by Jana Zinser
Ivy narrowed her dark blue eyes and tried to push past him. “Get out of my way. You’re nothing but a backwoods hooligan.”
Weston grabbed Ivy and pinned her arms behind her back. He kicked her leg and she fell to the ground, scraping her knee on the gravel. “My dad says you’re just like your mother. Worthless.”
Weston triumphantly spat on the ground next to where Ivy was sprawled. Then he darted across Main Street and disappeared around the corner of the Farmer’s Co-op. Ivy got up and tucked her tangled hair behind her ears. She knew where he was going. Behind the Farmer’s Co-op towered the huge grain silos where the corn was stored after it was weighed. Ivy and her friends often played “king of the mountain” in the massive piles of corn, despite the danger of sinking deep in the avalanche of dusty grain. Ivy had learned to climb the shifting hill of corn by stretching her limbs out wide like a spider. This way, she could safely maneuver her way up the golden corn mound.
She knew Weston would hide in the silos, sneaking in through the grain bin door because it wasn’t full of corn since the harvest hadn’t started. She clenched her fists and chased him across the street. When she reached the library, she stopped. Weston disappeared around the corner of the Farmer’s Co-op office. He wasn’t worth the trouble. Besides, her scraped knee hurt.
Ivy brushed away the gravel stuck to her elbow. Her leg hurt where Weston kicked her. She sat down on the bench outside the Coffey Shop and looked at her scraped knee. When she glanced up, she noticed Conrad Thrasher, Weston’s father, standing under the big bank clock on the corner, watching her. He threw down his cigarette and ground it out with his boot. Conrad was the banker in town that approved loans for cars and houses. Without much oversight, he never approved loans for the black people on Mulberry Street to purchase a home beyond the railroad tracks.
Weston had called her mother worthless. How dare he? Luther said she was friends with Weston’s mother.
The door to the Coffey Shop opened, and Nick and his father, Peter Jerome, came out. She limped over to them.
“Hi Ivy. You okay?” Peter asked.
“Just scraped my knee but it’s okay.”
Peter had become a good friend to Ivy’s grandma after he settled some legal matters when Ivy’s Grandpa Sam died. Since then, Peter’s investment advice had allowed Grandma to live in relative comfort.
“Well, you kids have fun,” Peter said as he hurried across the town square and up the steps of his law office.
The county courthouse, the centerpiece of Coffey, was located in the town square. It held the sheriff’s office, the jail, and the county offices. Many of Coffey’s businesses were also located in the square around the courthouse, including the dime store, a vacant beauty shop, the bank, the post office, the library, the Hy-Vee grocery store, the Coffey Shop, and Peter Jerome’s law office.
Ivy and Nick followed Nick’s father to his building.
“What do you want to do today?” Ivy asked.
They leaned against the two-story brick building and threw pebbles onto the Main Street. “Let’s ride out to Hawks Bluff,” Ivy suggested.
The two eight-year-olds climbed up the steep flight of wooden stairs to the law office. The door was open. Before they reached the top of the stairs, they could hear Peter’s secretary, Uncle Walter’s nosey neighbor, Bertha Tuttle, talking on the phone at her desk.
“I wouldn’t tell him to his face, but I hate those ugly things, whatever they are, on his lawn. They bring down the value of the mobile home park—too tacky.” Her tongue clicked the roof of her mouth. “But he’s just as proud as punch of them.” She paused. “I know. Walter lets Tommy and his friends go in and out of that trailer at all hours of the night. I tell you, it just isn’t proper.”
Ivy stopped on the stairs unseen and held up her arm to stop Nick from going any further. She put her finger to her mouth and they backed up against the stairwell. They quickly peered around the corner and watched Bertha through the open door. Her makeup made her look a little like a jack-in-the-box clown. Her bright red lipstick was smeared a little at the corners, her powder ended abruptly at her fleshy chin, and her cheekbones were highlighted with two round, red circles.
Ivy swept her bangs off her sweaty forehead. “Is she talking about Uncle Walter?”
Nick nodded and put his fingers to his lips.
Bertha’s voice boomed down the stairwell. “It’s not gossip, mind you, Edna Jean. I saw it with my own eyes.”
