Stay a Little Longer

by Dorothy Garlock

  Rachel shivered at the thought of Zachary stealing Archie Grace’s money. There was little doubt that he was a greedy, overbearing man who treasured the pursuit of money over nearly everything else, but the man her mother had just described was nothing short of evil. Still, she knew there was little that would’ve led her to believe that Zachary had been misunderstood. That Mason hadn’t swallowed his own brother’s story was particularly damning.

  How can I believe a word he said about the boardinghouse?

  “Would you place Charlotte’s future in the hands of such a man?”

  Her mother’s question struck Rachel mute. When Zachary had first made the offer to follow up on his father’s pledge to provide for Charlotte, she had had reservations, but wanted to do what was best for the girl. Now, in the face of the accusations made against the man, she wished to keep her niece as far away from him as possible.

  “He told you that he’d provide for Charlotte, didn’t he?” Eliza asked.

  “Yes… yes, he did.”

  Her mother nodded solemnly, moving back toward the window and peering onto the street below. “Zachary Tucker does not give a damn about that child… never has,” she finally said, her voice low with a barely restrained anger. “All she is to him is a reminder of a brother he couldn’t stand. If she were in trouble, he would be the last person I would ever turn to for help, and that’s God’s honest truth!”

  “But what about the money his father promised?” Rachel prodded. “He said that if we sold the boardinghouse to the lumber company, he’d ensure she got what was rightfully hers.”

  “That money is gone forever, child.”

  “But what about—”

  “Just put it right out of your head!” Eliza snapped, her voice as raw as any open wound. “That bastard wants you to have hope, to believe it was somehow possible, but you’d have as much luck getting that money as you would snatching the sun from the sky! I want us to stay in our home and reject what Zachary is offering as much for Charlotte as I do for you or myself. I need her to grow up in this house surrounded by childhood memories.”

  For the first time in the many years Eliza had insisted on Charlotte’s visits to her mother’s tombstone, Rachel recognized that she and her mother did not have as many differences as she had imagined. While she wished that Eliza would leave her room from time to time, she could clearly see why her mother never wanted to sell the boardinghouse. For all that she had lost, this was where her family was, and that family was centered around her granddaughter.

  Though she still hated being responsible for so many of the chores needed to keep the boardinghouse running, Rachel felt a slight flush of shame begin coloring her cheeks. In the face of all they had lost by Mason’s death, what still remained after all the years was the strength of family. Her mother, Charlotte, herself, and even her uncle Otis all depended on one another to make ends meet. Though Zachary’s offer was tempting, it would be dangerous to accept it; heeding the cautionary tale of Archie Grace was the wise thing to do. Besides, her mother was right; memories of her sister lingered in the old house. Maybe she should explain that to Charlotte.

  “I want her to be happy,” Rachel said simply.

  “So do I,” Eliza agreed. “We each have our own ways of going about it, but in the end, we both want the same thing for her.”

  Listening to her mother, Rachel knew that never would she sell the boardinghouse to Zachary Tucker, even if he were to increase his offer to ten times his original price.

  And that is just fine with me!

  Chapter Ten

  CHARLOTTE RAN through the tall grass along the shore of Lake Carlson, happy to be out of school. If she’d had to spend five more minutes at her desk reciting times tables in arithmetic class, she would have been tempted to run screaming from the room! It was so boring that it was all she could do not to fall asleep. The only thing worse than waiting for the end of the day was thinking about having to go back tomorrow.

  While the other kids laughed and played together, Charlotte stood in the background by herself. Always surrounded by adults, she was shy around other children. She had no real friends because she used her sassy mouth to cover up that shyness.

  The big black dog ran along beside her, panting, his tongue lolling out his mouth. Bounding from one clump of wild grass to another, Jasper seemed not to have a care in the world save having fun, a feeling that Charlotte shared. In particular, she cared little about the burrs and thorns that kept snagging her blouse and skirt, even tugging at her long blonde braids, although she knew she would receive a tongue-lashing from her grandmother as soon as she got home.

