The Grave Robber's Secret (4 page)

Robby's mother glared at him. “Ah, Massachusetts,” said the old teacher at once, acting as if Robby had said nothing. “Do you know the story of the Pilgrims landing in Massachusetts?”

Martha shook her head. “You will soon,” said Miss Stone. “I'll tell you all about them this very day.”

Robby felt irritated. Martha had been allowed to get away with not answering a question asked her by her elder. Ma wouldn't put up with that from him. She had not answered the question about where she had lived before coming to their house. She had deliberately given an answer designed to stop other questions. What secret were Martha and her father hiding? He took a spoonful of beans from his bowl. He would find out.

All through the meal, Ma fussed over Martha, making sure her bread was buttered and her beans warm. The girl said no more than three or four words, and she barely looked at Ma or Miss Stone when they spoke to her. She did not look at Robby, not even once. Well, that was fine with him. Ma might not believe the girl to be daft, but Robby wasn't so sure.

When they had finished eating, Martha said, “I can help with the dishes.” Her voice was very soft. “I do know what to do.”

Ma refused. “That's very nice of you, but you should go read or rest. I'll have these things cleaned in a jiffy, I will.”

Robby helped Miss Stone up the stairs, and Martha followed. “Thank you, Robby, my boy,” she said when they reached her door, and turning to Martha she added, “I'll just have a little rest, and then I'll tell you all about the Pilgrims.” She started through her door, but she turned back. “Robby,” she said, “please come in for a moment.”

She closed the door behind them and then said, “Robby, I hope you will be kind to little Martha. The child has a great sadness inside her.”

“I don't think she's right—in the head, I mean.”

Miss Stone laughed. “What makes you think that?”

“I don't know exactly.” He shrugged. “She acts like she's afraid of us or something. Especially me.”

“She's shy, that's all. Remember, everything here is new to her, and she may never have known a boy before.” She sank down to sit on her bed. “Most of all, remember she has recently lost her mother. A child who has no mother feels very much alone in the world.”

Robby began inching backward toward the door. “All right,” he said. “I'll try being kind to her, if ever she gives me a chance.”

“Does it bother you that I am letting her read my books?” She slipped off her shoes, lay down on the bed, and motioned him to her. “After all, they are almost yours.”

“I don't mind. Can she really read, you think, or does she just look at the pictures?”

“Oh, she can read very well. I asked her to read a passage from ‘The Ugly Duckling' to me.” She closed her eyes. “I am very tired these days. I told your father just yesterday that you are to have my books when I am gone to my rest.”

Robby frowned and looked at the floor. “No, don't talk of such things. You won't die for a long, long time.”

She smiled up at him. “I told him that my ancestors are famous for returning to haunt those who go against our last wishes.” She laughed. “I told that father of yours that I would make him miserable if he tried to sell my books.” She smiled again. “I think he believed me. I am quite a good liar.”

Robby felt a lump rise up in his throat. Saying nothing more, he bent and kissed her cheek. She was asleep before he got to the door.

When he stepped out into the hall, he was surprised to see Martha standing in the open doorway to her room. “I've been waiting for you,” she said, and he could see that she was very excited. “Please come into my room. I want to show you …” She did not finish the sentence. Instead she ran to the window and motioned for him. “Come quick,” she said.

From the open window, the barking of a dog drifted to him. “There's a kitten down there,” she said, and pointed. “I think it must be lost. That dog chased it up the tree, and now he keeps jumping up, trying to reach it.”

Robby went to the window. The cat was small and yellow. “That dog lives down the street a house or two. Most likely he'll give up and go home before long,” he said. He started to move away, but Martha reached out to hold on to his arm.

“Robby,” she said, “I know you don't like me, but if you will just help me with the kitten, I won't trouble you ever again. I want you to help me get it and bring it into the house.”

Robby pulled his arm free. He would not confess his resentment over having to share Miss Stone and her books. “I've got nothing against you,” he said. “It made me mad that you wouldn't answer Miss Stone's question, that's all.” She said nothing, only dropped her gaze to the floor. He stepped away from the window. “You'd best forget the cat, though,” he said. “My father would never allow a cat about. He'd likely break the thing's neck.”

“But it would be my cat. I would keep it in my room and save part of my food for it. Please, at least go with me outside. I am afraid of the dog.”

Robby took another backward step. “The dog wouldn't hurt you, but you better forget the cat,” he said.

Martha's shoulders sagged and her eyes filled with tears. She turned away from the window. For a moment, Robby thought she had taken his advice, but then she went to the peg and removed her cloak. “I'm going out there,” she said. “Maybe I can at least hold her for a while.”

