Spitting Image

by Shutta Crum

  twenty-four

  THE CLUBHOUSE WAS A MESS. The pictures had been ripped off the walls and were scattered here and there. Some were torn, some were wadded up. Our cooler had been emptied and overturned, and the dictionary had pages ripped out. The chairs were on their sides and one had a broken leg. The single picture remaining on the wall—our only full-color glossy picture of the Beatles that Robert and I had sent away for—had been deliberately ripped down the middle. John and Ringo were on one side, and Paul and George on the other. Each half had been neatly put back onto a nail, like some final insult spit out at us.

  I could hardly bring myself to take that last step from the dirt path across the threshold into the clubhouse. I stood for the longest time just staring at the wreckage inside. Who would do such a thing?

  Mama and Beryl Ann were whispering to each other behind me. Mama had run almost as fast as I had.

  Finally, Robert stepped inside, bent down, and started searching through the papers on the floor.

  “What?” I whispered.

  “My library book,” said Robert, turning the cooler upright and closing the lid.

  “And the logbook!” I said, rushing in.

  I found the logbook in one corner, pages ripped out and crumpled. The whole list—the whole history of our collection—gone. Ruined! All that time spent working so hard on it, recording each picture, wasted now. I held up the tattered cover to show Mama and Beryl Ann. I saw Mama’s jaw tighten.

  Slowly I got up, walked out, and handed her what was left of the logbook for safekeeping. She bent over and hugged me. Then I turned and went back in to start cleaning up.

  Robert and I took care of most of the mess, with a little help from Baby. Mama took the chair with the broken leg home to fix. Beryl Ann brought us a broom and some paper sacks to put everything into. When Beryl Ann hugged Robert, I thought she was going to be the one to break down crying.

  We managed to save nine pictures that we could hang back up. Some of these were creased, and a few had a corner ripped or a hole gouged through them where they had been pulled off the nails. But they were the best we could find.

  The cooler was fine. We kept the dictionary, though some of the pages would forever be missing. But we didn’t find Robert’s library book. It wasn’t in the clubhouse or anywhere outside in the grass. Whoever had wrecked the clubhouse had taken it or thrown it away.

  When we’d done what we could, we stood in the center of the clubhouse and looked around. We’d put all the rescued pictures up on one wall. It didn’t look the same. It wouldn’t ever look the same to me.

  Robert sat down on the cooler with his head in his hands. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do about that library book,” he said. “Shackleton.”

  “Shackleton?”

  “Shackleton’s Valiant Voyage. I was only on Chapter Eight, too.” He sighed. “I’ll probably have to pay for it.”

  “Pay for it? Just tell Mrs. Peabody about the clubhouse.” On top of everything else, I couldn’t believe he’d have to pay for the book. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Taking care of it was my responsibility”

  “But you didn’t know this was going to happen,” I argued. Robert could be really thickheaded sometimes.

  He shook his head at me and slumped farther down on the cooler.

  I looked around again. Who could say that even this patched-up repair would last? Suppose someone came back to wreck the place again and again, until there wasn’t anything left at all?

  That was when I realized that something else had happened to us, something I, running free around Baylor all my life, hadn’t even thought could be possible. Not until this minute had I ever felt unsafe here.

  Mama had just told me about her bad times. But they seemed so distant, like history. It never occurred to me that anything could ever happen here, now, that would hurt us or change us.

  I went up to one of the walls of the clubhouse and started pounding on it with my fist, over and over and over again. Robert didn’t say a word.

  When I was done, I leaned my forehead against the wall, shut my eyes, and just tried to stay right there—in one place in my mind. I wanted to stay where I could breathe deeply, where I hoped all the bad things had been pounded out and where there were only good things and good people remaining. But the bad people had a way of sneaking back in. Slowly I raised my eyes and looked at Robert, still sitting on the cooler.

  “Dickie did this,” I said. I was as sure of it as I am that my name is Jessica Kay Bovey.

  “What?” asked Robert.

  “I said, ‘Dickie did this.’”

  “How do you know?”

  “He and his daddy were in the Gas and Go yesterday, with Bobby and Cy. I think I got him into trouble, but I didn’t mean to.”

