. Turning the watch face toward Gib, she said, “See, already a quarter past.”
“A quarter past?” Gib really was surprised. He’d barely have time to get washed up. He turned back long enough to give Silky a good-bye pat and tell her, under his breath, that he’d see her first thing in the morning, before he followed Livy out of the barn.
Livy kept looking at him as they walked across the yard, but if he looked back she tossed her head and turned away. Gib had to squelch a smile, thinking how, in spite of all the changes, some things were pretty much the same. It wasn’t until they were going up the back steps that Livy said, “Wait a minute. Before you go in I want to tell you something.”
“Okay.” Gib stopped on the bottom stair. “Tell me. I’m listening.” He pretended to be opening a locket watch and staring at it. “But you’d better keep it short. Looks to be just about suppertime.”
She frowned fiercely. “You stop teasing, Gib Whittaker. This is serious.” She took a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you ... I just wanted to say I’m ... I mean, I hope you don’t blame me for getting you sent back to that awful place.”
Gib was pretty surprised. Shaking his head in amazement, he said, “I don’t blame you. Never did. You didn’t know your father was going to come home early and catch you riding Black Silk. Or that he was going to blame me for putting you up to it.”
“I know. But it wasn’t your fault. You told me not to try to ride her unless you were there, and I said I wouldn’t. But then you and Hy were so busy for so long and I just got too impatient and ...
“I know.” Gib shook his head slowly, remembering how Mr. Thornton had come home in the middle of the day and how Livy, excited and maybe showing off a little, had let the mare get out of hand. “But it wasn’t your fault either.” He thought a minute and added, “Or Silky’s. She didn’t mean any harm. But I can see how your father would be real worried because of what happened to your ... Noticing the look on Livy’s face, he let his voice trail off.
“All right, say it. Because of what happened to my mother.” Livy’s voice was quick and sharp. “But what were you going to say about my father?”
Gib could see he’d better rein in a little. “Wasn’t his fault either,” he said quickly. “It must have really scared him the way Silky was acting up. And for good reason too. If you’d been throwed on that hard-packed ground out there, there’s no telling what might have happened to you.”
Livy shrugged. “You don’t have to stand up for him. Nobody does anymore. Not even me.” Stomping past Gib, she went on up the stairs and into the house.
By the time Gib had finished at the washing-up trough, Livy was already in the kitchen, helping Mrs. Perry put things on the table. She didn’t look at Gib when he came in. And another thing she didn’t do was speak to him, not once during the whole meal.
At the table that night Gib learned that no one called Livy’s mother Mrs. Thornton anymore. Miss Hooper usually called her just plain Julia, and Mrs. Perry called her Mrs. Julia. Hy had taken to calling her Mrs. Julia too, except he made it sound more like Missus Julia. Gib wondered if all widowed ladies got their names changed like that or if it had something to do with what Livy meant when she said nobody stood up for her father anymore. But whatever the reason, Gib liked the sound of Missus Julia right well, just the way Hy said it.
That night after Gib had used the flush toilet, and flushed it twice just for practice, he had a bath in the claw-foot tub. Lying there in the big
shiny white tub in lots of warm water, he thought, first of all, about things like flush toilets and electric lights. He hadn’t been lying when he told Miss Hooper that he knew about things like that. Not that there’d been such things at Lovell House. At least not for the orphans to use. But he’d seen lots of electric lights and used a flush toilet too, back in the days when Mrs. Hansen was still alive and the best readers sometimes got to visit the Harristown Library.
It wasn’t until his bath was over and he was in bed in his own room that he let himself think about more serious matters.
He thought first off about Jacob and Bobby and his other friends at Lovell House, wishing there’d been time to tell them good-bye, and wondering if he’d ever see them, or even hear from them again. Not likely, he told himself sadly. Not with Miss Offenbacher reading all the Lovell House mail and throwing most of it out. Losing Jacob and Bobby was a sorrowful thought, but at the moment there was another question that was even more troubling.
Lying there in the November chill, tucked in warm and cozy under plenty of quilts and blankets, Gib realized that the most troubling question was what Gibson Whittaker was now. Was he, for instance, still just an orphan farm-out to the Thornton family? Or was he really going to be a part of the family? Or maybe something kind of in between?
Thinking about being adopted made him smile ruefully, thinking of how, now and then, he’d seen a lucky little orphan being toted off to be a real part of a family. Real little orphans, they were for the most part. Usually still infants, or no more than toddlers. He couldn’t help grinning a little when he pictured Gib Whittaker, a long-legged almost-twelve-year-old, being toted out wrapped in a new blue blanket.
Gib and the Gray Ghost Page 2