by Kristy Tate
“There were more than pig farmers.”
“Oh, of course. There were fishermen, loggers, and the occasional seamstresses, but I can’t write about them, because this is a family play.” Drake knew that in Seattle’s early days, seamstress was a pseudonym for prostitute.
“Are those your poems?” Blair asked, nodding to the notebook in his hand.
He’d forgotten he’d still had his Viking book. “This? No.”
“Well then, what is it?”
He shook his head, wanting to hide the book, but he reconsidered. “You know, I should let you read this. You’re the one who started it.”
She sat up straight. “Did you write about the Vikings?”
He sighed and nodded. “And a friend took it and…elaborated.”
“And you let him?”
“Her,” Drake interjected. “And I didn’t let her, she just did it. She added goats, sea serpents, and distressed damsels.”
Blair didn’t say anything, but her small smile grew.
“What?” Drake asked.
“Nothing,” Blair said, still smiling.
“Will you read it?”
“Of course.” She held out her hand.
“Not this one. I want you to read the elaborated version.” He trusted her. She’d give him an honest opinion.
“What about your poetry?”
“My what?”
She nudged him with her elbow. “Your poetry.”
“Oh, yeah. That.” He hunched his shoulders in defeat.
Blair suddenly let out a sharp cry and stood up. Ducks floated by, the elderly gentleman cast the boy’s fishing line into the water, and the boys who had been sitting on the dock were now lying on the grass—but Missy was gone.
Blair’s hands flew to her face, “Missy!” she called. She stood and ran toward the water’s edge, favoring her ankle. Drake followed.
“Missy!” Drake called, cupping his hands around his mouth for volume.
The pond was too shallow for Missy to be lost in its depths, so Missy had to be in the woods.
“Missy!” Blair called again. Finding an opening in the underbrush, she ducked into the shade of the thick, pine forest and Drake trailed after her. Missy stood in a patch of sunlight that filtered through the trees. She ran toward them when she caught sight of Blair. Drake stayed back, watching the reunion.
“Missy, oh thank you for not being lost!” Blair said, holding the girl tight.
“I wasn’t lost,” Missy said, her face buried against Blair’s T-shirt. “I knew right where I was.”
“I didn’t know where you were, and I was supposed to!”
Blair hobbled forward and grabbed Missy in a tight hug. Drake was puzzled by Blair’s tears and deep attachment to Missy, because he didn’t think Blair had known Missy for very long. But, obviously long enough to form a strong attachment. Or was it because Missy was somehow related to Rawlings? Blair wasn’t like that. She wasn’t political. She didn’t cultivate relationships for ulterior motives.
Drake knew Blair loved children. She liked the little ones that attended the library’s story hour as well as the pimply gangly ones that she used to teach at the high school. She wanted dozens of babies of her own. Watching Blair with Missy, Drake realized that he could never have made Blair happy, because they wanted too many different things. They worked well together, but they never could have really loved each other in the way that the other needed to be loved. They both had different agendas—agendas that could never be twisted to fit together. His eyes were opened to a huge piece of Blair that he had refused to see in all their years together. He moved under the canopy of trees. “Thank God you found her,” he said.
“I wasn’t lost,” Missy said again. “Someone took me.”
Missy nodded toward an old man picking huckleberries. In the dim forest, standing in a bright splotch of sun, the man had a surreal glow. He wore faded brown trousers hitched with a leather belt, a soft off white button down shirt, and a straw hat. Around his shoulders he had a wide strip of muslin draped and tied to fashion a carryall for the berries. He had deeply weathered skin and a thick braid of gray hair running down his back. His appearance wasn’t attractive, but Drake found him fascinating.
“He didn’t take me,” Missy said. “He saved me. A naked man grabbed me.”
Blair closed her eyes. Two tears eked out and ran down her cheek. She pulled Missy closer and the girl wiggled free. “I’m okay, Blair, really. This man flashed a bright light and the other man let me go.”
Blair stepped forward and squeezed the man’s hand in gratitude. “Thank you so much,” she said. “Did you see him?”
The man didn’t answer, but he looked grave.
Drake peered into the woods; the army of pines and cedars seemed endless. A path wandered up over a hill. He heard the tumble of a creek, a buzz of insects, but he couldn’t see or hear anyone.
Missy considered the elderly man. “How did you do that?”
“Do what, child?” he asked.
“Make the light flash like that?”
The man pulled a small mirror out of his pocket and turned it so that it caught a bright ray of sun, which he shot into Missy’s eyes. Missy squinted and then laughed. “Can I try?”
The man helped Missy catch a ray of sun in the mirror, and they turned it toward Blair. Blair closed her eyes against the glare. “Drake,” she turned to him and laid her hand on his arm. “Go and see if you can find that man.”
Drake sighed, looked around, and then grabbed a big stick. Then reason overcame bravado. He wasn’t a knight in shining armor, and he never would be. He was at heart a spoiled, lazy, literature professor. “And then what am I supposed to do?” he asked. “I’m not a vigilante, Blair.”
“He’s going to get away. He might try and take other children.” Blair’s eyes pleaded with him to be bigger, braver, and stronger than he was—than he ever could be. He felt her disappointment in his gut, but he couldn’t change who he had always been.