It was Robby's turn to sag. This girl was going to be a lot of bother, but he knew he'd better go with her. If she got even a scratch, the blame was sure to fall to him. “All right,” he said. “Just to hold it, though.” They went down the stairs, Martha moving much faster this time.

Maybe his mother would forbid the trip. He led Martha through the kitchen, where Ma looked up from her dishpan. “Going out, are you? The fresh air might do you a bit of good, but, Martha, you won't need that heavy cape.”

The girl clutched the edges as if someone might try to take the wrap from her. “I get cold,” she murmured.

“Martha's got her eye on a kitten,” said Robby. “I've told her Da would never allow a cat in the house.”

“I only want to hold it. Poor little thing is all alone and likely very hungry.” Martha started toward the back door.

“I've tried to convince my husband to get a cat; cut down on mice, it would.” Ma shook her head. “The man is mightily against it.”

Martha went out the door, and Robby followed. The Hare house almost completely covered the property, leaving only a small stretch of earth between the dwelling and the alley. There was a small bit of land where Ma had said her uncle once had a garden. She and Robby had decided in the winter that they too would have a garden. They would need to plant vegetables soon. The yard also held a clothesline for hanging laundry. Bits of grass poked up through the ground. Two trees grew in the yard, a large one near the house, the other, short and spindly, holding onto life near the edge of the property. Sitting on its lowest branch was the cat, with the dog still barking and jumping toward it.

“Get! Rags, go on home now.” Robby waved his arms, and the dog tucked his tail between his legs and moved down the alley.

“You're likely to get yourself scratched if you try to touch it,” Robby warned, but Martha paid him no heed.

He hoped the kitten would climb higher when Martha approached, but it did not. “Nice kitty,” she crooned, “nice kitty, did that awful dog scare you?” Slowly she reached out a hand, and the cat allowed itself to be removed from the branch. For a moment, she held it out before her. “Isn't she pretty?” she asked.

“She is,” said Robby. “That's why you must not take her in, or even encourage her to stay around back here.” He paused for a moment, and then drew in a deep breath. “You may as well know the truth. My father is often a very cruel man. Sure, there are times when he doesn't seem so bad. I used to enjoy those times, and believed he had changed his ways, but I was little then. Now I know his decent spells won't last. He likes to hurt things that aren't as strong as he is …” His voice faltered, but he went on. “Me, my mother, small animals. I'm telling you, he'd kill that kitten.” He snapped his fingers. “He'd kill it like that.”

“Oh!” Martha shifted the kitten so that she could have a free hand to lay on Robby's shoulder. “How dreadful! It must be awful to be afraid of your own father. My father is always most kind to me, but I worry—” She stopped suddenly.

“What do you worry about?”

Martha looked distressed. “Did I say worry? I guess I misspoke, that's all.”

Robby studied her for a second. She had almost told him something about her father. What? He reached out to stroke the kitten. “Let's see if my mother has a bit of food for her.”

Ma was busy now making a sausage pie for the evening meal, and she pinched off a good-sized piece of meat for the cat. “Take her out back and feed her this. Then, Robby, you must carry the creature down the alley a block or so, and set her down. Your father could be here any time now.”

“I know,” he said. “Martha knows she can't keep it. We just want to feed it a little first.”

Outside, Martha settled herself on an overturned washtub. She let the cat sniff the meat, and then put the kitty and sausage on the ground between her feet. It was small, even for a kitten, and it did not eat quickly.

Robby paced nervously, walking from one side of the house to the other, looking for any sign of his father. He wished that cat would eat faster. Finally, he could stand the tension no longer. He bent to pick up the cat and what was left of the sausage. “I'll give it the rest when I've deposited it a safe distance from here.”

“Oh, I can't bear to watch you take her away.” Martha stood and moved to the door. “I'll just go inside before you go.”

“I'm doing this to save your life, cat,” Robby said as he walked.

He walked several blocks to an area of town that had expensive houses. Behind a large white house with pretty green shutters, he set down the cat and her food. “You'll find a nice home here,” he said, and he turned to run.

Martha sat about halfway up the staircase, waiting for him. “Did you leave her?” she asked, and he could see that she had been crying.

“That I did. I chose a beautiful home for her with a large backyard so she can play.” He decided to add a bit of a lie. “I saw a lady come out and pick her up.” He whistled. “That cat will be living on easy street now.”

Martha took a white handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes. “Thank you, Robby. You aren't like the boys who lived down the block from me at my old house. They were rough and mean. Once they threw stones at me.”

