Golden Ghost (13 page)

S
trawberry was a cow pony, used to backing against the tension of a rope with a calf at the other end, as cowboys branded or doctored it. But could she back all the way down this tunnel until she reached Arroyo Azul?

“We really don't have much of a choice,” Sam said to the mare, and somehow, the realization made Sam feel better. “Back,” Sam said, and she used the faintest pressure on the bit.

Strawberry gave a confused snort.

You want me to back up in here?
the sound seemed to say. But Strawberry took a step backward.

Sam dropped her reins against the mare's neck, rewarding her. “Good girl, very good girl.”

Once more, with the slightest finger pressure, Sam tightened her reins and clicked her tongue. Strawberry backed again. Sam lowered the reins.

Strawberry knew what she wanted, now. Did she
dare give her the order to keep backing?

Sam lifted her reins and clucked and Strawberry moved back. Cluck, step, release. Soon Strawberry was moving automatically and the tunnel was brightening around them. At last, they were out.

Sam closed her eyes and hugged Strawberry.

Backing was hard, making the horse move her hind end up under herself. She might be sore tomorrow, but just now, Strawberry was glad to be out and so was Sam.

It took half the time to ride out of Lost Canyon.

Sam's mind was spinning the whole while. That's why the Phantom wasn't with his herd. He couldn't get back to them. He was snowed out.

How could she help?

When River Bend came into sight, Sam glanced at her watch and smiled. It was only three thirty. So much for Brynna's underlined four o'clock. She was actually home early. She had all afternoon to do her homework and figure out how she could reunite the Phantom with his herd.

Only Blaze came out to greet her.

Sam swung down from the saddle and rumpled the Border collie's ears. He licked her hand, ran a lap around her and the horse, then returned to the front porch to resume his afternoon nap.

Gram had driven over to Mrs. Allen's house, Sam remembered. Dad and Brynna were probably inside,
enjoying a lazy afternoon alone.

Sam took her time tending to Strawberry. She brushed the mare with extra care, hoping the muscle massage would keep her from tightening up. When she was ready to release her, Strawberry gave Sam a whiskery nibble on the neck, then trotted off to join the others.

Sam crossed the yard to the house and slipped into the kitchen. The whole house stood quiet, so she didn't slam the door or call out.

She opened the refrigerator and was staring inside when Dad's voice came to her from upstairs.

“One of the first things I noticed about you was that open, free look. No one could tell you what to do.”

“I know,” came Brynna's voice.

“I love you, and this is your home,” said Dad.

Glad as she was that Dad and Brynna's marriage was off to a good start, Sam decided she should close the door between the kitchen and the living room, so she didn't overhear any more of their lovey-dovey conversation.

She'd just moved the doorstop and started to ease the door closed when she heard her name.

“Sam's your daughter, though. Is it right for me to say something?”

Dad's voice rumbled an answer, but it was too quiet for Sam to hear the words.

“I'm concerned. At worst, she's somewhere she shouldn't be. At best, she hasn't told us the truth.
Wyatt, I won't be lied to,” Brynna said.

Uh-oh
.

What were they talking about?

Suddenly her appetite vanished and she decided she should get this over with now.

“Hi, I'm home,” she called up the stairs.

“Sam, could you come up here?” Dad said.

Sam glanced into the living room mirror. She looked messy and dirty. Yikes, how had her face gotten all smudged? Had she rubbed it on the side of the tunnel?

Using her fingers, she tamed her auburn hair into a disheveled curve. It looked better. More windblown than scruffy.

“Sam?” Dad's voice was louder.

“Coming!”

Okay, Sam thought as she climbed the stairs. It couldn't be that bad. All the really major family confrontations took place around the kitchen table.

They stood together in the hall between her room and theirs. Brynna's arms were crossed and Dad stood right behind her, close enough that their shoulders touched.

“This doesn't look good,” Sam joked.

“Where have you been?” Brynna asked.

She didn't sound angry. It wasn't like she was demanding to know, but the question was clearly a trap.