Drake dropped the stick. “I’ll go and talk to the others at the pond to see if they saw anything and warn them. Missy, what did the man looked like?”
“You saw him, Blair. He had Tobias.”
“You met him earlier?” Drake asked.
Blair nodded. “He was wearing clothes then.”
She gave him the man’s description, and Drake ducked through the trees looking for people to warn. Fortunately, the only person still at the lake was the old man busy with a fishing pole. Drake wondered what had happened to the others, but was grateful his errand was short and easily accomplished.
Both Blair and Missy jumped when he returned. He read the distress in Blair’s face: fear mixed with self-recrimination. Of course, she’d blame herself for Missy’s near abduction. She’d take the event, shape it into a giant stick, and use it to beat herself.
“Did anyone see anything?” she asked him, panic sitting on the edge of her voice.
He shook his head, watching her, wondering what he could say to help her down from her ledge of self-imposed responsibility. She shouldered everything that came her way. It startled him to realize that he still loved her, but in a big brotherly sort of way. He wanted to protect her from others, but he mostly wanted to protect her from herself.
“We need to call the police,” Blair said. She didn’t have a phone or a purse, so she looked at Drake, and he unclipped his phone from his belt.
“No cell service.” Drake turned to the man and studied him. He was sure that the old man was the Native American who was rumored to live in these woods. “Are you Nisqually?”
“His name is Squally,” Missy told Drake.
Drake asked, “Have you ever seen this man before?”
Blair shivered again and Drake placed his hand on her shoulder to steady her.
The man nodded his head. “He’s a crazy one,” he said in a slow husky voice. “Likes to run around naked, scaring the crows.”
“I’m going to take Missy back to t
he library,” Blair said in a tight voice. “Cheryl should be returning soon.”
“No she won’t,” Missy said. “She won’t be back until five, and it’s not even lunch time yet.”
“We need to call the police,” Blair said.
“You will come to my house,” Squally announced.
“Maybe if we get out of the woods we can find service,” Blair said.
“You use my phone,” Squally said. “I live right through there.” He pointed to a thicket of trees. “I live over that hill. Close. I have a rabbit stew.”
“I would love that,” Drake said.
“Not you,” said the man to Drake. “Not unless the girl comes with you.”
“I can take Missy if you like,” Drake said to Blair.
Blair rounded on him, her hands on her hips and her face flushed. “I’m not going to leave her with you.”
Her words hurt almost as much as Penny’s punch. He wondered where Penny was and what she was doing. It surprised him that he missed her, and he wondered how long he would miss her. He wanted to see her again, but he was too angry and confused to see her yet. Instinctively he touched his swollen lip. “Then come with us, Blair,” Drake said. “This is going to be much better than sitting in the library.”
Blair raised her hand to her eyes, and Drake knew she was shutting out a visual image of the naked man with Missy.
“Nothing happened, Blair,” Drake said. “Missy is fine. She’s young and innocent and has no idea what Squally may have prevented. She probably won’t think about that man after today. Please don’t obsess.”
But she would obsess, and looking at her face, he knew that he was powerless to stop her.
“I can’t believe I was so careless,” she said.
“It was as much my fault.”
“Thank you for saying that, but you know it’s not true.” Blair glanced over at Missy. Squally was showing her how to use the mirror to throw rays of light. “I was supposed to watch her. I don’t know what Alec will say.”
Drake thought for a moment. “I’ll tell him it was my fault.”
“No,” Blair said quickly.
Drake tried to shrug nonchalantly, then he wrapped an arm around Blair’s waist. “Let’s go find a phone!” Drake called to Missy and Squally who were busy making birds flutter around shooting light rays.
Blair reached out and held tightly onto Missy’s hand as they followed Squally deeper into the woods. Drake dropped his arm and trailed behind.
***
Squally lived in a tiny, wood-framed house at the end of a dirt road. The trees had been cleared in a circular shape, and his house sat in the middle of a small sunlight valley. A rowboat with an outboard motor dominated a slanted carport that leaned against one side of the house. A vegetable garden flourished on the other side. A table stood between two bent willow rockers on the porch, and Squally motioned for them to sit. Blair sank into a chair while Missy made friends with a large tabby that was rubbing itself against her legs.
Drake studied the vegetable garden, wishing he could show it to Penny. She would love it.
Squally disappeared behind a banging screen door, and Drake whispered to Blair, “The garden is planted in some sort of design or pattern. I think it might be a hex.”
“Or the arrangement makes weeding significantly easier. We’re not here to discuss gardening, hexes, or folklore. We need to use the phone and then leave.”
Disappointed with her, Drake shook his head.
She visibly softened and said, “Some vegetables grow better when they are placed next to other like-minded vegetables.”
“Blair—”
“I’m serious. It’s called companion planting.”
“That is a wagon wheel,” Drake began, but he stopped speaking when Squally pushed open the screen door. He carried a tray bearing glasses filled with homemade lemonade, plates of steaming stew, and a phone.
Drake stared at the shiny piece of modern technology that seemed out of place in the time-warp woods.
