“I do not.” My eyes stung and I wriggled out of his grip.
CJ started making kissing noises, which Henry thought was hilarious, so of course, he started in on it, too.
“Cut it out, CJ,” Jude said.
Bo licked his fingers. “Yeah, cut it out. Sunday is sad.”
Good old Bo. My anger fizzled down a little bit.
Jude pulled my arm. “Now come on, Sunday. Let’s go and watch the practice. We’ll see if someone there knows anything about … you-know-who. If not, we’ll go.”
I nodded, trying to ignore the “K-I-S-S-I-N-G” song that CJ was singing.
“Go home, CJ!” I yelled.
“No way. I’m coming with you guys.”
Jude shrugged. “Fine. I guess you won’t mind watching me kiss your sister?”
CJ’s face turned pale, and he pretended like he was going to throw up.
Jude made kissing noises of his own, and CJ was off and running with Henry at his heels.
I smiled. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
Bo put his sticky hand in mine. I looked down at him. “Why don’t you go back with CJ?”
“I don’t want to. I wanna stay with you. I promise I won’t talk about Robo.”
As sweet as he had just been, and as much as I liked it when he chose me over my brothers, I rolled my eyes at the thought of him tagging along. “Come on, Bo,” I said, louder. “Go home. Jude and I have stuff we have to do.”
“No. I don’t wanna.”
I groaned and dropped his hand. Bo’s lip trembled.
If my parents saw me pouting like that they’d say I was acting like a baby. But if I pouted in the slightly more sophisticated way that Emma and May did, my parents would accuse me of trying to act older than I was.
Too young. Too old. I couldn’t win.
“Oh, let him come,” Jude said. “He won’t get in the way. Besides, we might not even be there for very long.”
Bo’s face broke into a wide smile, and he grabbed my hand again, then reached for Jude’s. He looked up at me, his brown eyes sparkling. “Do you love Robo more than me?”
I wanted to yell that if he wanted to live another minute he should never, ever, ever mention the name Robo again. But I stopped myself and sighed.
I remembered Bo’s even breaths as he slept, cuddled up under the covers the night before. His small voice asking me if I could tell him a story. The way he’d told CJ to cut it out. I gave Bo a small smile. “No. I could never love him more than you.”
The rehearsal for A Midsummer Night’s Dream was uneventful. The director said he’d talk to us if we agreed to be Puck’s fairy friends in the play, which we wouldn’t. (Jude thought about it but said no when he saw sketches of what Emma had in mind for the costumes.)
All the other adults were busy with the sets, or working with the sound and lighting. When I saw a group of kids who looked around CJ’s age, I almost wished that he and Henry had come along. If he made some friends, maybe he’d stay out of my hair more. But that would probably mean that I’d be on full-time Henry and Bo duty. Even though CJ was a pain almost every second of the day, he did entertain our brothers. I had to give him that.
We left the play practice with no more information than when we had started this morning, and Jude was more starry-eyed for Emma than ever before.
“I won’t make fun of you and Robo Matthews if you promise not to make fun of me and Emma,” Jude said. Bo ran ahead of us, jumping over the cracks in the sidewalk.
“Okay. But—” How was I going to explain that I didn’t mind that he liked Emma. I just didn’t want to get left behind. “Just … when she’s around, don’t forget that I’m still there.”
“Course. Why would I forget? We’re friends. Besides, she hardly knows I exist.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it. She’s just crazy about the play right now.” I wanted to add that she was also a few years older than him but stopped myself. He knew that already. And really, it didn’t matter.
A FEW mornings later, Jude was dropped off by his mom and Wally.
“I get off early today,” Wally called through the rolled-down window. “Maybe you and I can practice our catching for the fair or go out for ice cream or something.”
“Wally,” Ms. Trist said. “He doesn’t need all that sugar, and I know they don’t use organic milk in that place.”
Wally leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “He’ll be fine.” Then he turned back to Jude, who was staring at his shoelaces. “What do you think?”
