Finding Fortune

by Delia Ray

  “Poor Hildy,” I said softly. “I bet that’s driving her crazy.”

  “Totally. She hates feeling useless. That’s why I called. I think it would cheer her up if you came to see her.”

  I sagged deeper against the tree. “What about your dad? Is he still there?”

  “No. Mine’s been helping a ton and she talked him into going back to Des Moines yesterday.”

  “I’m really sorry, Tucker.” I sat down in the nest of roots at my feet. “Your father started asking me all kinds of questions and I had to tell him that we weren’t in the gym when Hildy had her accident. Did you get in huge trouble?”

  I could hear Tucker’s drawn-out sigh. “My dad did what he always does. Yelled and stomped around and then when I explained what we were doing—why we were looking at the mural—he freaked out all over again. But he calmed down eventually … like he always does,” he repeated.

  “You admitted we were trying to find the pearls?”

  “Yeah. He thinks it’s ridiculous. And I have to say I think it’s pretty goofy myself, after all the time I wasted crawling around on Hildy’s boat.”

  “What?” I let out a surprised laugh. “You did? Didn’t Hugh tell you that we already looked there?”

  “Yeah, but I thought I might as well give it a try too. Just in case. Anyway,” he went on, “I think Hildy might have gotten wind that my dad gave you a hard time. She wants you to come over and visit her one day if you can.”

  “Of course I can come,” I told him with a catch in my voice. “What about tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” Tucker said just as a rowdy cheer from the volleyball game came drifting through the trees. I smiled into the phone.

  On my way back to the rec center, I spotted Mom standing on the lawn near the volleyball court, searching for me. Her face cleared as I came trotting out of the grove of maples. “I was worried,” she called out. “What did Tucker say? Is everything all right with Hildy?”

  I could see our welcome-home banner with its Popsicle stains rolled up under my mother’s arm. She almost dropped it in surprise when I hurried over to hug her. “Everything’s fine,” I said as I rested my head against her chest.

  Maybe Fourth of July wasn’t so bad this year after all.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  MY FIRST GLIMPSE of Hildy after her accident was so scary that I stood frozen on the stage like a bad actress struggling to remember my lines. The lighting probably made things worse. With the heavy velvet curtains shrouding all four sides and dark rafters where the ceiling should have been, the only brightness came from a few dim lamps scattered around the stage.

  “I know, I know,” Hildy said once I had floundered through my hello and taken a seat in the straight-back chair beside her bed. “I’m a mess.” She reached up and patted her scalp and the sparse gray fluff that sprouted from it. Her skin matched her hair. Without makeup it was the color of ashes, and she looked more shrunken than ever, propped in the middle of her giant four-poster bed, swallowed in her robe and covers. “Bring me my wig, will you, Mine?” Hildy called. “Ren looks like she’s about to faint.”

  Mine laughed and scooped the clump of stiff brown curls from the top of a dresser that sat in the corner. When she delivered it, Hildy plunked the wig on her head like a hat. Then she put on her glasses. “Better?” she asked.

  I didn’t know how to answer. Luckily Mine leaned over and gave the wig a couple of quick little tugs. “There,” she said. “You look awesome.” She moved the glass of water closer on Hildy’s bedside table. “Need anything else?”

  “No, dear. You’ve done enough this morning.” Wincing, Hildy sank back against the pillows that were piled up behind her. “You go tend to Hugh. Ren will keep me company for a little while.”

  “Did you see Hugh when you came in?” Mine asked me.

  “He and Tucker opened the door for me. They were headed out to the labyrinth. Sounds like it’s almost done,” I added brightly.

  Hildy’s expression turned bleak. “I told Garrett I wanted to be the first one down the path.” She sighed. “But who knows how long that will take. You all will have to go ahead without me, I suppose.”

  I shot Mine a worried look. “The labyrinth will be good motivation for you, Hildy,” Mine said. “The sooner you get back on your feet, the sooner you can get rid of this stuff.” She picked up the walker and thumped it down next to the wheelchair at the end of the bed.

  Hildy smiled wanly, closing her eyes like an obedient child.

