Last in a Long Line of Rebels

by Lisa Lewis Tyre

  Aunt Sophie burst through the front door waving a pair of bridge tallies like pom-poms.

  “Yoohoo, girls, I feel a small slam coming on!”

  Patty rolled her eyes behind her mother’s back, and I grinned. I was so excited I was practically vibrating. Tonight was the night!

  “Lou,” Mama said, “I swear, you’re about to climb the walls. What has gotten into you?”

  “Nothing.” I put my arm around Patty’s shoulders. “Is there a law against being excited to see my friends?”

  Bertie was looking particularly nice in tight red capris, heels, and a soft yellow blouse. A little nicer than usual for bridge night, but still well within her fashion range.

  “You look awfully fancy. Is tonight a special occasion?” I asked.

  “I’m meeting someone for coffee later.”

  I stared. “I thought y’all were playing bridge a night early because you had a date tomorrow night.”

  Bertie grinned. “Is there a law against having two?”

  “If there was, you’d be a felon by now.”

  “Ha. You’ve got that right.” Car doors slammed outside. “Dot’s here,” Bertie said, standing. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  We went outside to meet the boys and Mrs. Kimmel.

  “Franklin, what is that under your arm?” Mama asked.

  “It’s a telescope, ma’am.”

  “Yeah, Mama, there’s supposed to be this amazing meteor shower tonight.”

  “Meteor shower?” Aunt Sophie asked.

  “Yes!” I answered. “We were thinking about walking up Henson Hill watching for it. Would that be okay?” I asked.

  Patty jumped in. “It’s supposed to be awesome. They’re supposed to be really close, closer than they’ve been in years, like, probably closer than they’ll ever be—”

  “We get the picture, Patty,” her mother said. “What time is this shower supposed to take place?”

  “The paper said about nine o’clock,” offered Franklin. “The hill behind town would give us an unobstructed view.” He smiled, obviously proud for remembering the script.

  “Lillian,” Bertie yelled, “the cards are dealt. C’mon!”

  “Well, Lily, what do you think?” asked Aunt Sophie.

  “I guess it will be all right,” my mother answered. “But stay on the sidewalk, and if you’re not home by ten, we’re sending out the National Guard.”

  Patty saluted, and laughing, the four of us piled onto the front yard to wait for dark.

  Huddled together under the giant oak, we went over the plan again.

  “Okay, so we walk uptown to the antique store. You’ve got the key, right, Patty?”

  “Right,” Patty said, pulling a silver chain from underneath her T-shirt. She dangled the key in the air proudly. “Mama never saw a thing.”

  “Great,” I said. “You’re a regular Houdini. Now, once we’re in the store, we go to the side door that leads to the courtyard.”

  “After first looking out the window to make sure no one from the inn is out there,” Franklin added.

  “Right,” Benzer said. “Then, we go through the courtyard, and I’ll climb the latticework up to the second-floor patio.”

  “That’s where I come in.” Franklin cleared his throat and straightened up to his full five foot three inches. “With my deepest voice, I call the desk and ask for George Neely. Benzer watches to see what room he comes out of, then while Mr. Neely is downstairs talking to me, he slips into the room, grabs the book, and scoots back down the lattice.”

  “Piece of cake,” Patty said, “but I still don’t know why we have to stay outside doing nothing.”

  “We’re not doing nothing. We’ve got to help Benzer back down the lattice and keep watch in case anybody comes out there.”

  Patty pursed her lips and blew a curl off her forehead. “Why anybody would be outside in this heat is beyond me.” She raised one skinny arm and gave her armpit a sniff. “I’m about to become offensive.”

  “Yes,” chimed Franklin, “about four years ago.”

  I leaned against the oak, comforted by its familiar trunk, and listened to the sound of them fighting. The four of us together—that was how we’d spent bridge nights for as long as I could remember, and I loved it.

  How would we hang out together if I lived in another county? My house wasn’t the only thing at stake if we failed!

  Taking care to walk the back streets, the four of us made our way to town. I felt excited and nervous and like I was about to come apart into a million pieces.