Jude shrugged. “If Mom doesn’t want me to eat ice cream, I probably shouldn’t.”
Now Ms. Trist smiled. “Well, maybe just this once. You two go and have some fun.”
After they left, Jude quietly sulked until the smell of Mom’s waffles drifted out.
“Come on,” I said, pulling on his arm. “You’ll love my mom’s waffles.”
We each wolfed down two, put our plates in the sink, and then walked back outside. My sisters were upstairs fussing over their hair and clothes, and my brothers were just sitting down to eat their breakfast. Judging by how fast the boys usually ate and how quickly they’d be nosing around to see what Jude and I were up to, I figured we had about ten minutes. Eight, if CJ decided to have four waffles instead of his usual six.
“So tell me again, why are we sneaking down to the basement of the library?”
I shifted my backpack on my shoulders. “It isn’t really sneaking if you’re talking that loud, is it? Now, come on.”
“No one can hear us over all that racket your dad’s making outside anyway.” At least he whispered this time.
“We can’t take any chances. By the way, you have chocolate on your cheek.”
Jude reached up and swiped the blob away, then licked his fingers. If his mom only knew all the nonorganic things he was eating every day when he came over, she’d probably choke on her arrowroot cookie.
Our shoes squeaked on the new floor as we made our way to the basement stairs.
“So what is this about?” Jude eyed one of the empty spiderwebs in the corner of the room.
“Looking around to see if we find anything else. Another clue to that manuscript. This is where I found it. There could be other things that were hidden. You look in the boxes on the first two shelves. I’ll look in the other ones. Since Ben Folger was a librarian, see if you can find anything with his name on it.”
We sifted through dusty books and folders, but all we found were old tax forms, books, unused envelopes, and an occasional overdue notice.
“Have you looked in the place where you found the story?” Jude asked as he returned a box to the shelf.
“Yeah, but there wasn’t anything else. Just some old—” I remembered the small stack of envelopes bound with a rubber band that I had tossed inside a cardboard box when I first found the story. I walked over to the box, still sitting on the table where I had first set it down. The envelopes—worn around the edges, their blue ink faded—sat on top of two old cassette tapes.
“What are those?”
I shrugged. “Not sure, but they were in the locked box with the manuscript.” I pulled out the first envelope from underneath the rubber band and handed the next one to Jude. Inside was a handwritten letter. I read it aloud:
Dear Librarian,
It’s a warm day here, but it’s always warm, even when it’s cloudy. I suppose it’s the car exhaust and heat radiating from the brilliant buildings that had once captured me. Once? you ask. Yes. Once. I still love this place. How could anyone not love something as magnificent as the bustle of the city? But more and more I find that my heart is really back in Alma. With you. I don’t know what you think of that, and I am almost afraid to ask. But I’m returning for a visit soon. Within the month, though I can’t help wishing it were sooner.
Daisies and hearts,
Me
PS—I suppose you’ve heard that my father died two weeks ago. I did not go back for his funeral. I felt no
thing. Is that wrong of me?
I stopped and looked at Jude. He shrugged and read his aloud.
Dear Librarian,
Today I took a walk in the park. To tell you the truth, I had not been to the park in a long while. I’ve hardly stepped outside, it has been so wet. I know you would remind me of how you made me dance in the rain with you when we were kids. Yes, though I blame you for the cold I got afterward. Do you remember how I couldn’t sniff any of the flowers I love so much for an entire week? I’m finding that I miss Alma more than I thought I would. It’s come on gradually, this longing for home, but I’m finding it harder to ignore. Maybe I just miss you and our conversations.
Perhaps you could come and visit. It really isn’t as bad as you think, and I promise I wouldn’t make you go to a party or do anything social. We’ll stay inside and play crazy eights, and I’ll beat you as bad as I always have. Do think about it.
Daisies and hearts,
Me
PS—Because of the city lights, I haven’t seen Orion’s Belt in longer than I can remember. So trivial a thing, but it makes me sad.