“Well, I went over to Jen's,” Sam began. “You
told me I could, and your note said I didn't have to be home until four. I've been out taking care of Strawberry since three thirty and I just came in and was looking for something to eat because I know Gram's not going to be home for”—Sam heard her nervous chatter—“a little while.”

Brynna looked up at Dad. “Does she always babble when she's in trouble, or is it just me?”

“Always has, probably always will,” Dad said.

Now Sam crossed her arms. She didn't want to start an even bigger conflict, but she didn't want them making fun of her, either. And she really didn't like the word “babble.”

“Jen called here looking for you,” Brynna said.

“When?” Sam asked cautiously.

No one said anything. The longer they were quiet, the more convinced Sam was that Jen had called right after she'd left. Hours ago.

“You said I didn't have to be home until four,” Sam repeated.

“And you said you'd always let us know where you were,” Dad said.

“Keeping that information to yourself and letting us believe you were just over at the Kenworthys' is a lot like lying,” Brynna added.

“You're ganging up on me,” Sam said.

“You can look at it that way if you like,” Dad said, shrugging. “But that's how things are going to be from now on. Except when your gram's involved.”

“Then we'll work as a team,” Brynna said.

“I don't think this is funny!” Sam snapped.

“Neither do we, young lady.”

Oh boy. When Dad got to the
young lady
stage, she was really in trouble.

“But I didn't lie,” she said meekly. “What's my punishment?”

“Your dad says Blackbeard's Closet could use a good cleaning,” Brynna mused.

“Not that, please,” Sam said. She folded her hands together and let them dangle demurely in front of her.

“We haven't decided for sure yet,” Brynna said. “It will depend on your behavior over the next few days. And the grade you get in math.”

“You're just going to hold the punishment over my head?” Sam moaned.

“Yep,” Dad said, nodding. “That's pretty much it.”

Should she feel relieved or angry?

Until she knew, Sam decided to keep her tangled feelings to herself.

“May I please be excused to my room to do homework?” she asked.

“Go ahead,” Dad said, but a look passed from him to Brynna that said something about leaving homework until the last night of a two-week vacation.

Before they could bring that up, too, Sam stepped into her room and gently closed the door.

 

Sam worked hard, using colored pencils and plain white paper from Brynna's computer to sketch out a map of Nugget. While she worked, she thought about the Phantom. He was probably somewhere with Golden Rose.

Even if he was alone, he'd be safe. And, inside the sealed-off valley, the mares and foals were probably safe as well. The valley had water and graze. She imagined the horses pawing through a crust of snow. They might be awfully thin if they couldn't get out before spring.

Before dinner and after, Sam tried to telephone Jen, to see which part of the project she wanted to do, but the busy signal continued for hours.

Finally, at eight o'clock, Sam gave up hope. She wasn't going to reach Jen tonight. By accident or on purpose, the Kenworthys' phone must be off the hook.

Sam sat cross-legged on her bed, looking at the stuff spread before her. She didn't have much choice. She had to buckle down and do it all.

There was one thing she'd been dreading doing, just because she was afraid she'd mess it up—reassembling the delicate old pieces of newspaper.

But that was their artifact. And the artifact had to be handed in with notes explaining what it was.

Sam looked at the clock. Now it was 8:10 and only half her project was done. Her teeth sawed against her lower lip. She'd really wanted Jen to do
this part, but it wasn't going to happen.

Sam went to the bathroom for a pair of tweezers and a pure white towel. She spread the towel on her bedroom floor. Next, she used the tweezers to lift out each one of the newspaper fragments and place it alone. Then she searched for edges and ideas that seemed to match.

Once, as she bent over the yellow-brown shards of newspaper, someone peeked in her door.

She'd just found three words that completed an entire paragraph of one of the stories—it turned out she had most of two—and she didn't look up to see who it was.

“Hi,” Sam called out, eventually, but when she looked up, whoever had been there wasn't anymore.

