by Ingrid Law
Autry turned in his seat to face me.
“Did you know, Ledge, that in all the years I’ve been surrounded by spiders, bugs, and insects, I’ve never been bit once? Not once! I guess I thought my luck would hold.”
“Rocket said wounded animals can be dangerous,” I murmured, still digesting Autry’s story. “Wounded people too.”
“And losing someone you love can tear your heart to pieces,” Autry added. “I know.”
“But you didn’t turn rotten when your wife died,” I replied.
“Everyone puts themselves back together differently after things fall apart, Ledge,” said Autry. “You of all people should know that.” He laughed then, but his short burst of humor died quick and, staring again at the foreclosure sign, his smile decomposed. “You stepped right into it, coming here.”
“I-I’m sorry, Uncle Autry.” The words sounded lame, but Autry accepted them with a dip of his chin.
“So, you think Sarah Jane takes after her mom, Ledge?” Autry glanced at me out of the corner of his eye as he finally restarted the truck. “You think she’s got a savvy?”
I nodded.
“Do you know what it is?”
I felt inside my pocket for Sarah Jane’s notebook. “Yeah, I think so.”
“I think I might too.” Autry chewed at the inside of his cheek as he drove us up the gravel road. “I’ll tell you something else I’ve not told anyone, Ledge. Just before Sarah Jane turned thirteen, Noble came to talk to me.”
“He did? What for?”
“He wanted to know if there was any way to stop someone from coming into a savvy.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him it would be like trying to keep someone from growing up.” Autry frowned. “It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. I think he was convinced that if Sarah Jane weren’t exposed to us or the ranch or anyone different, she’d manage to get through her birthday without any fuss. Then he wouldn’t need to worry about losing another person he loved.
“That’s when foreclosure signs began going up,” Autry continued. “Anyone too odd was swiftly threatened or removed—even though Noble himself is one of the oddest ducks around.” Autry gave a snort, parking the truck in the thin, twisted shade at the base of the windmill. “And when Sarah Jane started selling her papers . . .”
“She wrote all those crazy stories about the people in town!” I exclaimed. “Then Mr. Cabot read them and believed them and . . . and . . .” I slammed my palm against my forehead. “SJ was trying to get his attention. But she just made everything worse.”
“Who knew Sarah Jane’s savvy has been staring everyone in the face this whole time?” Autry chewed his cheek again. “That girl doesn’t even know how powerful her talents are. Or how much damage she can do.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, wiggling as something scratched my back beneath the waistband of my shorts.
Autry’s deed.
It was the first time since the sheriff nabbed me and SJ that I’d thought of the document SJ had found in the CAD Co. file room.
“Sarah Jane found this,” I said, pulling the paper from my waistband and handing it to my uncle. “She wanted to help fix things.”
Autry took the document from me and stared at it.
“Is this why you and Sarah Jane broke into Noble’s building, Ledge?” he asked, holding the paper between us, his voice rising again. “What did the two of you think you were going to do with this?”
“Rip it up?” I offered. “Destroy it so that Mr. Cabot can’t take away the ranch?”
Autry bit back his words three times before he spoke again. When he did, his voice was taut, but controlled—just like his savvy. I didn’t see a single wasp or spider anywhere.
“I know you kids thought you were helping, Ledger. But breaking into other people’s buildings and destroying legal documents isn’t the way to do it.” His tone remained hard as he continued. “I hate to break it to you, Ledge, but ripping things up won’t fix anything. I signed this paper and agreed to Noble’s terms. The consequences are mine.”
I hung my head. I’d been stupid to think I could patch up my uncle’s problems, dumb to believe SJ’s letter. Though, now I knew I couldn’t NOT believe anything Sarah Jane wrote. Her savvy wouldn’t let me.
Chapter 32
AS SOON AS I COULD, I went looking for Grandpa, finally able to give him Grandma Dollop’s jar. I found him sitting in his overstuffed chair by the river, shaded by the giant cottonwood that had once been Cam Beacham’s lucky glove.
“Here, Grandpa,” I said, handing him the peanut butter jar and watching the old man’s wrinkled face light up.
“Look what you brought me, Ledger!” Grandpa murmured as he turned the lid, listening to the canned symphony like it was the first music he’d ever heard.