  Just then Mama and Beryl Ann appeared in the doorway. Mama had nailed a piece of wood onto the chair to replace the splintered leg.

  “Do you want to go to the library, Robert?” asked Beryl Ann softly. “To talk to Mrs. Peabody about your book? Mirabelle said she’d drive us over, if you want. She doesn’t need to go into work right away.”

  “Yes,” said Robert. “I’d like to find out what I need to do.”

  I knew for sure that if anybody should pay for that book, it should be Dickie Whitten. But nobody was suggesting that we should find out who’d done this or see if we could get the book back. I stood in the cool darkness of the clubhouse watching Mama and Beryl Ann outside in the sunshine, framed by the dark wood of the doorway. Didn’t they see it? Didn’t they understand?

  Mama raised a finger, pointed it at me, and said, “And you stay out of trouble while we’re gone. Your grandmother’s supposed to stop by in a little while. Keep an eye on Baby for a few minutes and go tell Lester that I’ll be in later.”

  I nodded my head.

  Mama studied me long and hard. “Did you hear me?” she asked.

  “Yes’m.”

  And then they were gone.

  I went to the door of the clubhouse and looked down at Baby sitting on the high worn doorstep. The strange thing was that I didn’t feel steaming mad. That feeling had somehow vanished. I just felt sure of myself, and I knew what I had to do. I had to let Dickie know that he couldn’t get away with what he’d done. We wanted that library book back.

  I’d even try to say something helpful—if I could think of anything. Mama said to stay out of trouble. Surely, just talking reasonably to Dickie wouldn’t get me into trouble.

  “C’mon, Baby,” I said. “We’re gonna go pay a little visit to Dickie.”

  twenty-five

  BABY AND I STOPPED by the Gas & Go and I gave Lester Mama’s message.

  As we were leaving, Miss Woodruff came in and wanted to chat. I was anxious to get over to the Whittens’ before Mama got back or Grandma showed up, but we had to be polite.

  Miss Woodruff was excited because a big national women’s group was going to donate new school clothes for the miners’ kids. The recent news programs on the mine closing had gotten the word out that some of the families needed help, and she’d been busy organizing it all.

  Finally, when she’d purchased what she needed, I grabbed Baby by the hand and walked out the door with her.

  “How’s the challenge going?” she asked.

  “Really good,” I said.

  “Great!” she said. “I’ve written to the regional office, but I haven’t heard back from them. You haven’t talked to Beryl Ann about it yet, have you? We probably shouldn’t say anything to her until I get a response. Then I’ll know what I can offer.”

  “Oh.” I stopped walking and looked up at Miss Woodruff. “Miss Woodruff, when you do hear from your office, do you think you could not say anything to Beryl Ann or Robert?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’d like it to be a surprise. I’ve been saving up the challenge money all by myself, and I’ve almost got the whole twenty dollars. All I need is a little bit more.”

  Miss
Woodruff tilted her head and smiled at me. “That’s very kind of you, Jessie,” she said. “And Mr. Henry and Mr. Birchfield will be back in town in a few days. It seems their work went so well the last time they were here that an article is coming out any day now in some of the very biggest newspapers. Thanks to you, in no small way. They want to do some more work in the area. And who knows—maybe they’ll need a guide again.”

  I smiled back at Miss Woodruff. Maybe I could get the last of the money needed for Robert’s glasses! “Let me know when they get here,” I said. “Well, Baby and I have some things to do. Nice to see you again, Miss Woodruff.” I started dragging Baby across the gas station lot.

  “Do you need a ride?” she asked, pointing to her old green Pontiac by the gas pump.

  “We were just headed up Dog Gap a little way,” I said.

  “That’s still quite a walk. I can take you.”

  We got into the car and set off. While Miss Woodruff chatted with Baby up in the front seat, I sat in the back seat and stared out the window. I knew Mama might not like what I was doing. But I couldn’t help it—I had to do it. I’d stay out of trouble; I’d be calm. The one thing I knew for certain was that I couldn’t stand around and let somebody get away with hurting us again.