  When we got to the back parking lot of the antique store, Patty took a deep breath. “Y’all ready?”

  We nodded, looking over our shoulders.

  “Here goes.” She leaned her neck down level with the doorknob, inserted the brass key, and turned the knob. The click was unmistakable.

  “C’mon, we’re in.”

  “Hurry,” Franklin said as we scrambled in. “Where’s the phone?”

  Patty pointed to the wall. “It’s next to the door, so you should be able to see us easy enough.”

  I crept across the store to the opposite wall. “The door’s right here. Benzer, pull the bolt.”

  “Wait!” yelled Franklin, causing us to jump. “You forgot to look out the window.”

  “Dude,” Benzer said, placing a hand over his chest. “You about gave me a heart attack.”

  “Sorry.”

  I stood on tiptoe and peered over the windowsill into the courtyard beyond. A couple of wrought-iron tables and chairs were scattered about, but no people.

  “It’s clear. Let’s get this over with.”

  Benzer and Franklin tugged on the dead bolt, and the door opened with a loud creak. Hugging close to the wall, we snuck across the empty courtyard, over to the lattice attached to the siding. Greenery grew up it in a thick mass, hiding most of the wood.

  “I hope this isn’t poison ivy,” Benzer said, moving the plant to one side and finding a place to hold. He put one foot on a horizontal section, pulled himself up, and balanced there for a brief second, before the piece broke under his foot.

  “What the—?” Benzer blurted out, falling against Patty.

  “Oww,” Patty whispered, rubbing her shoulder.

  “Sorry.” Benzer pulled the ivy leaves apart. “Man, half of these cross sections are rotten.”

  I pointed toward the back. “Try it over there.”

  He put his weight on another crosspiece and crashed back.

  “Now what are we going to do?” Patty moaned.

  I stared up at the balcony. It looked about the same height as my upstairs window at home.

  “I can do it,” I said.

  “What?” Benzer asked. “Come on, Lou, I know this means a lot to you, but that’s dangerous. You could seriously hurt yourself.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not going to get hurt. I’ve climbed up and down our old oak a thousand times. Look, it’s the only way. I’m the lightest one here, not counting Franklin, and we need him to make the phone call.”

  “What about me?” Patty asked. “You’re no skinnier than I am.”

  “You’re wearing platform sandals! They’ll never fit between the lattice, and my shoes won’t fit you.”

  A door closed somewhere above us, and we grew still, listening. The hum of Friday-night traffic was the only sound.

  I put a foot on the first horizontal piece I could find. Gingerly, I grabbed another cross section and climbed up. Nothing happened. “See, it’ll hold me. You guys keep watch when Franklin goes in to make his call.”

  Benzer just stared at me, shaking his head.

  “Please,” I begged.

  “Fine,” Benzer said finally. “But if you crack your skull, you can tell your mama what happened.”

  “Deal,” I said, already climbing.

  I made it to the balcony without any trouble and pulled myself over the railing. A sliding glass door led into the inn’s second-floor hallway. I peered through
the vertical blinds, satisfied that it seemed deserted. I gave it a tug, and it opened easily.

  Stepping back to the railing, I looked down to see the three of them reflected clearly in the moonlight. I gave them the thumbs-up signal. Franklin gave me the signal back and ran over to the store.

  I hunkered down, looking through the glass, while he made the call. A few minutes later, Mr. Kirby, the inn’s owner, came up the stairs at the end of the hallway. He walked straight down the hall toward the balcony. For a terrifying second, I thought he was going to see me, but at the last moment, he stopped. He knocked on a door to my left. A sign over the door read MAGNOLIA BLOSSOM, #3.

  “Mr. Neely?”

  A couple of heartbeats later, the door opened a crack.

  “Yes, Mr. Kirby? Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, yes. I’m sorry to disturb you, but there’s a phone call for you downstairs.”

  The door opened wider, and George Neely stepped into the hall dressed in striped pajamas and a robe. He wore a pair of glasses perched on his gray head and the aggravated look of someone who had just been interrupted.