“Where was your old house?”

“Oh,” she said, and her eyes darted around the room. “North Carolina.” Her face twisted with distress. “Yes, we came from North Carolina.”

Robby felt certain Martha was lying. He thought of saying so, but it surprised him to realize how much he disliked seeing her troubled. He would let the lie go for now. “Oh,” he said. “Is it nice there?”

She nodded. He felt as if she knew he was aware of the lie. “Oh, well,” he said. “It doesn't matter where you came from; you're in Philly now. It's a wonderful city.” She smiled at him, and her pale face seemed to come alive. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, this watching after Martha. “Let's go read some fairy tales,” he said. “We can take turns reading aloud.”

For a time they lost themselves in the stories. It was Martha's turn and she had just begun to read about Thumbelina when Robby heard steps on the stairs. “Someone is coming up. Doesn't sound like my father—must be yours.”

Martha jumped from her chair, put down the book, and ran through the open door. Robby got himself up from the floor. “Oh, Papa,” he heard Martha say, “we've had a very good day.”

Robby went out then. Martha still stood beside her father, his arms about her. Robby nodded in greeting and said, “Hello, sir.”

Burke nodded back, and Robby studied his face. What was it Martha had started to say about her father? Something worried her, but she wouldn't say what. Well, the man was kind to his daughter, but Robby was pretty sure he was not a good man. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe they would be sorry that William Burke had come to the house with the broken stoop. Robby couldn't say exactly what it was, but something about the man seemed sinister, and Robby was afraid of him. He moved to step around father and daughter, but suddenly he stumbled. Burke had thrust his walking stick low and hard directly at Robby's ankle. He lost his balance, grabbing at the railing around the second floor landing to keep from falling.

“Papa, your walking stick,” Martha said, and she reached out to touch Robby as if to steady him.

“Oh, beg your pardon,” Burke said, and he pulled back his stick. “Must have slipped away. Accidents happen, you know. I am dreadfully sorry.”

He wasn't, though. That walking stick had been close to Burke's own leg when Robby had started his move. It was no accident, but why would Burke do such a strange thing? He pushed down his anger, but he did not acknowledge the apology. “I'll just go down to the kitchen now and help Ma with supper,” he said.

Actually, it was too early to peel potatoes or lay the table. He wondered what business Mr. Burke went to that allowed him to come home in the middle of the afternoon. Robby resolved to ask Martha when they were next alone.

CHAPTER FOUR

I
t was the next morning before breakfast when he had reason to wonder even more about William Burke. While Robby had taken food upstairs for Miss Stone, Martha and her father had come in and sat down for breakfast. Da was in the kitchen too. Robby's mother had asked him to empty a bucket of water left from early morning mopping. He had just opened the back door when suddenly the cat was there, slipping between his feet and running into the house.

“Oh,” shouted Martha from her place at the table. “Robby, our kitty came back.” Before anyone else had a chance to comment, she left the table and scooped the kitten up in her arms.

Da set his teacup down hard on the long board table. “What's this business, boy? You know full well I ain't about to tolerate some cat hanging about me.”

Robby licked his lips, trying to think what to say, but Martha spoke up. “Excuse me, sir,” she said, her voice shaking, “there will be no hanging about you. The kitty will be mine, and I will keep it in my room. You shall never have to see it.”

Da shook his head. “Not possible. This is my house, and I make the rules for it. Scrawny cats be against house rules.”

Robby glanced at Martha. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she looked pleadingly at her father. “See here, Hare,” said William Burke. “It appears we've a bit of business to work out between us. Could we talk in the other room?” He used his gold-handled walking stick to point toward the parlor.

Da frowned. “I've just begun to eat me mush, I have.”

William Burke pushed away from the table and stood up. Despite his small stature, he looked menacing. “Now!” he said, and he walked from the room.

Amazingly, Da stood and followed him. Robby and his mother exchanged surprised looks. “Children,” said Ma, “come eat your breakfast while it is hot. I'll have enough to warm for the men.”

Martha came back to her place and held the kitten on her lap. Robby ate quickly, knowing there might be a great ruckus in the parlor, where the two men were talking. He was hungry, and he wanted to face the coming explosion with his stomach full. Martha took a few small bites, then began to spoon mush into her hand and feed the kitten. “I'm sorry, ma'am,” she said to Ma, “but I'm too excited to eat. I do so hope Papa is able to convince Mr. Hare. I thought I shouldn't waste the food.”