“I-it didn’t get broken, Grandpa. It just . . . it just got kinda lost for a while.”
Grandpa stood from his chair and hugged me with more strength than I thought he had left in him. He kissed the jar, gave the lid a little twist, then held it high, waltzing in slow, shuffling steps to the music, as if Grandma Dollop were there dancing with him. Bitsy tipped back her head and howled in doggy harmony. Birds chittered and chirped. Insects added percussion. When I saw tears traveling down paths worn deep into Grandpa’s cheeks, I quickly turned away, hoping I’d somehow said and done enough.
“Ledger!” a voice I barely recognized stopped me. I looked over my shoulder but couldn’t see anyone. A shadow brushed past me and, for a minute, Samson was there, having gotten up from his own chair next to Grandpa’s. I could still see the river and the cottonwood tree through my cousin, but he was definitely there, one hand holding a book, the other stretched out as if he’d been about to grab my shoulder and changed his mind at the last moment.
“Take my seat for a while,” he said, his voice dusty with disuse. “There’s something I need to do for Uncle Autry, and Grandpa shouldn’t be alone.” Then he was gone—poof—just like that. Yet, somehow, I felt better for having seen him at last.
Dancing tired Grandpa quickly. His tears slowed, then stopped. But as soon as he sat back down with Grandma Dollop’s jar, he started pitching all the jar lids from Fedora’s helmet into the river one by one, watching them skip and splash kerplunk!
“Grandpa!”
“It’s all right, Ledger. All things pass. My Dolly-Dollop’s gone and it’ll soon be time for me to join her. I’ve been living on borrowed strength too long already.” Grandpa gazed past me as if he could still see Samson’s shadow in the distance. Then he patted Samson’s empty seat. “Sit down and keep an old man company.”
Bitsy hobble-bobbled at my feet, pushing her wet nose into my hand. I scratched the dog once behind the ears, then sat down. Grandpa gave me my own handful of jar lids and, together, we tossed them into the river. Soon all the lids glinted from beneath the water like wishes in a fountain.
Squishing deep into the cushions of Samson’s high-backed chair, I realized how comfortable I’d grown sitting on the hard, unbreakable stumps by the fire. For weeks, I’d wanted to go home. Now I knew I was going to miss those sawed-off trunks when I went. I was going to miss a lot of things. A lot of people too.
Autry had felt obligated to call my parents when we got back from the sheriff’s. Mom had totally freaked out. She freaked even more when Autry shared the news of the foreclosure at last, convinced that she and Dad needed to head for Wyoming straightaway.
I sighed and pitched the last of the jar lids into the flowing river, thinking about the long list of punishing chores I knew Autry was compiling. I guessed I’d soon be weeding the garden or scrubbing compost buckets. Or worse, feeding budworm larvae to predatory stink bugs.
“Tell me, Ledger.” Grandpa rested one hand lightly on my arm. “Tell me the story.”
“What story, Grandpa?” I looked at him, confused.
“Tell me the story of how the jar got lost, and how it found its long way back.”
“But—”
“Just tell me the story, Ledger.” Grandpa Bomba closed his eyes, settling back into the cushion of his own tall chair, the sound of the river like a great-great- and greater-than-that-grandmother whispering to us from the past. “And Ledge,” Grandpa added, letting just one eye pop back open.
“Yes, Grandpa?”
“Make the story really good.”
I tossed and turned all night, wondering if SJ had gotten into trouble—if she was all right. Wondering if Jonas Brown had ignored his sheriff-duty and kept our presence at the CAD Co. building secret. Wondering, too, what Mr. Cabot had thought of the brand-new ladder spiraling up to his daughter’s window.
The next morning, I was bleary-eyed and tired, while my uncle Autry looked like an all-new man—or an all-new kid, judging by the way he was acting. He woke us up early, before dawn, thrusting an e-mail under our noses and spinning like a Frisbee between the truck, the Bug House, and his office inside the house.
“What’s going on?” I yawned under the gray-pink sky, watching Fedora kick the tires on Autry’s truck, checking that everything looked safe and sound and up to snuff.
“Uncle Autry’s leaving,” she said.