Sometime later, she sat back with a sigh. Her right foot was asleep. She shook it, and rolled her shoulders, which felt cramped from the taut position she'd maintained since…Sam looked at her clock. It was 10:45.

“Your dad tells me it's way past your bedtime.”

Startled, Sam looked up to see Brynna leaning partway in her door. Her stepmother was still dressed, but her pale blue tailored shirt had pulled free of her jeans, more of her hair hung loose around her face than was captured in her braid, and she yawned as she waited for Sam's response.

“You've got to see this,” Sam said, suddenly aware
she'd been longing to share this discovery. “It's an old newspaper. The pieces I have don't show a date, but it's really cool.”

Brynna took a long step over the white towel to stand behind Sam.

“‘Costly Vermin Invade Nugget Town'?” Brynna read a headline aloud.

“Yeah, this one is about rats just attacking the whole place. The store—it's still up there, you know—the saloons, and even the mines. It says—look! See?” Sam pointed. “Cats were being imported and they cost twenty dollars, which was ‘more than a solid saddle horse.'”

Brynna sat on a corner of Sam's bed and Sam found she really didn't mind.

“I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like to be down in a dark mine with hungry rats,” Brynna said, shuddering.

Chills trickled down Sam's neck and arms as she thought of the midnight-black tunnel she'd been in today. Thank goodness they hadn't encountered any rats. Strawberry really would have gone nuts.

“The only safe place was the school, and they attributed that to”—Sam read the name—“‘Miss Marjory Johnson, schoolmistress, and her godly cleanliness.'”

“What's the other one?” Brynna asked.

Sam sighed. She really wished she'd assembled the rat one first and just stopped.

“It's really sad. And it's not all here,” Sam said,
“but it explains the little coffins I found in the icehouse.”

Brynna caught her breath. “Little coffins?” she repeated.

Sam held her hands about four feet apart, then swallowed hard as she turned back to the newspaper. The headline was the worst part. If she could get past that, she could read the rest of it to Brynna.

“The headline says, ‘Oh Our Children!' and then, it goes, ‘Six little ones, over half the childish population of Nugget Town, took wing from parents' reluctant arms in a mysterious malady visited upon the scholars of Nugget Town school.'” Sam took a deep breath. She was almost through. “‘Among the new angels'—and that's where it ends. It's not broken apart though, it's straight, like someone cut out this first paragraph listing the names.”

Finally, Sam risked a look back over her shoulder. Brynna's face was right there, practically touching hers, and Brynna's blue eyes swam with tears for the long-dead children. She touched Sam's shoulder, but her eyes were fixed on the article.

“As if someone cut it out for a keepsake,” Brynna said.

Sam nodded.

Brynna cleared her throat and when she spoke again, she sounded like her usual sensible self. “How do you propose to hand that in to Mrs. Ely?”

“I've been trying to figure that out,” Sam admitted.
“I kind of think it might be a bad idea to glue it down to paper.”

“I'm no historian, but I agree. It might compromise the value of what you've got there.” Brynna seemed lost in thought for a minute, then asked, “How early are you willing to get up?”

“For what?” Sam asked, but part of her question was smothered with a yawn.

“There's a photocopy machine in my office. We could take these up to Willow Springs, place each of your little fragments facedown, and—”

“Great idea! Let's go right now!” Sam clapped her hands together. “Why didn't I think of that about two hours ago?”

“You were busy,” Brynna said. “And that's okay, because tonight is out. Get this put away and lay out your clothes for tomorrow. Warm clothes, because the temperature is supposed to drop down to six degrees tonight. And I'll wake you at…” Brynna gazed at Sam's bedside clock and then shivered. “Five thirty. That ought to give us plenty of time to drive up there and back to your school.”

Sam yawned again. “Maybe five forty?”

“You're not going to be late your first day back,” Brynna sounded firm, but not impatient.

“Okay,” Sam said, already planning to wear the great black sweater Aunt Sue had given her for Christmas. Jen hadn't seen it yet. “But wait. What about Jen? She'll be standing at the bus stop,
wondering what happened to me.”