  I’m not gonna worry ’bout that today!

  Pushing any thoughts of her grandmother’s nagging out of her head, Charlotte set about enjoying what was left of the day. The autumn sun provided some degree of warmth, even as a cool breeze rustled the few brown and burnt-orange leaves that still clung to their branches. Only a scattering of fluffy clouds marred an otherwise clear blue sky. In short, with winter only a couple months away, this day was one to savor.

  Suddenly, a rabbit darted from its hiding place and bounded out ahead of them. Jasper was off like a shot, a flurry of barking and churning legs, darting deeper into the woods in pursuit. Charlotte came to a quick stop, her chest heaving from both running and laughter. “Go get ’im, Jasper!” she yelled as the dog’s barking faded into the distance, leaving her alone among the trees.

  Being alone in the woods was not frightening to Charlotte; she loved exploring. Out among the thickened knots of trees and bushes around the lake was particularly inviting. Here, she and Jasper could do as they pleased. She laughed out loud thinking of prissy Ethel Phelps who never ran and played at all for fear of getting her fancy dresses dirty. Here, Charlotte could do exactly what she wanted without having to worry about being constantly fussed over by her grandmother, as if she were as fragile as an egg.

  Charlotte knew that her grandmother loved her, in her own way. But all of her constant worrying was too much! Make sure you take your mittens because otherwise you’ll catch cold! Don’t run down the stairs… what do you want to do? Fall and hurt yourself? You shouldn’t go out today… it’s supposed to rain and Lord knows you’ll catch your death of cold! Her grandmother’s hand-wringing knew no end! She’d made it her life’s goal to make sure her granddaughter didn’t have any fun at all. Even as Charlotte disobeyed day after day after day, the worrying kept on. After a while, it just sort of went in one ear and out the other.

  And then there was Aunt Rachel…

  Every year it was the same thing; Rachel dragged her out to the cemetery to visit her mother’s grave. Usually she went, mumbled a few things, and everyone was happy, but this year had been different. She and Jasper had been dragged away from their playing, she had been miserable; she really wasn’t sure why she hadn’t run away right then and there. The long walk to the cemetery felt as if it took hours. Even after they arrived, she had been unable to understand the point of it all. Why do I have to try to get to know my mother? Can she really even be my mother if I don’t remember her face or the sound of her voice?

  A pair of butterflies danced in front of Charlotte’s face, grabbing her attention away from thoughts of her long-dead mother. Monarchs, their beating wings speckled a bright orange, fluttered by. The sight of them was surprising; butterflies were usually long gone by such a late autumn date. As they made their way away from the lake, Charlotte followed, jumping up to try to catch them, laughing because they managed to stay just out of her grasp.

  This is better than school any old day!

  Following along behind the dancing butterflies, Charlotte moved from along the lakeshore deeper into the forest. She weaved between tall oaks and elms, stumbled down a gentle depression, and fought her way through a wild rosebush, all to keep the beautiful butterflies in sight. Finally, the tangle of underbrush opened out before her and she entered into a clearing well shaded by the overhang of branches from the surrou
nding trees.

  Ahead of her lay a decrepit old shack, leaning precipitously against a big elm tree as if it had been drinking like Uncle Otis and needed the support. Rotted planks seemed to cling to the frame out of desperation. Only jagged fragments of the window remained from long-ago smashed panes. Charlotte figured that one good wind or snowstorm would bring the whole thing crashing down into a heap on the forest floor.

  In her adventures through the woods, Charlotte had come across the shack before and avoided it. Her grandmother had warned her to stay away from it. She had told her that hobos and tramps used it and would carry little girls away if they caught them.

  She had been scared until her aunt Rachel had explained that not all hobos were bad men; some were just down on their luck. Whatever that meant.