  “I’ll be right next door in the kitchen,” Mine told me as she stepped through the curtains at the front of the stage. Once Mine had gone, I glanced back to start a conversation with Hildy, but she had drifted off to sleep. I couldn’t help staring for a few seconds, at her sunken cheeks, at the tiny blue veins in the hollows of her temples. Then I forced my gaze away and let it roam around the stage. There were Oriental rugs on the wooden floor and heavy antiques with doilies on top—like what you’d expect to see in an old woman’s bedroom. Still, I couldn’t help imagining that any minute the curtains might open, the lights would lift, and there, lined up below, would be the shadowy audience ready to watch us—Hildy and me—starring in our own little play.

  I jumped when Hildy suddenly spoke up beside me in her husky voice. “Your dad will be home soon,” she said.

  “That’s right.” I smiled. “Only one more week.”

  “That’s wonderful, honey. I bet you can hardly wait.”

  “I can’t. But—” I knotted my fingers together in my lap. “But I’m scared too.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Was I really going to say it? Out loud? I took a deep breath in and then let it go, pushing my words free at the same time. “My dad moved out, right before he left for Afghanistan. All year I’ve been telling myself my parents will get back together as soon as my dad comes home. But now … I’m not so sure anymore.”

  “That’s a bitter pill to swallow, isn’t it?” Hildy’s tone was so matter-of-fact, almost like she was talking to another grownup, that I glanced up in surprise.

  “We can’t hold back change, Ren,” she said. “Sometimes things change for the better. Sometimes for the worse. Either way, we’ve got to be grateful for what we have and take life as it comes—good and bad—one step at a time.”

  I leaned forward, considering, and rested my chin on the heel of my hand. “It sounds pretty simple when you say it that way.”

  “Simple!” Hildy snorted and shook her head. “No, ma’am. Change is hard. If it were simple, would I be wearing this darn wig?”

  We were still laughing when Hildy turned to look at something on the bedside table. At first I thought she might want a drink of water, but then I realized what she was gazing at—an old photograph propped against her lamp. It was the picture of her father and brother standing on the back of her dad’s clamming boat—the same one she had tucked in her apron that morning when I had found her up on the balcony and confessed to opening the safe in the principal’s office.

  “Can I see?” I asked, reaching for the photo. Hildy nodded.

  I peered down at the faces, searching for a family resemblance. “Your brother, Tom, was pretty cute,” I said. “How old was he when this was taken?”

  “Oh, probably twelve or thirteen. About Tucker’s age. And yep, he was a looker, all right. The girls were crazy about him. They used to fight over whose books he would carry at school.” I smiled. It sounded like Tucker and his great-uncle had a lot in common.

  I tilted the photo into the lamplight. There was a name painted on the back of the boat, just underneath the spot where Tom and his father were standing. “Wait,” I said suddenly. “I thought your dad’s boat was called the Little Miss.”

  Hildy plucked at the collar of her robe in exasperation. “No, those fools that I hired to do that new paint job got it all wrong. Instead of doing what I told them, they went by what they could still read on the stern. They thought the ‘Miss’ stood for Mississippi and they compl
etely left off the best part of her name. The word Pearl was the one closest to the waterline and it had worn completely away over the years.”

  “So your dad’s boat was actually called Little Miss Pearl?”

  “That’s right, but everybody called her Pearl for short.” She squirmed on her pillows, trying to find a comfortable spot. “By the time I discovered the mistake, Garrett had already hauled the boat into the gym. I was fit to be tied. She’s older than me, that boat. Spent her whole life as Pearl until one bad paint job turned her into the silly Little Miss. I haven’t gotten round to making them fix it yet, but it’s on my to-do list.”

  Hildy let out a hoarse laugh and patted at her head. “What’s wrong, honey? Why are you looking at me so funny? Is my hair crooked again?”

  “Hildy, did Tucker ever tell you what he and I were doing that day when you fell? Hugh was with us too.”

  “No,” she said, looking startled. “But I was wondering where the three of you ran off to so fast.”

  “We went to look at the mural,” I said. “Mr. Bonnycastle’s mural. We thought there might be a clue about where to find the pearls so we took the ladder out to the landing so we could climb up and see.”