  Miss Woodruff didn’t want to take her car up the rocky two-track lane to the Whittens’ house, so she dropped us off at the end of the drive on Dog Gap Road. “Are you sure this is OK?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Thanks,” I said, hurriedly getting Baby out of the car before Miss Woodruff could change her mind and take us back home instead. “We’ve been here lots.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but I had been with Lester a few times when he made a delivery of some supply or other to Mr. Whitten. “‘Bye, Miss Woodruff.” We waved as she drove off.

  First we had to ford Martin’s Creek, which was only about two inches deep and five feet wide. Baby splashed across the creek and waited for me on the other side. I started jumping across from rock to rock so I wouldn’t have to take my shoes off. That’s when I realized that Baby was still barefoot. Most of the time kids went barefoot around Baylor, but I probably should have made Baby put some shoes on.

  The trees were thick on either side of us, and the rough track was difficult to walk. I stumbled against exposed bits of rock, thinking about how Mr. Whitten’s old truck must rattle like the dickens going up and down here. No wonder he had bits of that truck tied on with baling twine and fence wire and it always looked like it’d fall apart if someone blew on it.

  When we got out of the woods, we topped the hill we’d been climbing and came to a flat area with a couple of old sheds and a corncrib on our left. I could see the road up Dog Gap clearly. No wonder the law could never seem to surprise Mr. Whitten and confiscate his moonshine makings. He could see them coming a long way off.

  Mr. Whitten’s patched-together truck was by the corncrib. Ahead was the house, old, unpainted, and up on stilts because it sat smack up against the mountain. To the right sat their barn, leaning way back toward the mountain, like it wanted to give up, lie down, and take a nap in the tall weeds that the Whittens hadn’t bothered to mow.

  Like a lot of the houses around here that have doors to open up to the breeze, the Whittens’ house had two front doors. I took a deep breath and marched up the steps to knock on the closest door, hoping that Mr. or Mrs. Whitten wouldn’t be the one to answer. If one of them did come to the door, I’d simply explain the situation and ask if they’d seen a library book around.

  I tried to calm myself and decided to count, just to be on the safe side. I counted to ten, and then to twenty. I took some more deep breaths. Baby sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the porch and waited.

  No answer. I knocked louder and wondered how far I was going to have to count before someone came. Still no answer. “Dang!” It didn’t seem like anyone was at home. “Now what?” I turned to look at Baby. He was gone.

  “Baby?” I called. “Baby Blue!” This was not a good time for Baby to go wandering off. I jumped down the steps and searched the clearing in front of the house. No Baby. I took off toward the barn. Perhaps Baby had heard some animal there or had headed to the back of the house to let himself inside.

  At first I didn’t see them. I called again, “Baby!” Then, from over by the side of the barn, I heard someone laughing.

  Dickie and Baby were standing by a big wooden box that sat atop a stump alongside the barn. I didn’t like the fact that Baby was all by himself so close to Dickie. “Baby,” I called, “come here!”

  He didn’t move, and Dickie barely glanced at me. I wondered what was going on. Dickie giggled. It didn’t sound right, and my heart began to race.

  I started toward them. Dickie swung around and looked at me. “You better stay back where you are. I got Ol’ One Eye in here.” He laughed again, high and nervously.

  Dickie liked to tell tall tales, but I knew it’d be just like him to do something stupid like mess around with his father’s snakes. “What are you doing?” I asked, taking one or two steps closer and stopping.

  Dickie’s eyes were little slits as he smiled at me. “I was just asking Baby here how he’d like it if I tossed him in that box with Ol’ One Eye.”

  “That’s a mean thing to say, Dickie.” I took another step in their direction. “Baby, you come over here by me!”

  Baby acted as though he hadn’t even heard me. He stepped closer to the box.

  “That’s right, Baby. You want to see the purty snake, don’t you?” Dickie asked.

  “Quit teasing him, Dickie!” I shouted.

  “I’m not teasing,” he said. “Folks say he’s got a weirding way with animals, especially snakes. Even my daddy says so. I thought he’d like to see Ol’ One Eye.”