Jude flipped the letter over in his hand. “ ‘Dear Librarian’ and ‘Me.’ Not much to go on.”
A stampede of footsteps thumped overhead. The boys! I folded up the cream-colored paper and slipped it back inside the envelope. Then, grabbing the other three letters, I stuffed them into my backpack and zipped it shut.
“Sunday! Jude!” It was Henry.
“I bet they’re down there,” CJ said. “Maybe they’re making out.”
“What’s making out?” Bo asked.
“Kissing.”
“Ewwww.”
“We’re coming up,” I yelled, exasperated. I put the cardboard box back on the top shelf and thumped up the stairs, Jude at my heels.
I needed to get my brothers out of my hair. The problem was, if they knew I didn’t want them around, then they’d only make sure to stay glued to my side. So I either needed to bribe them (I had ten dollars in my money jar), or make them so bored that they would leave us alone.
I decided to go with option two.
“What are you guys doing?” CJ asked. “You going downtown?”
Bo gave me a big hug, wiping his sticky face on my shorts, and Henry clung to Jude.
“Oh, nothing,” I said. “Jude and I were maybe going to help Mom and Miss Jenny organize and clean up around here, and then we were—”
Jude cut in. “I thought we were going downtown—”
I jabbed him hard in the stomach.
“OW! Sunday! Why did you—?”
“Don’t you remember how we were going to help out around here?”
He rubbed his stomach. “Oh, yeah. Help out.”
CJ looked at me hard and stroked his chin suspiciously. To be more convincing, I picked up a roll of paper towels and the cleaning spray Mom had left sitting on a windowsill and started wiping down the circulation desk.
“Hey, CJ, will you hand me that garbage can?” I asked, for added effect.
He plunked it down next to me and then started for the door. “Come on. Let’s add booby traps to our fort and then walk to town and see if Muzzy and Papa Gil will give us candy.” The word candy was all it took for Henry and Bo to follow after him.
Once the door closed behind them, I got down on my hands and knees and pulled Jude to the floor next to me. We crawled to a window and watched my brothers disappear into the trees. When they were a safe distance away, I grabbed my backpack, and Jude and I snuck outside.
“So we’re going to do some more investigating?”
“Yeah.” I pulled out the letters.
Jude reached for one. “But the letters really didn’t tell us anything.”
“I know. But we haven’t read all of them. And besides, they were locked up with the manuscript in the library, so they probably belong to the same person.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.”
“The first thing we should do is try and find out who all the librarians have been. I think finding out who these letters belong to will lead us to the author of the story.”
We had taken a right onto Main Street, and Jude automatically turned toward the crepe stand.
Ms. Bodnar greeted us with a wide, warm smile. She swiped a hand across her forehead. “Whew. It’s as hot as Hades back here. How about a crepe? I have one hot off the pan.”
Jude licked his lips and took the plate that Ms. Bodnar handed him, the blob of whipped cream sliding off the side of the warm, rolled-up pancake.
“We’re investigating and wanted to know if you knew the names of any of Alma’s librarians.”
“Hmm. Well, I don’t know them all, but a few.”
She took out a piece of paper and began writing. “Well, there was my husband. Fanny Smith was after him. In my opinion, she’s one of the reasons the library went downhill so fast. Miss Dunghop is the new librarian, but you know that. Before my husband there was Kimberly Nicolas. Cathy Carleton was also one for a little while, and I think old Ben Folger was the librarian, too. Then—”
“So did you know him?” I asked. “Ben Folger, I mean?”
Ms. Bodnar looked up from the paper and brushed a stray curl out of her face, leaving a floury streak across her cheek. “No, I don’t think anyone really knows Ben Folger, at least not now. I heard he was a pretty good librarian, though. He mostly keeps to himself now, so it’s hard for me to imagine him serving the public, but I guess once upon a time …” She handed me the piece of paper. “I’ll let you know if I think of anyone else.”
“Thanks, Ms. Bodnar. Come on, Jude.” I pulled his elbow and started out of the café.