  Apparently there was still somewhere to discover! The broken-down building sat before her eyes like a present at Christmas. She was still marveling at her luck in finding the shack again when one of the butterflies gently flew through the slumped frame of the door. Without a moment’s hesitation, Charlotte followed.

  The inside of the shack was dark; the scant light that managed to penetrate the tree’s cover did little to illuminate the small space. As she waited for her eyes to adjust, Charlotte wrinkled her nose at the dank, sour smell that assailed her. Momentarily, she wondered if this wasn’t a place where animals came to die; she had come across her share of dead raccoons, squirrels, rabbits, and even deer during her explorations. Pinching her nose shut, she knew she’d have to remove whatever carcass there was if this was going to be her new special place.

  She was just about to go back outside and call for Jasper when she heard a faint rustling sound that froze her in her tracks. Her breath caught in her throat as she waited, listening, hoping that it had been nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

  Is there something here, with me, inside the shack?

  With her eyes nearly adjusted to the gloom, Charlotte looked for some sign of a wild animal. In the corner farthest from the door, a pile of ragged cloth lay in the deepest shadow. As she watched, the rustling noise came again, and this time the rags moved!

  Could it be coons… or possums… ?

  Though her heart was hammering like a rabbit’s caught in a trap, Charlotte edged a bit closer to the pile of rags. She wanted to lift the rags up and steal a look. She’d be careful not to be nipped. Grandmother had explained that some animals in the woods were sick with something called rabies. But Otis always said, “Them darn animals is much more scared of you than you are of them… Just don’t give ’em a reason to bite you!”

  But just as she was about to reach out and touch the pile, Charlotte let out a gasp. A man’s face appeared in the gloom! Though his eyes were sunken and his face heavily bearded, she knew that he was looking right at her. Even as she stood there staring, he lifted one trembling hand and held it out to her as if he thought she would take it.

  “Alice…” the man mumbled. “Help me… Alice…”

  Mason Tucker was undeniably sick, his body burning up with fever. He had no idea how much time had passed since he had first entered the shack in the woods; days and nights went by in a dizzy blur of illness. His limbs felt weak, as if his strength were being drained out of him like water from a jug. Even the simple task of stumbling out behind the shack to relieve his bowels was an exercise in both perseverance and futility.

  He was just about to try to raise himself up off the floor and once again make his way outside when he heard the faint creaking of a floorboard. Holding his breath, Mason waited, hoping that he had imagined the sound. When it persisted, another squeak and then a shuffle, his worry was that it was a wild animal come in search of food. If it were an inquisitive squirrel or raccoon, he figured that he would have enough strength to scare it away. But if it were a coyote or a wolf…

  Opening his eyes, Mason peered toward the door, but his vision swam and he was unable to see clearly. Blinking rapidly, he strained to make out something, anything, of his visitor. Slowly, the room began to come into focus, and he discovered that it wasn’t an animal but a girl! Initially, he was fearful that he’d been found trespassing by the shack’s rightful owner or that he’d run afoul of the law. His instinct was to run away, even though he knew his present condition made that impossible.

  Mason watched as the visitor drew closer. But with each step, his vision grew clearer until he finally saw the person’s identity, a realization that lifted all of heaviness from his heart.

  “Alice…” he said through cracked lips. “I’m sick, Alice…”

  She was every bit as beautiful as Mason remembered; her long blonde hair hung in tight braids, and her bright blue eyes pierced him all the way through to his heart. Even the look of surprise on her face was as familiar to him as his own reflection in a mirror. Even though her blouse and skirt were simpler than he remembered her liking, the joy he felt at seeing her again after almost nine long years sent tears of joy streaming down his face.

  Mason wondered why she was here in the shack with him. Maybe she had noticed him in Carlson and followed him. Maybe Samuel Guthrie had recognized him after all and had gone to his father. His father had told Alice… and she had sworn that she would find him…

  Or maybe the life that he had been forced to live for all of those years hadn’t been real but instead a nightmare from which he couldn’t manage to awaken. Maybe he’d never climbed on that train, maybe he’d never gone off to fight in France… and he and Alice still lived in their home… and he was still following in his father’s footsteps at the bank… Maybe he had instead been far sicker than he’d ever imagined.