Ivy and Nick sat down on the wooden stairs as Bertha droned on about other offending Coffey social crimes as Ivy wiped the sweat off her neck.
“Why would she want to spy on Uncle Walter?”
“My dad says she’s lonely. She goes to all the funerals in town whether she was friends with the dead people or not.”
Nick ran his hand across his bristly butch haircut. Porcupine hair. The only barber in town had moved away years ago. So, Nick’s father used his clippers to cut Nick’s hair, which left only a little stubble of light brown hair on the top of Nick’s head.
Ivy tenderly touched her scraped knee and then looked at her finger to see if there was any blood. “How does she know who’s dead?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she reads the stories in the paper.”
“I wonder if she went to my mom’s and dad’s funerals?”
“Probably.”
Ivy and Nick stood up and watched Bertha from the top step. Bertha finger-fluffed her hair, which was piled high on top of her head like a beehive. The brassy red color was the result of a bad do-it-yourself dye job. The barber, Edna Jean’s boyfriend, had left town with the local beautician to find a town that would appreciate their skills. Bertha had to make do. So did Edna.
The two kids slipped past Bertha’s desk. She was too busy talking to pay any attention to them. “Tommy’s never been the same since his brother’s crash. No-account woman.” Bertha clicked her tongue and tapped her bright red fingernails on her desk.
Ivy froze and grabbed Nick’s arm. “What did she say? She’s talking about Aunt Hattie.”
Bertha heard her and turned, finally noticing Ivy over the top of her cat-eye glasses. “Eavesdropping isn’t polite.” She shook her finger. “No one likes a snoop.”
Ivy walked over to Bertha’s desk. “Mrs. Tuttle, did you go to my parents’ funerals?”
Bertha cupped her hand on the phone’s mouthpiece. “Edna Jean, I’ll have to get back to you.” She hung up the phone and sniffed. “Well, yes, I did go to your father’s funeral. Lovely spread of food. But as I remember it, your uncles got into a ridiculous squabble over some silly turkey sandwich.”
“It was pastrami.”
Peter appeared at the door of his office, just past Bertha’s desk. He tugged at his white starched cuffs, fiddled with his red bow tie, and cleared his throat.
“So, who was the no-account woman?” asked Ivy curiously.
Bertha adjusted her glasses before leaning forward. Nick’s father took a few steps toward them and tapped Bertha’s desk, interrupting her.
“Bertha, shouldn’t you be getting back to work?”
Bertha, her nose high in the air, clicked her tongue and turned back to the typewriter.
Peter rubbed Nick’s bristly head. “What are you guys going to do today?”
“Can we ride our bikes out to Hawks Bluff Park?” Nick asked.
“Sure. Just be careful.”
They headed out of the office, passing Bertha’s desk again. At the top of the stairs, Ivy turned back. “How’s your nose, Mrs. Tuttle?”
“My nose?” Bertha pushed up her blue cat-eye glasses and rubbed her large round nose. “There’s nothing wrong with my nose.”
“I heard it was stuck to your trailer window.”
“Well, I never!” Bertha blushed the color of the ruby rouge circles on her cheeks. She tapped her brown chunky sensible shoes beneath her desk. Peter quickly stepped back into his office, hiding his smile.
Ivy and Nick scampered down the steps to the street. Ivy’
s pink rubber flip flops slapped the heels of her bare feet, making a loud clicking sound. When the heavy door shut behind them, Ivy and Nick burst into uncontrollable laughter.
The robin sitting on the library flagpole watched them, cocking his head back and forth. Nick leaned against the old brick building, his brown eyes sparkling.
“Ivy Taylor, you’ve got spunk.”
Ivy held her stomach and giggled. “I know. I got it from my grandma. She says us Taylor women are known to be a little surly.”
Ivy knew when the robin told Grandma that one, she would throw back her head and laugh for a long time.
Ivy and Nick got on their bikes. Ivy’s knee still hurt a little, but she soon forgot about it as they raced through town toward Hawks Bluff Park. As they rode, Ivy kept an eye out for the yellow glimmer of the goldfinch. Grandma always said that the goldfinch, the Iowa state bird, brought good luck.