Ma shook her head. “I wouldn't count on it, dearie. My husband hates animals, and he is not a man for changing his mind, not a'tall.” The room was quiet for a time, and then they heard the footsteps. The men were coming back. Robby held his breath.

Burke came in first, but Robby could read nothing in his expression until he smiled at Martha and nodded his head. “You may keep your kitten, my sweet.”

Da was just behind Burke. Robby was amazed to see his father's smile and it was a good-natured smile, not the leer he sometimes had on his face when he was pleased with some bit of cruelty he had just carried off. “Get us some food, woman,” Da said, and he took his place at the head of the big table.

Mr. Burke held his hand up. “Nothing for me, my dear lady,” he said. “I am late for business.” He bent down to kiss the top of Martha's head. “Have a jolly time with your kitten, my darling.” He made a saluting gesture in Robby's direction, then left the room.

After breakfast, Martha went to her room with her kitten. Robby helped his mother clear the table. They had to reach around Da, who sat smoking his pipe, never lifting as much as a saucer to help. Robby expected his father to make an ugly remark about the new boarders or threaten to kill the kitten while no one was looking, but Da was silent.

Was Ma wondering as much as I was Da's change in attitude? Robby did not expect her to ask, but sure enough, when the table was clear and the heated water was poured from the kettle into the dishpan, she wiped her hands on her apron and asked, “What was it made you change your mind about the kitten?”

Robby thought now his father would surely make a hateful comment. Instead, Da puffed up like a great toad. “As usual, I done what is best for me family,” he said. “Turns out our gentleman tenant be well connected.” He nodded his big head to accentuate his remark. “Renting them rooms to Mr. Burke might just be the beginning of very good things for me.”

“What good things?” asked Ma.

“Not things you'd likely understand.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his big chest. “You just make mighty sure they be comfortable here.” He turned his head in Robby's direction. “Boy, get yourself upstairs and entertain that girl. She's to be kept happy. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.” Robby needed no urging to leave the room. Upstairs, he found Martha in with Miss Stone again. She sat on the floor, her kitten in her lap, while Miss Stone told her about the Pilgrims landing on Plymouth Rock. Robby had read Miss Stone's history books and knew all about the story, but he sat down beside Martha until the tale was over. “Well,” said Miss Stone. “I'm tired now. You children run along and come back after I've had a bit of rest.”

“I really knew all about the Pilgrims,” Martha whispered to Robby in the hall. “I told her I didn't because I could see she wanted to tell me.”

Robby smiled. “Miss Stone is a mighty fine person, isn't she?”

“Papa says she won't live much longer. He told me not to get attached to her.” She frowned. “But I already am attached. Why do people have to die, Robby?”

Feeling proud to have her turn to him with questions, he thought for a minute before he answered. “Well, I suppose if no one died, the world would be too crowded soon, wouldn't it? But I'll tell you, I think your father is wrong about Miss Stone. I think she will be around a deal longer.”

They were outside Martha's room now. “I have a cup and ball,” she said. “Would you like to play a game of toss?” He nodded and followed her inside.

Martha took a wooden cup from the bureau drawer. The cup was built on top of a handle with a ball attached to the cup by a heavy string. Robby had seen such a toy and knew the object was to toss the ball up and catch it in the cup, but he had never played with one. She handed it to him. “Let's sit at the table and play,” she said. “You take a turn first.”

Three times Robby tossed the ball and failed to catch it. “Keep trying,” said Martha, “you'll catch on.” On the fourth try, he caught the ball. “Practice a little more,” she said, “and we will have a contest.”

Robby caught three more balls. “This is jolly,” he said.

“I wish you could have played with me at my old home. I had ever so many nice toys, but I had to leave them.” She stopped suddenly. When she spoke again, she whispered, even though they were alone in the room. “I'm not supposed to talk about my old home,” she said.

“Why?” Robby leaned across the table to be closer to her. “Why aren't you supposed to talk about North Carolina?”

For just a second a look of surprise crossed her face, but then she looked down and shook her head. “Don't ask me, please. I am awfully sorry I said anything.”

“Never mind.” Robby handed her the cup and ball. He hated the distressed look on her face. “Let's have the contest now,” he said, and he did not mind at all when she won.

At noontime, Robby went into Miss Stone's room to take her downstairs to eat. “My da is not around,” he said. “He's gone out early to the pub and is likely to stay all day.”

She smiled at him. “Well, that's good now, isn't it? Not only do you and your poor mother have a rest from him, but he will come home full of drink.” She laughed slightly. “Roger Hare is the only man I've ever known who is nicer when he is drunk.”