  “The mural,” Hildy repeated in awe. She pressed her hand to her cheek. “Of course, Bonny painted it! I should have thought of studying that old painting a long time ago.” Her eyes widened behind her glasses. “Did you find anything?”

  “We thought so … at first.” I moved to the edge of her bed and carefully lowered myself down, making sure not to jostle the mattress. “Did you ever notice those boats in the painting?”

  “Boats?” Hildy blinked. “There’re two of them, right? I guess I never paid them much attention.”

  “Well, the one closest to the shore has a name written on its side. One word. Guess what it is?” I gave the photograph a little shake.

  “Pearl!” Hildy cried. She had both hands pressed to her cheeks now, remembering. “Sometimes Pop let Tom take Pearl out to cruise the river on Sundays, and Bonny would go along. It was one of their favorite things to do together.”

  “But, Hildy—” I said. I needed to stop her before she got too excited. “We already searched your dad’s boat. And I’m sorry, but the box … it’s not there.”

  Hildy’s eyes were blazing as she pushed herself up from the pillows. “Of course it is,” she said. “You just didn’t know where to look.” Then all at once she was grabbing at her covers and throwing them aside. “Get me that wheelchair, Ren.”

  “Wait, Hildy! What are you doing?” I set the photo on the table and stood up, holding my hands out in a steadying motion. “Let me get Mine.” I started backing away and then dashed for the curtains.

  I only had to call Mine’s name once before her frightened face appeared in the serving window. “You’ve got to come quick!” I yelled. “Hildy’s trying to get up and I’m not sure if I can stop her.”

  Mine couldn’t stop her either. “The gym?” she exclaimed, when she found out where Hildy wanted to go. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right? Don’t get me wrong, Hildy, I think you’ve come a long way since the hospital, but you’re not ready to get back to the museum yet.”

  The whole time Mine had been arguing, Hildy had been slowly but surely edging her tiny feet to the floor. She was wearing red socks and one ankle was wrapped tightly in an Ace bandage. With a loud sigh, she stopped and glared at us over the top of her glasses. “Listen, you two,” she said. “If you don’t bring me that wheelchair this minute, I’m going to crawl to the gym. Now which is it going to be?”

  TWENTY-NINE

  AT FIRST MINE DIDN’T TRY to ask any more questions about Hildy’s mission. She was too preoccupied with transferring Hildy safely from her bed to her wheelchair and down the new ramp off the stage. Then halfway across the cafetorium, we spotted Hugh and Tucker in the kitchen.

  “What are you guys up to?” Mine called.

  Hugh came to the window, wiping his drippy chin on his arm. “We needed water,” he said. “It’s really hot out there. Hey, Hildy,” he said, “can I have a ride on your wheelchair? Where are you guys going?”

  “We’re going to the gym,” Hildy barked over her shoulder as Mine kept pushing her toward the hallway. “No wheelchair rides, but you better come along. I’m going to need somebody about your size.”

  Mine chuckled drily. “Come on, Hildy.” She looked over at me. “Ren? The suspense is killing me. What’s going on?”

  I opened my mouth, trying to figure out where to start. As far as I knew, Hugh hadn’t told his mother a thing about the pearls. But before I could answer, Hugh came running up behind us in the hall. “You need somebody my size?” he asked as he trotted along beside Hildy’s wheelchair. “How come?”

  Then I heard a sloshing noise, and when I looked back Tucker was there too with Garrett’s water jug swinging at his side. “What’s up?” he panted, nudging my arm.

  “Hush, everybody,” Hildy ordered, as Mine rolled her through the foyer. “That’s enough questions. I’ve been waiting most of my life to figure this out. If you’re lucky, you’ve only got to wait about five more minutes.”

  We all fell quiet, but when we trailed through the doors to the gym and Hildy told Mine to steer her over to the boat, Tucker couldn’t keep silent anymore. “I thought so!” he burst out. “This is about the pearls, isn’t it?” He whipped around to face me. “Ren, didn’t you tell her we already looked? Give it up, will you?”