“Only for the day!” Autry called from behind the stack of charts and papers and photographs of butterflies he was busy loading into the truck.
“There are people who’ve heard about the butterflies and want to give Uncle Autry money to save the conservatory!” Gypsy clapped her hands, the only one besides Rocket who didn’t look ready to crawl back into bed. “But—”
“But only if I’ll consider opening the place up,” Autry finished for her, coming around the side of the truck to stand with the rest of us.
Marisol and Mesquite both woke up at that.
“Like some kind of zoo?” Mesquite asked, uncertain.
“You want to let total strangers into the conservatory, Papi?” Marisol chimed in. “Little kids with lollipops and grown-ups with great big clumsy feet?”
“I don’t know yet!” Autry answered. “I have to go to Cheyenne for a meeting today. To show off the results from the work I’ve done. To prove we’ve got honest-to-goodness Alexandras here, surviving and thriving.
“This could be it, girls!” He grinned at the twins. “This could be what saves this place! And people would learn something coming here, no matter how big or small their feet might be. No one can look at a Queen Alexandra’s Birdwing and not be changed! I suppose we might have to think about relocating some of the bigger spiders . . .” Autry scratched his head.
I stood back and watched as Marisol and Mesquite hugged their dad good-bye. Then Autry turned and ruffled Gypsy’s hair.
“You’re in charge of the butterflies today, okay, Gypsy? Rocket’s in charge of everything else.”
Rocket nodded. Gypsy gave a barefoot, twirling salute, before adding, “I’ll watch over them, no matter what!” The enormous butterflies were a big success for Uncle Autry. He hadn’t lost a single one.
Before leaving, Autry turned last to me and Fedora.
“Whatever you two do, if your mother phones, don’t tell her I’m in Cheyenne. She’ll tan my hide. Besides, I’ll be back tonight. I think I’ve convinced your folks that they don’t have to come for you right away. But if Dinah calls and finds out I’m not around to keep you out of trouble, she’ll savvy-talk the Indiana Air National Guard into flying her here in a fighter jet.”
Fedora and I both nodded as Uncle Autry climbed into his truck. Autry hadn’t warned me again to stay away from Mr. Cabot. He hadn’t said two words about Sheriff Brown. In the end, it was my mom who worried my uncle most. Thinking about it almost made me laugh.
“Ho, Ledger!” Autry had already begun to pull away when he stopped the truck and called to me from his open window. I jogged toward the idling truck and looked up, wondering if he was going to add to my list of punishments for breaking into the CAD Co. building. But my uncle had something else on his mind.
“Be a sport, Ledge, and don’t tell the others what I said about the Eva Mae story, all right? The girls have been working too hard these past weeks looking for her treasure.”
“Treasure?” I repeated, my mouth hanging open. That was what Marisol and Mesquite had been doing with Fedora all this time? Digging for buried treasure? It explained everything: the dirt, the shovels, the need for extra doses of good-karma luck.
Autry winced. “The girls don’t think I know what they’ve been up to. Let’s not spoil their fun, all right? Sometimes the searching is the best part of any quest. Oh, and I almost forgot,” Autry called over the sound of the truck’s engine. “I’ve got something for you.” He shuffled through a bag next to him. It was from Willie’s Five & Dime.
“Something for me?” I asked, surprised. I’d expected chores, not presents.
Autry handed me a heavy bar of novelty soap, marked down for quick clearance. On the wrapper, the Sundance Kid sat behind bars, the words You’re in Sundance Now—Keep Your Nose Clean printed just below the picture.
“You bought me soap?”
“Do us all a favor, Ledge, and take a real shower for a change? Eva Mae Ransom may have bumped and tumbled down the Big Muddy for a good long time, but she probably didn’t know the magic of hot water and indoor plumbing the way we do.” Autry winked, then hit the gas, disappearing over the ridge, followed by jet streams of dartling, flittering, flying things.
I ran a hand through my grimy hair, realizing that, for the first time in my life, it had grown long enough to touch the tops of my ears. Looking at the soap, I lifted my shirt to my nose and took a whiff—I didn’t smell that bad, did I? I considered giving the bar of soap to Samson to help him stick his shadow to something a bit more solid, but in the end, I went back up to Rocket’s house and made the choice to take a shower.