Ms. Bodnar nodded, wiping down the countertop. “Sure thing. Come back soon.”
“Ben Folger’s name mentioned again!” I said to Jude as we walked down the sidewalk.
“Yeah, but she was just listing off the names of other librarians, and we already knew he was one.”
“I know, I know. But still, I think he has something to do with the story from the library. Maybe he’s the Librarian in the letter.” My heart sped up at the thought. “And if he is, I bet he’s also the author of the manuscript.”
“That’s a pretty big jump, Sunday. Just because—”
A desperate voice called to us from across the street.
“Jude! Sunday!” It was Muzzy. She crossed over to us, wringing her hands. A leash dangled around her neck like a scarf. “Oh dear, what am I going to do?”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She looked up and down the street. “It’s Mr. Castor. I can’t find him anywhere. You haven’t seen him, have you?”
“No. But we’ll help you look,” I said.
Muzzy started down the street. “That would be so nice. I really don’t want Gil to find out. He loves Mr. Castor, don’t get me wrong, but I do admit that our dog is a bit difficult. And when he runs away, it’s the worst.”
“So he’s run away before?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Castor is always getting loose. He’s so big, you know, and with the way he pulls, it’s sometimes impossible for me to keep ahold of him. And you might not think it, but he’s quick as lightning. Whipped right by me and out the door.”
We continued down the street, yelling for Mr. Castor. And even though Muzzy had said that she couldn’t find him, she seemed to be walking in a specific direction. We took a right, walked two blocks, then took a left, then a left again. Muzzy slowed down when we reached a small yellow house. The sound of jingling dog tags greeted us.
“Mr. Castor,” Muzzy whispered.
Jude and I glanced at each other, wondering why in the world she was whispering and why Muzzy looked more worried than ever. It was as if she thought at any moment something might come out and pounce on her.
“Come here, Mr. Castor,” Muzzy said again.
A big white furry head with a snout completely covered with dirt poked up from behind a bush. Mr. Castor cocked his ears, snuffled, and then disappear
ed again.
Jude and I started toward the bush, but Muzzy caught us both in a death grip. “No, don’t! If he sees you coming, he’ll run off again.”
“Then how are we supposed to get him?” I asked, feeling silly for whispering.
Muzzy wrung her hands and bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know. We sort of have to herd him back home.”
“I have an idea.” I set my backpack down and unzipped it. I always kept snacks handy. After digging around for a bit, careful not to hurt the letters that I had stuffed inside, my hand found the small crinkly package of peanut butter crackers. I pulled them out and opened the wrapper.
“What are you going to do?” Muzzy asked, then mumbled to herself, “If Mrs. Potts sees Mr. Castor in her yard again, she’s going to be furious.”
“Don’t worry. I have a dog, Butters. She always used to run away, but I taught her not to with treats.” I walked slowly to where Mr. Castor was snuffling around in a bush. “Come here, Mr. Castor,” I said. “You want a treat?”
At first he ignored me, bounding away, tail wagging. He sniffed somewhere else, stopped, and then started flinging dirt behind him into a pile. I continued to call him, holding out the peanut butter cracker.
“Mr. Castor, come here,” I said again. And just when I thought that maybe I was wrong and there was a dog on the earth that could resist peanut butter crackers, he dashed over. I grabbed his collar and walked him back to Jude and Muzzy.
Muzzy clapped her hands. “Oh, you’re a genius, Sunday!” She clipped the leash back on Mr. Castor’s collar and smothered the dog with kisses and pats. “My poor, naughty Mr. Castor,” she crooned, seeming to forget how nervous and upset she had been a moment before. “Now, come on, we have to get you out of here before she sees you.”
I turned around and looked at the yard dotted with holes, mounds of dirt, and decapitated flowers. “So I guess he’s come here before?”
Muzzy started down the street after Mr. Castor, who was pulling on his leash so hard he was almost choking himself. “Oh, yes, he always comes here. I don’t know why, but at least I always know where to find him.”
“And she gets really mad?”
A Summer of Sundays Page 10