Chapter 6
THRASHER’S POND
A mile outside of town, a steep grassy cliff rose a hundred feet, blunt and rough but not unkind. The hawks flew magically in the sky above it, soaring, it seemed, to the clouds and gliding back to the earth. A big lake with a muddy bottom and a short expanse of beach spread out at Hawk’s Bluff’s base—the only place Coffey kids could cool off in the summer. They rode past the lake filled with swimmers enjoying the water as they headed to the ball fields.
Their friend, Raven Montgomery, waved to them from the gray metal bleachers of the baseball park. Nick and Ivy dropped their bikes and hiked up to meet her. Her magenta nails flashed as she waved again. Grandma never let Ivy paint her nails.
Ivy and Nick sat down next to Raven on the old metal seats, hot from the summer sun. Raven got up and wedged her way between them. Ivy leaned across Raven to talk to Nick.
“That was weird at your dad’s office, wasn’t it? Did you hear what Bertha said? Do you think she knows something about my parents’ accident?”
“No. If she knew anything, she’d tell. She can’t keep a secret,” Nick said.
“I wish I knew what really happened that night.”
Raven flipped back her long straight black hair. “You’re a kid. Nobody’s going to tell you anything. Anyway, there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Be quiet, Raven,” said Nick.
Raven, wearing a sleeveless top, shrugged her tan shoulders. “I’m just saying she’s stuck here with her grandma.”
Ivy put her hand up to block the bright sun. She looked at Raven. “No, I’m not. I’m going to travel around the world after I get out of high school. Then I’m going to college far away—maybe even New York City or London.”
“Doubt it. You’ll probably end up at Warner College.” Raven picked up a rock and threw it at a bird eating a piece of popcorn on the ground. The rock hit the bird’s wing, causing it to stumble before flying away.
“What’d you do that for?” said Ivy.
Raven tipped her head to the side and flipped her long black hair over her shoulder. “I just wanted to see if I could get it.”
Coffey’s five o’clock whistle sounded, part of its intricate communication system of blaring loud sounds across the town. The constant screeching, high-pitched five o’clock whistle announced the day’s passing and marked the end of the workday for many locals. A wailing siren, starting low and going high, meant a tornado had been sighted in the area, while a lower pitched horn called the town’s volunteer fireman to a local fire.
“There’s the five o’clock whistle. I got to go. Grandma doesn’t like me to be late.”
Nick jumped up. “I’ll ride with you part of the way.”
Raven brushed the dirt from her magenta-painted toenails sticking out of her new leather sandals. “I can stay as late as I want. Stay here with me, Nick. We can have fun.”
He shook his head. “Nah, I got to go check on my mom.”
Ivy and Nick climbed down the bleachers and got on their bikes while Raven stayed at the park. Ivy envied Raven’s carefree life. Why did Grandma always tell her what to do? Grandma didn’t want her to have any fun.
Ivy and Nick rode home on the back roads because a sign said the road to town was being tarred and graveled. Ivy tucked her sweaty hair behind her ears. They pedaled past the turnoff to old Highway 69, close to where her parents had died. Ivy stared back at the road that changed her life. Her wheel hit a rock and the bike wobbled. She gripped the handlebars to keep it steady. Nick squeezed his bike horn to warn the sparrows gathering in the gravel road. The birds exploded in a burst of flapping wings as they rose into the air.
“I don’t think it’s fair that your parents are dead,” said Nick.
“I know. My mom and dad would have let me do anything I wanted; but they’re not here and Grandma’s got too many rules.”
The birds circled in the air.
Ivy and Nick reached the turn-off for Deadman’s Woods which surrounded the Weeping Willow Cemetery. Nick waved goodbye and headed through the shortcut to town to meet his dad before heading home. Although Ivy knew Grandma would be expecting her, she took the long way home in delighted defiance.
She waved as she passed Reuben, driving his tractor in his soybean fields that bordered the road. In the distance, the Thrasher farmhouse sat near the pond. Grandma did not allow Ivy to go near the Thrasher farm, but Raven went wherever she wanted, and her mother didn’t care. Ivy pedaled faster. Raven was the youngest child and the only girl in a family of seven boys. Grandma said Raven’s parents were simply exhausted and slightly uninterested, so Raven was left to roam.