Chapter 33
THAT AFTERNOON, AS GYPSY WATCHED THE butterflies, Samson watched Grandpa, and Fedora and the twins continued their going-nowhere treasure hunt, Winona, Rocket, and I put the last spit and polish on the Knucklehead. Headlamp to harness—the bike was done.
We were all sitting back, admiring our work, staring happily at the awesome bike and at Winona’s gleaming, scrap-yard jackalope, when Winona let out a sudden, noisy whoop.
“Unless I’m wrong, I think we’ve still got time, boys!” In an instant she was up, grabbing a calendar and digging through a stack of papers on Gus’s desk. “I can’t believe it! We do!” Winona looked at a clock on the wall. Rocket and I looked at each other, clueless.
Winona explained, rapid-fire: “The motorcycle show in Spearfish! The one with the big, fat prize that Gus and I planned to enter. It’s this weekend! Today’s the last day to register. The last day to deliver this baby for the show.” She leaned over and kissed the bike’s handlebars, then polished them back to perfection with her rag.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” said Rocket. “Let’s get this Knuck in the truck!” He clapped his hands together, showering harmless sparks.
Rocket went pale. But Winona hardly paused before she pointed at Rocket and said, “Okay, that’s something you’re going to have to explain to me a little later. In fact, I think you both have some explaining to do.” She cocked one eyebrow at me. “I’ve been out in the yard. I want to know what’s going on. Only later! Right now, we’ve got a motorcycle show to enter.”
“Won’t Autry get mad if he finds out we went to South Dakota?” I asked Rocket as Winona gathered what we needed to get the bike to Spearfish. “He did leave you in charge of the ranch.”
“When did you start worrying about what will or won’t make Autry angry, Ledger? This morning after breakfast?” Rocket gripped the back of my neck and gave me a joggle. “Because I know you weren’t trying to throw him a party when you were breaking into Cabot’s place with Sarah Jane.”
I swallowed hard. “He told you?”
“He told me,” Rocket answered. “But he also told me that you were trying to help. So, I get that. Sti
ll . . . dude. Stupid.” He let go of my neck and knocked his knuckles into mine. And since I didn’t get electrocuted, I guessed I’d been forgiven.
Rocket squared his shoulders. “As the adult in charge today, I’m giving us permission to drive to South Dakota,” he declared. “Spearfish isn’t far, Ledge; it’s not like we’re traveling to a galaxy far, far away. And Autry’s been harping on me for years to get off the ranch more often. We won’t be gone more than two hours. Besides, it’s not like there isn’t another adult at the Flying Cattleheart . . . Grandpa Bomba’s there.”
I gave Rocket a dubious look. I was pretty sure Grandpa’s waltz by the river had been his last dance. If something did go wrong at the ranch—flood, fire, or fruit fly rebellion—Grandpa Bomba would probably snore right through it, the same as he’d done through my story about Grandma’s jar.
Soon the Knucklehead was secure in the bed of the truck, held upright in a web of tightened ratchet straps, the three of us jammed together up front. As we drove through Sundance, headed toward Spearfish, I couldn’t keep from leaning out the window, craning my neck to look behind us. I wasn’t staring at the golden bike. Instead, I was looking toward the house on the hill, picturing Sarah Jane locked in her room, still totally unaware that she had a savvy of her own.
“Ha! Some people will believe anything.” Winona laughed next to me.
“Huh?” I grunted, pulling my head back inside the truck. Winona pointed at the car in front of us. Its rear bumper, still attached, was plastered in stickers: MY OTHER CAR IS A UFO
BIGFOOT RESEARCH UNIT
I AXEHANDLE HOUNDS
I smiled, thinking of The Sundance Scuttlebutt and all of SJ’s crazy stories. Then my stomach lurched as I was struck by a sudden thought . . .
If my parents arrived to take me and Fedora home as soon as Mom had said they would, I might not get to see Sarah Jane again. My palms itched. My knee hammered up and down even as I tried to get my head and shoulders out the window, straining to see SJ’s house again. I couldn’t leave Sundance without seeing Sarah Jane. She knew the truth about me. Now she needed to know the truth about herself.