  He put a hand over his mouth and coughed slightly. “Did you get a name?”

  Mr. Kirby shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Would you like me to have him call back in the morning?”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll take it. Probably someone from the university, research-related—that sort of thing.”

  I watched them disappear down the stairs, then I slipped quietly into the hallway. Just as we’d hoped, Mr. Neely had left his door unlocked while he went to take his phone call. I checked my watch again. Franklin had a list of questions and hoped to keep him talking for at least five minutes.

  “Please let this work,” I whispered, and walked into Mr. Neely’s room.

  The room was small, and the wallpaper featured giant burgundy magnolias. A large four-poster bed took up most of the space. A velvet chair was sitting at an antique desk. Papers and books were strewn on top of the desk. I was so nervous I thought I might pass out on the Oriental rug.

  I sorted through the books quickly. They were all related to local history in some way, but the History of Grey County in Photographs wasn’t among them. Frantic, I began opening drawers and shuffling papers and stuff around. Just as I was about to give up, I found it on the floor, leaning against the desk. Grabbing it, I tried stuffing it into the waistband of my shorts. It was wider than I was, and I ended up turning it sideways and stuffing a corner in my waistband. My T-shirt stretched tight across the book, making me look like I’d swallowed a pizza—box and all.

  The desk was a mess from where I had shuffled papers. I looked at my watch. Four minutes since I’d walked in. Quickly, I began to put the papers and books back as best I could remember.

  I moved a stack of notebooks, and a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. I picked it up and the name Mayhew caught my eye. It was a copy of a receipt, dated 1932. I read down the list of items, mesmerized. Furniture, books, candlesticks, horses, wagons … the list went on and on. Scribbled in the margin were the words Mayhew auction inventory. I was still holding it when I heard a cough from outside the door.

  Panicked, I looked around for a place to hide. Dropping to my knees, I scrambled for the bed. I’d just gotten underneath when the door opened. I lay still, my heart racing. The door closed softly, and I could hear low mutterings: “Silly questions, never even heard of the Nashville Historic Activist Committee.”

  I raised my head an inch and peered through the lace bed skirt. Right at the pajama-clad legs of George Neely.

  From the diary of Louise Duncan Mayhew

  December 1862

  We are cold. For days, the enemy has camped in town, and we are trapped in our own homes. They have seized all the wood for themselves, leaving us to burn corn husks and twigs.

  This was the type of thing grown-ups always said would be funny years later. Like that was supposed to make you feel better—that one day, when you were a hundred years old, you’d be able to look back and laugh. But right then, hiding under George Neely’s bed, I felt like the world was coming to an end.

  My options buzzed through my brain like a mosquito trying to find a warm place to land. One, I could stay hidden until he went to sleep and then try to sneak out without waking him. Of course, in less than an hour, it would be ten o’clock. At that point, Mama would start looking for me; if I wasn’t on our doorstep, I might as well stay where I was—life would not be worth living.

  Secondly, I could make a run for it—scramble out from under the bed, throw open the door, and sprint for the exit.

  I chanced another look at where Mr. Neely had planted himself. I could hear him shuffling papers at the desk and see his legs. He was sitting right between me and the door.

  “Honestly, I do believe I’m losing my mind,” he said. “I know I just had the blasted thing.” He walked back and forth in front of the desk.

  I lay there holding my breath. In my hurry to hide, the book had fallen out of my shorts, and now a corner of it peeked out from beneath the bed. That corner was clearly visible in the room. If he looked under the bed, I was done for.

  He coughed again, and I could see his rubber-soled house shoes pacing back and forth. Suddenly, he crouched down on the carpet, one knee just a few inches from my face. He put a hand on the bed skirt, and I was about to burst into tears, when frantic knocking sounded on the door.

  “What in the world?” he asked, and raised himself with a huff.

  The knocking continued—rat-a-tat-tat—hard and fast. A loud wailing was coming from the other side.

  “Please, Sister, please, open the door.”