“My son bought me that,” Squally told him. “He’s a big shot with Boeing. Always trying to get me to move into some fancy apartment in Seattle. I tell him I like it here, I’ve always lived here, and I plan to die here.”
Drake handed Blair the phone, but she shook her head, reminding him that she had issues with the local police. Not long ago the chief of police’s mother had tried to kill Blair, putting Blair in the hospital for a number of weeks.
Drake pressed “talk” on the receiver, and the phone blew static at him.
“Take it inside,” Squally said. “It likes to be near its mother ship.”
Missy and Blair thanked him and accepted the bowls of stew while Drake went into the house. Missy sat cross-legged on the porch, and Blair and Squally sat in the rockers. Drake watched them through the window as he called the police.
***
“That couldn’t have been the real Nisqually,” Drake said as they walked back to Paulson’s Pond. “Even if he were only fifteen in 1915, that would still make him a hundred and twelve, and he can’t be that old. Still, you should ask him to write the Rose Arbor History. If he is who he says he is then he has lived here all of his life. Just think of everything he would have seen: both of the world wars, the depression, the influenza epidemic, and the birth of the space program.”
“Sweetie, are your legs tired?”
Which seemed like a really odd response, until she followed it up with, “Would you like a piggyback ride?” And Drake realized she was talking to the child.
Missy nodded and was going to climb on Blair’s back, but Drake said, “Here, I’ll take her.” He swung her up onto his shoulders, and Missy held onto his head for balance.
Chapter 42
Cave people were ahead of their time when it came to healthy eating. Their diet consisted of locally grown fresh fruits and vegetables and the occasional wild animal. Think of your ancestors the next time you visit the grocery store, and be grateful that you didn’t have to catch your dinner.
From Losing Penny and Pounds
“The secret to amazing chili is time,” Penny told Andrea as they chopped up peppers and onions. “The difference between a two-hour chili and an eighteen-hour chili is like the difference between swimming in the Caribbean Sea and taking a plunge at the local YMCA pool: you might get wet doing both, but the experiences are half a world apart.” She paused and waved her knife at Andrea’s diced peppers. “You want those smaller, like mine.”
“You know, I didn’t think so at first, but now that I know you better, you really are perfect for Drake.”
Penny’s knife stopped midair. “I don’t think Drake thinks that I’m perfect for him.” She resumed chopping, her knife thwacking the cutting board a little harder.
Andrea smiled. “Maybe he’s not seeing things clearly right now, but he’ll change his mind. At first I thought you were too sweet for him, kind of a pushover that he would walk all over.”
“Huh. Thanks?”
“What I mean is, look at these vegetables. You want them cut just right. And in the chili there’s a pinch of cardamom and an eighth of a teaspoon of nutmeg. I mean, come on, an eighth of a teaspoon? Who cares?”
“The judges will care. That eighth of a teaspoon makes—”
“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. That whole eighth of a teaspoon obsession is what makes you perfect for Drake.”
“I don’t think I’m obsessive,” Penny said, her voice stiff.
“Maybe I’m not saying this very well, but my point is that you and Drake match, but it isn’t obvious. It’s like he’s the perfect amount of chili pepper and you’re the hint of sugar, and each flavor balances the other.”
Penny lifted her spoon from the pot and pointed it at Andrea. “You can’t tell anyone that I put sugar in my chili.”
Andrea laughed. “What made you decide to stay here with Drake?”
Penny launched into the interfering Aunt Mae and the creeping Lurk sto
ry, and finished with, “But the sad thing is, just like a really great pot of chili needs time, so do relationships. And Drake and I…well…at the end of the summer he goes back to his life, and I go back to mine.”
“Couldn’t you stay? You can blog from anywhere.”
“I have a cooking show,” Penny said slowly. Even though she didn’t say it out loud, the truth was she didn’t want to be the girl that turned her life upside down for some guy. “Besides, I just met Drake, and maybe you think we’re perfect together, but like I said, Drake doesn’t think so.”
“Yes, he does. And if he doesn’t, then he’s stupid.”
Penny chuckled. “He really is stupid if he can’t see how great his story is with sea monsters in it. It was beautiful before, but after awhile I got tired of everything being so poetic with no action. Something had to happen.”
Andrea stood and frowned into the chili pot.
“Is something wrong?” Penny asked.
“Maybe that was my problem with Graham.”
“Graham, the hateful cracker? I thought you were going to forget him.”
“How can I forget someone I’ve known my whole life? He was my whole life.”
“Then what was the problem?”
“I couldn’t figure it out. I think that’s why it hurt so badly. I couldn’t see why or where we went wrong, but then maybe I was like Drake and his story. I couldn’t see that we needed something to happen. We were boring. I was boring. I was humming along, being pretty much the same person as I had always been, content with my hamburger and milkshake life.”
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself,” Penny said.
“No. I was just like the Bluebird café’s menu: predictable and boring.” Andrea set down her knife and moved away from the chili. “I mean, look at you. You wanted to change and you did. You had accomplished so much before with a popular blog, a cooking show, and as co-creator of the Watchdog, but then you totally made over your appearance too.”