  “Oh, my beloved… Alice…” he muttered.

  Gathering what strength he had left, Mason pushed himself up off the rotted floor and onto unsteady feet. His sudden movement seemed to startle Alice, who quickly stepped back toward the door. Worrying that she would once again disappear from his life, he moved to hurry after her, but the room began spinning and suddenly it was all he could do not to fall to the floor. Desperation pounded at his heart.

  “Don’t… don’t run… from me… Alice,” Mason pleaded.

  “Why do you keep calling me that?” she answered.

  “I can’t… lose you again…” he said through stiff lips.

  Just as he was about to grab her and pull her back to him, a thunderous barking exploded around the tightly cramped space of the shack. In Mason’s twisted vision, it looked as if a humongous black wolf had leaped between him and Alice, its hackles raised and its teeth bared in a snarl. But even in the face of such a ferocious beast, he refused to cower in fear, to be denied the reunion he so desperately wanted.

  “Alice… I…” he stammered.

  “Jasper, hush!” he heard before the darkness that lingered on the edge of his vision closed in and the room turned upside down.

  Before Mason could take another step, the floor seemed to rise up and smack him in the face. All around him, the darkness that had sat at the edge of his weakening vision swarmed closer, blotting out much of what he could see. But before he could be completely taken, he saw Alice grab the still barking animal by the thick hair of its coat and pull it back toward the door. When she returned, she knelt down beside him and began to brush his sweat-slick hair away from his eyes with a touch as gentle as a feather.

  “Mister? Are you sick?”

  “Oh, my sweet… Alice…” he managed before the darkness swept over him again.

  Charlotte ran headlong through the trees and bushes of the woods as fast as her legs would carry her. Branches whipped by, striking her in the face, but she couldn’t have cared less. Her heart pounded in excitement at her discovery and a smile curled the corners of her mouth.

  Jasper ran alongside her, leaping over downed branches and skirting past the thorniest bushes. Charlotte was proud of him. He had been trying to protect her. While he had protested being dragged back outside, Jasper had finally relaxed when he realized the man posed no dange
r to either of them.

  The strange man was sick; while the halting way that he spoke and the fact that he could hardly stand would have been enough, one touch of her hand up against the blazing heat of his forehead told her all she needed to know. He needed help… and she was the one to give it to him.

  There were things that she could get him from the house: some water, a bit of food, blankets, maybe a pillow. But Charlotte knew that she would have to be careful. This would be her secret. She wouldn’t tell anyone at school, and she especially wouldn’t tell her grandmother or Aunt Rachel; she could practically already hear her grandmother’s warnings. No, she would have to make sure that no one saw what she was doing.

  If someone were to see me…

  Charlotte knew that there was something special about the strange, sick man. She didn’t know his name, or where he had come from.

  Maybe he is my fairy godfather…

  Chapter Eleven

  NOW WHAT IN THE WORLD is that girl up to?” Eliza asked.

  Rachel placed the serving tray that held her mother’s breakfast on the table and stepped over to the window. Dawn had only recently broken on the day, but the sun already warmed the slowly awakening town, though the fall chill in the air had certainly grown more pronounced. Peering over Eliza’s shoulder, she watched as Charlotte ran around the far corner of the depot and hurried toward the lake, a pair of woolen blankets clutched under her arm. As always, Jasper trotted along behind her, giving the occasional bark. In seconds, they were lost to sight.

  “This is the fourth time I’ve seen her do something like this in the last week. If it’s not a blanket, it’s an old woolen coat or a covered basket,” Eliza explained, her face a mask of concentration, her hands wringing with worry. “And that’s only the times I’ve seen her! Who knows how many times she managed to avoid me! What do you suppose she’s up to?”