  It was Patty’s voice, yelling like there was no tomorrow.

  Mr. Neely slid back the bolt, and Patty burst into the room. I could see her shoes flying across the carpet.

  “Where is she?” she cried. “Where’s my sister?”

  I could only imagine Mr. Neely was as flabbergasted as I was, for all he did was stammer, “Wh-who, who? Young lady, please calm down!”

  “I’m looking for my sister,” Patty continued. “Daddy found a note saying she was going to a party here tonight to meet a boy! Please help me, mister. Daddy’s gonna kill the both of them, for sure!” Patty began crying even louder.

  I lay under the bed and tried to understand what she was doing. I wasn’t sure how this was going to help me get out of his room without us getting caught, but it was an exciting effort. Patty sounded really freaked out.

  “I assure you, young lady, your sister is not here in my bathroom or closet, and you can see there’s no party. I must insist that you leave immediately.”

  Patty’s skinny knees dropped to the carpet, and she raised the bed skirt. Her eyes widened for a moment as they met mine, then she was gone again.

  “Okay, mister, if you say so,” Patty said, sighing. “But when my daddy turns up, you might want to talk to him a little nicer. He chased her last boyfriend off with a baseball bat, and you don’t look like you can run very fast.”

  I put a hand over my mouth. As nervous as I was, a giggle was fighting hard to escape my lips.

  “Now, just hold on a second. What makes you so sure he’s coming here?”

  I could hear the smile in Patty’s voice. “Oh, well, he told Mama to go ahead and get the bail money ready ’cause he was gonna burst into room number three ‘fists flying.’ Daddy’s kinda protective of his girls.”

  “Good God. What kind of town is this? We’re going to have to get the police.”

  “No!” Patty screamed. “You can’t. If the police show up, there will be big trouble. Daddy’s already on probation.”

  “I’m sorry, I’d like to help, but it’s highly inappropriate for you to even be in this room, and I refuse to wait here and be chased by a crazed father.” He strode to the door and opened it. “You’re going to have to come downstairs with me and get this straightened out.”

  “Fine,” Patty said, “but you’d better l
et me walk in front, in case we meet Daddy coming up the stairs.”

  I heard the door close behind them, and I scrambled out from under the bed. I waited for what I hoped was enough time for them to turn the corner, then flew into the hallway. I opened the sliding door and raced onto the balcony, immediately colliding into a body.

  “Aiiee!” I screamed.

  “Shh, Lou, calm down, it’s me.” Benzer put a finger on his lips.

  “How’d you guys get up here?” I whispered.

  “By risking our lives. We stacked a chair on top of two tables and prayed from there. I almost fell three times.” He looked pale in the moonlight. “Let’s go.”

  We jumped over the railing, grabbing onto trellis, vine, whatever we could find, and half climbed, half fell to the bottom, where Franklin was waiting. He grabbed my hand and pulled me, running through the dark, to the antique shop’s door. I flung it open, then waited until they were inside to slam it shut. We raced down the aisles of the shop. Benzer missed a shelf full of Depression glass by a hair, but we made it to the exit without incident. We stood on the gravel, breathing heavily, listening for the sound of Mr. Neely or Mr. Kirby in pursuit. Franklin found his telescope from behind the Dumpster, where he’d hidden it earlier.

  “I think we made it,” Benzer said, wiping his forehead with a bare arm. A trickle of blood was running down his forearm from a deep scratch, but he didn’t seem to notice. He kept glancing over his shoulder. “Remind me not to do that again.”

  Franklin smiled. “I agree. Too close for comfort.”

  I gave them my best grin, but still couldn’t speak, my heart was beating so hard.

  “Hey!” a voice called from the dark.

  The three of us jumped. Patty strode past us, cool as a cucumber. “Y’all forgot I have to lock the door.”

  We were staring, openmouthed.

  “What?”

  “Patty,” I said, “you were awesome. How in the world did you know which room I was in?”

  “Franklin figured it out. There was only one room upstairs that had the lights on.”