Ivy rode past Conrad Thrasher’s fields on the way home. Wild roses grew across the side of the ditch like a soft blanket of pink and green. Summer’s hot breath gently waved their petals. Iowa stretched into many acres of flat fertile land, aching to be farmed. With smooth contours and gradual contrasts, Iowa’s peaceful beauty soothed the soul and emboldened the spirit.
Ivy put her head down and pedaled faster. She turned off at Conrad Thrasher’s pond near his farmhouse and hopped off her bike. Staring at the dark water where Conrad’s wife was found dead, she walked her bike toward the forbidden pond. Grasshoppers popped up and down like popcorn in the tall summer grass.
Near the shore, cattails and lily pads grew from the dark water’s muddy bottom. The deep steady croaking of a frog echoed across the water. Dragonflies hummed through the air, skimming across the still surface of the pond like tiny water-skiers.
Birds seldom visited the lake. Grandma said birds could smell the death still floating under the dock. Ivy laid her bike in the tall grass. A bumblebee buzzed in a white fluffy ball of clover nearby. Ivy kicked off her flip flops and walked through weeds and cattails before reaching the pond.
She stared at the deadly dock floating at the center of the pond. It remained in place by ropes attached underneath by hooks on the corners and tied to concrete blocks on the bottom of the lake.
She waded into the shallow water. With each step, the thick mud oozed between her toes. When she almost reached the dock, the bottom of the pond dropped off, and she slipped. Ivy sank, disappearing under the muddy water. The lake contained a power all its own. Immersed in the muddy pond, she was afraid she was going to drown and end up floating in the water like Mildred.
Kicking her legs, she swam toward the surface. She didn’t have much air left. She popped above the water, gasping, and found herself underneath the old swimmer’s dock.
Thin streaks of sunlight found their way through the old wooden slats. Ivy bobbed there, her head almost touching the dock as she treaded water. Although she had plenty of air to breathe, she panicked as she imagined Mildred’s dead body caught under the dock in the cold for a whole week and Ivy breathed heavily as if all the air had escaped.
A flutter of wings and several chirps from above drew her attention. What were birds doing on the dock? Ivy took a deep breath and dove under again. She swam out from under the dock and climbed up on the floating platform with the bright sunlight hitting her fac
e. The birds on the dock took flight and scattered across the darkening sky. She watched the birds fly away, scattering across the darkening sky. She stared down at the water’s glassy surface. A frog jumped off a lily pad, sending circles rippling from its impact.
How could Mildred Thrasher drown in such a quiet pond? But Ivy still felt a hidden terror in that water. Goosebumps spread across her arms.
A car approached the farmhouse, leaving a smoky trail of dust behind it. Conrad Thrasher’s big white Ford Lincoln Town car careened down the road toward her, like a giant whale breaking the surface of the ocean. She didn’t want to be at the pond anymore and she didn’t want Conrad to catch her there.
Ivy jumped off the old wooden dock and swam to shore. When she got to her bike, she picked up her flip flops and grabbed the bike’s handlebars. She jogged beside the bike up to the gravel road just as Conrad drove by.
He slowed down and pulled the car up beside Ivy, rolling down the passenger window and leaning out. Sweat soaked his shirt.
“Well, well, if it isn’t little Miss Ivy Taylor. All wet. Did you go for a swim in my pond?”
Ivy jumped on her bike, with her flip flops in hand. She didn’t have time to put them on. “I just stopped for a second.” She pumped the pedals, wobbling to get the bike straight. Why hadn’t she listened to Grandma? She shouldn’t have gone to the Thrashers’ pond.
Conrad gestured to the back of his car. “Put your bike in the trunk and get in. You’re soaking wet.”
Despite the intense heat, a shiver ran through her body like an ice cube down her back. She suddenly knew that Conrad had killed his wife. She could feel it. “No thanks.”
Her heart pounded, and the sound of gravel crunched under the car’s tires. The big white car drove beside Ivy as she pedaled her bike down the side of the road.
Conrad pounded the roof of the car. “Hey, you think you’re better than the rest of us, don’t you? Just like your mother. Miss La-De-Dah couldn’t get out of Coffey fast enough. She couldn’t wait for nothing.”
His face contorted, and spit flew out of his mouth. “I said get in.” He swerved the big white Lincoln in front of her and stopped.