  And then I saw that Dickie had a stick in his hands. He raised it, poked at the box, and flipped the lid open. At the same time he took a step back. Suddenly, I realized that Dickie wasn’t fooling with us. Maybe his daddy’s rattlesnake really was in there.

  Baby leaned over, looking into the box.

  I darted forward, planning to grab Baby, but that’s when the box fell off the stump. It landed on its side, lid open, on the ground between Dickie and Baby.

  Out of the box slithered the biggest rattlesnake I’d ever seen.

  twenty-six

  “DAMN!” I SAID OUT LOUD. I thought my heart was gonna bust right out of my chest and start running away all by itself while the rest of my body stood there and watched that muscular diamond-patterned back slide slowly out of the box. I could hardly drag my eyes off of Baby’s bare toes—right in its path.

  “Don’t . . . don’t move,” I said.

  I heard Dickie squeal, a little high, scared-sounding titter.

  “Shut up, Dickie! Don’t move, either of you. I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” What was I going to do?

  I knew nobody was in the house, or Dickie wouldn’t have gotten the snake out to begin with. Looking around wildly, I stumbled into the clearing in front of the house. I could see a white car just pulling onto Dog Gap Road down below. Help—that was what we needed! I’d get help.

  I ran down the Whittens’ rocky drive so fast I could barely see the trees and rocks blurring past me. I know I fell a few times, scraping my knees and sliding on the palms of my hands against the crumbly rock of the road. But I didn’t feel it. I just jumped back up and kept running. At the bottom I splashed across Martin’s Creek and headed out onto Dog Gap Road.

  Hurry! Hurry, or it’s going to be too late! I repeated over and over to myself as I gulped what breath I could with each step. It’ll be too late and Baby’s gonna get bit and die. Baby’s gonna die, and it’ll all be my fault! My fault for dragging him here. My fault for being mad at Dickie.

  On Dog Gap Road I fell down again in the loose gravel. My hands and knees were all bloody. But I got up and ran on. Only now I was crying, too. Where was that car? I’d just seen it. Had it passed by already?

  How long, I wondered, before the
rattler sniffed them out? How long before one of them got bit? I knew the stories of snakebites, of kids dying, a leg or arm swollen, black, and split open from the poison. “Oh, God! Oh, God!” I began crying out loud as I staggered down the road.

  I came around a curve, holding my hands against my hurting chest, and almost ran directly into the white car as it slammed on its brakes. Behind the wheel was Grandma.

  “Jessica!” Grandma yelled as she flung open her door, jumped out, and grabbed me. “Jessica!”

  I couldn’t get my breath. I stared blurrily at Grandma and then pointed, with every bit of strength I had left, behind me. “Baby . . . Dickie . . . rattlesnake.”

  Grandma looked past me, up the road. Then she pushed me in through the driver’s door. I stumbled in, my head banging first against the dashboard and then against the far door as she shoved the car into gear and floored the gas pedal. Gravel and cinders flew up all around us.

  It took me a few moments to get my breath. I reached up, grabbed the dashboard, and dragged myself upright. I could see the blood from my hands and knees smeared all over Grandma’s white upholstery.

  “One of them bit?” she shouted above the sound of the engine and the flying gravel.

  “Not yet,” I answered. I explained how Dickie had been trying to scare Baby and how Ol’ One Eye’s box had tipped over right at their feet. “And Baby’s barefoot. I told them not to move, not to move one inch. Then I looked up and saw a car coming and ran down to get help. Grandma, it was crawling right toward Baby’s feet!”

  “You did good, Jessica!” Grandma said.

  As she wrestled with the steering wheel, Grandma shouted about how Miss Woodruff had felt funny leaving us in Dog Gap. “It’s a good thing I stopped in to see Lester! She’d just told him where she’d dropped you two off!”

  I pointed to the Whittens’ drive up ahead and tried to concentrate. The easiest thing for me to concentrate on was Grandma. She had on dangly earrings, and her black dyed hair was pulled back and held up with bobby pins. On the floor next to her sat her old leopard-skin purse. I looked down at her feet. She had on tiny little strappy yellow sandals. How would she get up that old lane? She couldn’t run uphill in those.