  I shrugged in desperation. “I did tell her, Tucker! I—”

  “Hold your horses now, Tucker.” Hildy signaled for Mine to turn her wheelchair around. “I’m grateful to Ren for being so persistent. I should have thought of looking at the mural ages ago, but I didn’t. And it never occurred to me to look on Pop’s boat either. Not until Ren kicked this rusty brain of mine into gear and I remembered the hiding place.”

  “Hiding place?” Tucker squinted in confusion. “What hiding place?”

  Hildy crossed her arms over her bathrobe. “Well, maybe I could show you if you’d stop interrupting for a half second.” She was teasing, but not really. Tucker clamped his mouth shut.

  “Go on, Hugh,” Hildy said once we were finally gathered at the boat. “Climb up.”

  Hugh hopped up on the platform and practically vaulted himself inside. Then he stood grinning down at us, bouncing on his toes and waiting for more instructions.

  “See that bench in the stern?” Hildy squawked up at Hugh. I felt my face fall. The bench. Hugh gave me a worried look, but he didn’t say anything. He went to the opposite end of the boat like he was told and we all followed. Mine rolled Hildy right up to the stern.

  “There’s a lid on the bench,” Hildy called. “Open it.”

  I glanced back at Tucker. Now he was the one folding his arms. “I already looked in there,” he said under his breath.

  “Shhh,” I scolded.

  The hinges of the bench let out their rusty squeak.

  “Now climb in and kneel down,” Hildy told Hugh.

  I gripped the wooden side of the boat, standing on my tiptoes and craning my neck to see, but I wasn’t quite tall enough to get a good view. Hugh’s head disappeared and then he popped up again. “Did you know it smells like fish in here, Hildy?”

  “Of course it does.” Hildy laughed. “That’s one thing the new paint job couldn’t get rid of. Now, Hugh,” she called. “Once you’re down in there, look toward the stern where the motor would be. You see that little wall at the back of the bench?”

  There was no answer. I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Hugh?” I yelled. “Do you see the wall at the back of the bench?”

  Hugh’s muffled voice came floating out from under the lid. “Yeah?”

  Tucker pressed in beside me, and now Mine was standing on her tiptoes too.

  We all turned to Hildy. She clutched the arms of her wheelchair. “Tell him there’s a tiny notch at the top of that wall. He needs to get hold of the notch and pull. There’
re spring hinges on the other side.” I hoisted myself over the side of the boat and then crouched next to the bench, repeating Hildy’s instructions.

  “There’s no notch,” Hugh wailed up at me. When he poked his head out this time, his hair was damp with sweat and his cheeks were flushed. “What is a notch, anyway?”

  “Seriously, Hildy,” Mine said with the first hint of impatience in her voice. “What exactly is Hugh supposed to be looking for?”

  “Pop’s secret compartment,” Hildy cried, thumping her fist on the arm of her wheelchair. My pulse quickened. So there was a secret compartment after all.

  “I don’t mean to be rude here,” Mine said, “but what would an old workboat like this be doing with a secret compartment inside?”

  “Pop made it,” Hildy told her, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “When the shells around Fortune ran out, he had to go looking for shell beds farther away. Sometimes he’d be gone for days, working at camps full of strangers up and down the Mississippi. Pop had a mortal fear of getting robbed. If he made a few dollars or found a pearl or two, he wanted a safe place to stash them. After all that work, he wasn’t about to come home empty-handed.”

  Hugh had disappeared inside the bench again while Hildy had been talking. Now she folded her hands in her lap. “He’ll find it,” she said, nodding to herself. “It’s there.”

  She seemed so sure. But all the same, when I heard Hugh’s little whoop of delight and he crawled from the bowel of the boat holding a square package wrapped in waxy brown cloth and string, I could barely believe it. Hugh seemed just as astonished. No one said a word as I handed the package down to Tucker, who hurried over to place it in his grandmother’s outstretched hands.

  When she fumbled with the string, Tucker pulled out his pocketknife to help. Then we all crowded around Hildy’s wheelchair as she pulled away the wrapping with shaking hands and opened the lid of the small pine box underneath.