“Here?” She opened up her eyes, straightened out her wig. “Someone’s at my trailer?”
“A man,” I said. “He’s from a magazine.”
“A magazine!” Miss Addie fluttered. “Pride dear, get my mirror!” She pointed toward her vanity. “And my powder and my rouge. Lipstick, too.”
I did just as she said, set it on the metal tray where she kept her TV Guide. I didn’t need a mirror to know how bad I looked this morning—my thick straw hair in tangles, my dirty clothes lifted off the floor. I probably looked as road-worn and uncombed as Nash and Sage.
“What does he want here, dear?”
I leaned closer to her chair, talked into her ear so he couldn’t hear us from outside. “He wants to know if someone’s watching, to make sure we’re not alone up at the cabin. So you just need to tell him that we aren’t. And that Old Finn should be home this afternoon. And we have a shop for charity.”
“Charity?” Miss Addie blinked. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“We have a little shop where we sell stuff.”
“Did you open that in Goodwell?”
“Sort of,” I said. It was strange to think Miss Addie didn’t know what went on at the cabin.
“Are we in a magazine?” Miss Addie asked. She looked into the mirror, drew two wavy bright-red lines over her lips, patted puffs of powder on her cheeks, then she followed that with two pink smears of rouge. “Earrings now.” She straightened out her ringlet wig.
I ran and grabbed the emeralds from her dresser, waited while she clipped them on her lobes.
“Okay?” I said. Makeup changed Miss Addie, but I knew it couldn’t help me. Emerald earrings either. I’d just be a hoot like Suzy said. “Can I let him in now?”
“Yes.” Miss Addie ran her hands along her muumuu; her slippered feet were propped up on a stool. All that fussing with her face, and still she looked eighty-three years old. “If you think I look presentable.”
“You’re fine,” I said. “And remember that you’re watching over us. Not a word about Old Finn being sick.”
“Not a word.” She put her finger to her lips. “I remember: He’ll be home this afternoon.”
34
ANOTHER KIND OF STAR
Nash spoke sweetly to Miss Addie, and right away Miss Addie said she was watching out for us. “I always keep my eyes on these dear children,” she said. “And you can see they’ve never come to harm.”
“I’m sure,” Nash said. He looked around the trailer at the stacks of magazines, the old phonograph, the ancient record albums lined up on the shelves. “Mind if I take a couple pictures here?”
“Heavens no!” Miss Addie gave a wave. “Will you need them for your story?”
“Could,” Nash said. “I still haven’t settled on a story yet. This one changes by the minute, that’s for sure. It’s turned out to be a little like an onion. I keep peeling back fresh layers trying to find the truth.”
I wrinkled up my nose; I didn’t want to be an onion. I hoped he wouldn’t say onion in our story: The Stars were like an onion.
“Maybe an apple would be better,” I said. “Something folks would eat.”
“Pride’s right,” Miss Addie said. “No one wants to be an onion.”
Nash kept his eye against his camera, took photos of the inside of the trailer—the mismatched china cups hanging from the hooks, Miss Addie’s old-time playbills taped to the kitchen wall, the dusty framed collection of her clippings.
“Is that enough?” I said. I didn’t want Miss Addie’s messy trailer in our story, just like I didn’t want that mean woman and her kids. I wanted free school and Serenity, souvenirs and cookies, me and Nightingale and Baby, the business we invented by ourselves. A shot or two of Woody Guthrie. Atticus and Scout. Summertime in Eden.
“Those are all my stories.” Miss Addie pointed to the wall. “I’ve been in magazines before. I used to be an actress.”
“I surmised that from the playbills,” Nash said. “Apparently, you’re another kind of star.” He moved his lens to focus on Miss Addie, kept it steady while he snapped another string of shots. “Thing is,” he said as he kept on snapping pictures, picture after picture of Miss Addie’s powdered face, “I’m having some concerns about these children.”