It was true. Robby always liked to be around his father when he came home from drinking too much. Sometimes he would be too far gone to do anything but fall into bed, but sometimes he would have had only enough to make him softer. A few weeks ago, he had come home after Robby's mother had already gone to bed. Robby got up from his pallet and cooked his father some potatoes. While Da ate, he talked to Robby about his life in Ireland as a boy. He told about his brothers, Robert and Patrick. “I'll never see their faces again,” he'd said as he wiped his hand across his face. “Do you mind what I told you about your name?”

“I do,” Robby had said. “You named me Robert Patrick for them both.”

“That I did, that I did.” He began to tell, then, about meeting Robby's mother for the first time, just after he got off the boat from Ireland. “She was a pretty lass,” Da had said, “a real pretty lass before she got mixed up with the likes of me.”

He had even patted Robby's arm as they sat together on the kitchen bench. “You're a good son, Robby. Yes sirree, Bob,” he had said, and Robby had thought he might cry.

The next day he asked his mother why his father was so much more pleasant when he was drunk. She had been scrubbing the kitchen floor right after breakfast and had stopped to look up at Robby, her hand still in the bucket. “It ain't easy to explain, son. He wasn't so rough and hard in our young days, and he worked along beside me like he's not done in ages.” She shook her head. “Things were hurtful for him, and him expecting life to be easy in America. He thought he'd earn lots of money and send for his brothers, but he wasn't able to hang on to the scant few jobs that come his way. Lolly dying seemed to sort of finish him off. He's angry at …” She paused. “I guess he's angry at the world, maybe God too. Lord only knows what would have become of us if my uncle Tim hadn't died and left this place to me.” She rung out her rag and went back to scrubbing. “He don't like me being the one to hold our bodies and souls together, but he knows he can't do it.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I'd say when he drinks, he forgets all his failures.”

Robby threw himself down on to the bench and laid his head on the table. “I hate him when he hits you, Ma. I hate him so much.”

“Ah, Robby, try not to be hating him. Hate eats at you something terrible, especially hating your own blood kin. Your da's not all bad, though sometimes it seems that way. Try to feel sorry for him, all that pain inside. Father Francis says we got to pray for him.”

Tears rolled down Robby's cheeks. “But, Ma, why do we have to stay with him?”

His mother pulled herself up from her knees. “You don't, Robby. You're smart and soon you will be stronger than your Da. You can get away, son. Just bide your time, and you can go. Me, I can't leave him. I vowed in front of God, I did. Besides, I'd have nowhere to go. This place was left to me, but, of course, in the eyes of the law it belongs to your da.” She rose and carried the mop water out the back door to dump it.

Robby remembered the helpless feeling he had experienced that day, and it all washed back over him as he knelt beside Miss Stone's rocking chair. “So,” he said, “Da's not likely to show up for noontide meal. I'll help you down the stairs.”

She laid her hand on his arm. “You're a dear, but I believe not. I'm mightily tired today. Be a good boy and help me over to my bed.”

Robby helped her to her bed and spread the blanket over her. When she was settled, he moved to leave the room. At the door, he paused and turned back to her. “I'll bring up some food,” he said. “You can eat just where you are. I'll pull you up a mite in the bed.”

She shook her head. “No, Robby, I'll be asleep before you could climb back up the stairs. I'm that weary.” She closed her eyes.

“Very well,” he said, “but Ma has made an apple pie. I'll put a slice away for you and bring it up later.” She made no sound, and he tiptoed back to stand beside her bed. Yes, she was still alive. He could see the cover he had spread over her rise and fall with her breath.

Downstairs he was surprised to find William Burke sitting in the big brown chair in the parlor. He had pulled the curtain away from the window and was reading a newspaper. When Robby entered the room, he glanced up. “I shall require more light. I can barely see to read even in the broad daylight,” he said, pointing to the lamps attached to the opposite wall. “I had no way to light them.”

“There is no oil in them anyway,” said Robby. “I'll get some from the kitchen. We just bought a can.”

“Thank you, my boy. That would be most helpful.”

Robby moved through the swinging door into the kitchen, where his mother was putting the last touches on the meal. “Robby,” she said, “butter the bread for me. I had no notion his highness would return for a meal at noon. It's lucky I am that I have some chipped beef. You and I mustn't eat any so there's plenty for the boarders.”

“He wants oil for the parlor lamp,” Robby told her.

“It will have to wait till after we eat.” She set a big bowl of boiled potatoes on the table. “Is Miss Stone coming down?”

“No, she was really tired. I'll take her something later. I promised her a piece of pie.”