“You are?” Miss Addie said, surprised. “But Pride is self-sufficient. Always has been. Her grandpa made sure all the children were. It’s how he lives his life. Independent. Pride just got my medicine for me. Put my pills into the right compartments. Days all run together when you’re old.”
“Oh, I see she’s self-sufficient,” Nash agreed. “But I’ve been out here twice, and I can’t find a grown-up to sign a simple consent form. And now they’ve got a crabby customer threatening to sue. Asking about insurance. A license for the business. I need to know there’s a grown-up who takes care of these kids, so I know they’re not surviving on their own. Selling coffee to buy groceries.”
“Selling coffee?” Miss Addie blinked.
“No,” I said. “It’s nothing. But maybe you could sign the consent form for Old Finn?” If Miss Addie signed, Nash could go back to Chicago with his story, leave us all alone.
“Consent?” Miss Addie asked. “For what?”
“Permission for the story,” he said. I knew that he was watching Miss Addie through that lens. Looking for a lie. “I can’t run a piece on children without some grown-up saying yes. Their guardian to be exact, but he doesn’t seem to be here.”
“He isn’t sick,” Miss Addie said. “He definitely isn’t.”
Nash took the camera from his face. “Who isn’t sick?” he asked.
“Old Finn,” Miss Addie blurted. “He isn’t sick. And he’ll be home today.”
A wave of fresh confusion washed over Nash’s face.
“Okay.” I clapped my hands. “I need to get back to our schooling. Close the business down until our daily lessons are all done.”
“Ma’am.” Nash gave a little nod in the direction of Miss Addie. “If you’re in some kind of trouble here,” he said, “this may have started as a story, but I put people first. So if you or these three children need some kind of help?”
“We don’t.” I forced a smile. “We just need to do our lessons now.”
• • •
When we got back to the cabin, Nightingale was walking Scout around the small corral. Sage and Baby sat tandem in the saddle. “Will you look at that?” Nash said. “Sage rode a real-live pony after all.” He stopped and snapped another string of pictures.
“We’ve got to close the business now for schooling,” I announced. “Open up this afternoon.”
“Close?” Baby frowned. “But we still need more money for the—”
“Not now,” I said before Baby had a chance to blurt another thing. I pulled Sage from the saddle, led her out the gate. “You, too,” I ordered Baby. Baby hated help if anyone was watching.
“Schooling?” Baby fussed. “Is this from Nightingale’s list? ’Cause I don’t like the schooling or the prayers.”
“Baby!” Nightingale scolded.
“What prayers?” Nash asked.
“A hundred for Old Finn,” Baby complained. “Twenty-five apiece. Every day.”
“That’s a lot of prayers.” Nash gave Baby his sweet smile.
“We like to pray,” I said before Nash could ask another question.
“I don’t,” Baby said. “I want to play with Sage. I don’t want to do our schooling now.”
“I could stay,” Nash said. “Watch the little ones if you girls want to study. Wait here for your grandpa to get home. I could hang out on the porch and do a little writing. I’d just as soon wait here until I get this paper signed. Make sure things are okay.”
“No,” I said. “The three of us always do our work
as one. Right at the kitchen table. Sage will just keep Baby from his work.”
“She won’t!” Baby argued.
“You go and come back later.” I pointed toward the road, pushed Baby a couple small steps toward the cabin.
“Okay.” Nash shrugged. “We’ll try back this afternoon.”
“But if you start to write that story—” I said quickly. I kept one hand on Baby’s collar so he wouldn’t suddenly squirm free. “Don’t say the part about Matisse. Or Mama as a painter.” My skin was hot; I meant don’t tell my lies. “Or that woman who came back to complain. Just tell about the souvenirs . . .”
“You’ll have to leave that up to me,” Nash said firmly. “In the end, I’ll have to decide.”
35
CHASED
As soon as Nash’s van pulled out of the driveway, I hung our Closed sign on the low branch of the apple tree that stood near Eden’s entrance, then went into the cabin and locked up both the doors.
“We’ll stay inside today,” I said. “Do our lessons like Nightingale wants. Maybe read the letters.” We’d left off with Mama dying; I still wondered what happened after that. Were Old Finn and Justine still secretly in love? Once a week, Old Finn picked up his mail from a postage box in Goodwell; maybe Justine’s letters waited for him there?
“Not those,” Baby moaned. “And all day inside the cabin? Old Finn never keeps us in all day.”
“Old Finn isn’t here,” I said. I closed the drapes, pulled the shades, darkened every room like it was night. I didn’t want another stranger at our cabin, another person asking questions, another woman calling the police.
“Did something happen at Miss Addie’s?” Nightingale asked, worried. “Something bad with Nash?”
“No,” I lied. “Not really.” If Nash came back with his form, asking questions, or trying to find Old Finn, we’d hide inside the cabin, pretend no one was home. “I just want a day alone,” I said. The sudden darkness in the cabin felt almost like a cave, a cool dim place away from all the lies.
“Are you scared about that woman?” Nightingale peeked out from our curtain.
“But if she goes to the police,” Baby said, “they’ll take us far away, same as the sheriff did when Mama died. Put us in another terrible shelter until Old Finn comes home. Or worse, split us up and put us into fosters.” Once we saw four brothers taken off to different fosters, and after that we feared it would be us. Bad as the shelter was, at least we saw it through together.
“She won’t go to the police,” I said, even if I worried same as Baby. Everything inside me felt unsettled. I kept thinking of Nash’s magazine, and that mean woman in our driveway, and Baby’s doctor saying he’d send someone to our house.
“But we still need a dollar and ninety cents to buy our tickets.” Nightingale opened up her notebook. “Nash didn’t pay us for the Sugar Smacks or souvenirs. Or Sage’s ride on Scout. And if we’re closed, we can’t get any customers.”
“But Nash and Sage are coming back,” Baby said. “Nash even said.”
“Back to see Old Finn,” I said. “So next time when they come, we need to hide inside, wait in Old Finn’s closet so they won’t know that we’re home.”
“Hide from Sage?” Baby sulked. “But she’s coming back to play. I’m going to teach her how to fish down at the pond.”
“Not today,” I said.
Just then, Woody Guthrie barked a loud alarm, and we all froze. Held our breath while tires ground against the gravel. “Nash?” Nightingale whispered.
I shrugged. It seemed too soon for Nash to be back for Old Finn. We crouched down on the floor, crawled behind the couch, sat there still as stones until we heard the engine disappear off in the distance.
“Our Closed sign must have worked,” Nightingale said softly.
“But that could’ve been a customer,” Baby argued. “I want to sell tattoos so I can fill my tobacco tin with pennies. We can’t make money hiding in the house.”
“We can’t,” Nightingale echoed. She gave me a dark glance. “And we don’t have the money for Duluth.”
“We’ll get it someplace else,” I said. “Baby has his pennies. Miss Addie has her JFKs.”
“What?” Nightingale said. “You can’t take Miss Addie’s JFKs!”
It hurt to ask Miss Addie for her keepsakes, but there wasn’t any other way for us to get the money by the morning. Not with our business closed. And I didn’t want to wait another day to see Old Finn and ask him for help. “We don’t have a choice,” I said. “We need the money now.”
• • •
I left Nightingale and Baby to do their lessons in the loft, raced to Miss Addie’s trailer without stopping for a breath. I couldn’t shake the sense of being chased down by a stranger, but every time I looked back I was on the path alone.
“That man from the magazine,” I told Miss Addie. “Nash. If he comes back, don’t open up your door.” I didn’t want Miss Addie to say another word.
“Why ever not?” Miss Addie asked, concerned. “He certainly seemed friendly.”
“I just don’t want him asking any questions, or finding out we’re out here all alone, because we can’t know for certain who he’d tell.”
“Oh no!” Miss Addie said. “He’s with a magazine. Reporters all ask questions.”
“Still,” I said. I knew Miss Addie couldn’t tell a lie for long. And Nash was good at getting information; somehow his friendly manner made folks tell more than they should. I sat down on the sofa, stared into my hands. I hadn’t really come here about Nash.
“We’re all out of cereal and milk,” I said. We were, but we couldn’t buy that now. All the money that we had we’d need for tickets. “And you have those fifty-cent pieces?”
“My JFKs?” Miss Addie said. I could see she was alarmed.
“Well, you told us our first day. You said it’s all the money that you had.”
“Oh dear,” Miss Addie fussed. “Do you need to take them now?”
“We do,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“But the magazine? Won’t they give us money for that story? Or maybe we’ll be famous after that. Rich like all the movie stars.”
“Could be,” I said to keep Miss Addie’s hopes high. I didn’t think we’d be rich with our story in Chicago. And we sure wouldn’t look too rich standing in our home clothes by a horse, Nightingale’s gown down to her knees, her small bare feet black from dirt, me in frayed-hem blue jeans and my favorite faded T-shirt with the rainbow decal peeled away in patches. A plain, lanky girl too tall for thirteen. Suddenly, I didn’t know why I’d imagined us as stars. “And if we are, you’ll have a hundred JFKs. But for now, Baby can’t go hungry. And he won’t eat SpaghettiOs again.”
“No,” Miss Addie said. “But I have canned corn in my cupboard. Maybe peas. We could split a Campbell’s soup. Nose around, see what you can find, Pride.”
“It’s not enough,” I said as sternly as I could. I couldn’t bear to be too strict with Miss Addie; she was never strict with me. “We have to have the money.”
“It’s all I have of JFK.” Miss Addie shook her head. “Two small keepsakes of a bright life ended early. No one wants a coin of Richard Nixon. No one ever will. Not after all the terrible things he’s done.”
36
A DOLLAR OUGHT TO DO IT
I was almost to the cabin when Thor stepped out of the barn. “Thor!” I yelped, but it came out like a scream.
“Kathleen?” he said, embarrassed, as if he’d been as startled as I was. He pulled the red bandana from his pocket, lifted the seed cap from his head, and wiped the ring of sweat from his bald scalp. Suddenly, the pale space under his cap struck me as a spooky, hidden thing, something private that hardly saw the light. I knew Thor wouldn’t hurt me, but I couldn’t have him prowling Eden like Lady Jane out o
n a hunt. “I was just looking for your grandpa. I gave a couple knocks but no one answered. Thought I’d look around for signs of life. The cabin’s all closed up.”
“It is?” I stuttered. “I guess everybody’s gone.” I looked over at the cabin where every window but the kitchen had been covered. Probably Nightingale and Baby were hiding in the loft, waiting for the knocks to disappear. I hadn’t even heard Thor’s truck pull into our driveway. I slipped the JFKs into my pocket, took a steady breath so Thor wouldn’t see me flustered.
“Everybody? Your grandpa take the other young ones with him? He leave you here alone?”
“I’ve been visiting Miss Addie,” I said. “I’m just coming from her trailer now.”
“Ah.” Thor nodded. He gave a little whistle through his horse teeth. “That old gal staying healthy?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Fine.” What was Thor doing at our house?
“So your grandpa got his truck fixed?” He glanced over at the driveway, the empty space where Old Finn’s truck ought to be parked.
“I guess,” I said.
“I’ve kept my eye out, but I haven’t seen his truck drive past my place.”
“Probably drove by while you were busy, maybe earlier this morning while you were inside eating breakfast.” I had to stop by Thor’s on horseback to leave Atticus, but unless he stood guard in his yard he couldn’t track every driver who went past. He might have missed Old Finn in his truck. “I bet lots of folks drive by that you don’t see.”
“Could be,” Thor said. “So what about your pony rides? Saw you had a Closed sign on the tree. No cake today? No coffee? I came to give some business, but I’m too darn big to ride that pony.”
“No cake,” I said. I had cookies in the jar but I didn’t want to offer. I just wanted Thor to leave our land.
“Well, I see you’re competing with the Junk and Stuff. Got your own what-nots for sale on the porch.”
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