Wonderland Creek (14 page)

“The music you’ve been playing out on the porch is very interesting,” I told him. “I’ve never heard hymns played quite like that before—especially at a funeral.”

“Ever been to Kentucky before?”

“No, this is my first time.”

“Well, that explains it.” He smiled and there wasn’t a girl in the world who could have resisted smiling back.

I continued to eat and he continued to stare at me until the silence became uncomfortable. “Um . . . does your little band play together very often?”

“We’re not really a band. Just some folks from town who got together to pay our respects to Mack.”

“Oh. Well, you sounded very good.”

“Thanks. I have a lot of time to practice now that the mine is closed and most of the dance halls have shut down. But I been getting by, doing a little of this and that. And every so often I get work playing my fiddle.” He raked his fingers through his hair, but it flopped back onto his forehead just like before, hanging into one of his eyes. “When times were good, I played in a band every weekend. We traveled all over the place, even up to Ohio and West Virginia. I had a girl in every town.”

“I assume you aren’t married, then?”

“Why settle down when you can have a good time?” He winked at me. I couldn’t believe it! Oh yes, Ike Arnett knew he was good-looking.

“Life on the road’s no good for a family man,” he continued. “I guess I could settle down now that I ain’t traveling as much, but I haven’t found the right girl.” He waited for me to look up at him, then added, “Yet.”

I remained deadpan, refusing to swallow the bait. “Where did you learn how to play the fiddle like that?”

He shrugged. “Fiddling’s been passed down in our family for years and years. I been sitting on our porch, listening to my granddaddy and uncles play for as long as I can remember. So one day I took the fiddle off the mantel when my chores was done and started fiddling around with it myself. I took a real shine to it.”

“That’s very interesting.” And it was. How could anyone play as skillfully and artistically as Ike did without ever studying music or taking lessons from a teacher?

He changed the subject and began to talk about Mack while he ate, chattering on and on about what a great friend Mack had been and how much he would miss him. I confess that I tuned out Ike’s words as if changing radio stations. His affection for Mack seemed genuine, which made me feel even guiltier for playing a part in this huge deception. I was beginning to wonder how I would ever get Ike Arnett off my desk again when the banjo player sauntered over.

“Quit your flirting, Ike. We got work to do.”

Ike shoveled the last few bites of food into his mouth and stood. He picked up his violin and winked at me again. “See you around, Alice.”

The day’s events took all the starch out of Lillie, and late in the afternoon, Faye and Marjorie helped her up to bed. When the last mourner left and the packhorse ladies had finished helping me clean up, I went upstairs to see if she was all right. She had a lamp burning, and I took a good look at her room for the first time. It was very neat and tidy, considering that she had been sick in bed before I arrived. Frilly white curtains hung on the windows and a beautiful patchwork quilt covered her bed. Framed pictures decorated the walls, and an embroidered sampler hung at the head of her bed. I moved closer to read it:
“There is a friend who sticketh closer than a brother.” Proverbs 18:24.

Mack limped into the bedroom to see her, too, and sat on the edge of her bed. I glared at him, making sure he knew exactly how I felt about him.

“It was a very nice funeral, honey,” Lillie told him. “You should’ve been there to see how well-liked you were.”

“Did the sheriff come?”

“Yessir, he was there, making sure you was dead and buried. I think you’re safe for now, honey.”

“Maybe. But I’m worried that someone will see me. I’ll have to go outside to . . . you know . . .”

“You could move up to the cabin until your work is finished.”

“What work?” I asked. They ignored my question.

“I can’t leave you, Lillie. Who’ll take care of you if I’m not here?”

“Honey-girl’s been helping me. She’ll take care of both of us.” It took me a moment to realize who Lillie meant.

“Wait . . . me? . . . Listen, I won’t be here much longer. My aunt and uncle are coming for me next week.” They continued to talk, ignoring me completely.

“How about tomorrow night, after dark?” Lillie said. “That’ll give you time to pack some food and things. Think you’re strong enough to travel up there?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” He bent over the tiny woman and kissed her forehead, then tucked the covers around her with his good arm. “Good night, Lillie. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” And before I could stop him, Mack limped into his old bedroom where I had been sleeping and closed the door.

“Hey! That’s my room. Where am I supposed to sleep?”

No one replied.

T
he next day I had the library all to myself. Mack and Lillie both stayed in their rooms, and the only time I saw them was when I brought their meals upstairs. I didn’t even have to cook since we had plenty of leftovers from Mack’s funeral. Faye’s boys must have been naughty again, because they didn’t come in to hear the next chapter of
Treasure Island
. It was just as well, for I could hear Mack thumping around in his bedroom all afternoon, and the boys would have heard him, too.

When I brought dinner upstairs, Mack had changed out of his bloodstained clothes for the first time and was sitting on Lillie’s bed, talking quietly to her. Their whispered discussion halted when I walked in with the supper tray.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I said. “I’ll just leave this here and eat downstairs.”

“Now, now, honey-girl. I know you’re feeling peeved with us.”

I pinched my lips shut and didn’t reply. Who wouldn’t be out of sorts after sleeping in Lillie’s chair in the non-fiction section all night? I still had a kink in my neck from my uncomfortable night’s rest. At least there hadn’t been any bats flying around downstairs.

Mack tilted his head to one side and gave me his puppy-eyed look. “You came here to help out, Miss Ripley, and you’ve been an enormous help to us. Maybe not in the ways you intended, but—”

“But the Good Lord knows we couldn’t of done any of this without you,” Lillie finished.

“I get no satisfaction in knowing that I’ve aided in a terrible, deceitful conspiracy against an entire town.”

Mack grinned. “Very nicely and dramatically put, Miss Ripley. A bit melodramatic, perhaps . . .”

I wanted to punch him, but Lillie held up her hand. “Truth is, Mack would probably be dead for good if you hadn’t helped him. And I’d be knocking on the pearly gates right behind him.”

“This town has a lot of secrets,” Mack added, “and I’m afraid you stumbled right into the middle of them.”

I rolled my eyes. “Now who’s being melodramatic?”

Mack and Lillie exchanged glances.

“We just wanted to let you know how grateful we are for all your help,” Mack said. “Now, please sit down and eat dinner with us. Let’s let bygones be bygones.”

I sat down on a spindly chair beside Lillie’s bed and ate. The worst was over, I decided, so why not make peace? There would be no more need for potions or secrets or lies. I could concentrate on my work in the library while I waited for my aunt and uncle to return. Maybe I could invite a few more children from town to come to our story time with Faye’s boys.

We had finished eating and I was collecting the dishes when Lillie said, “There’s just one more
tiny
little thing we’re gonna need your help with, honey.”

My shoulders sagged. A sound escaped from my throat, something closer to a whimper or a groan than a sigh. “Now what?”

“I could use some help getting ready to leave,” Mack said.

“Leave? Where are you going?”

“To a cabin I know of up behind the town. I need to leave tonight, after dark.”

“How are you getting there? You can barely stand up, let alone walk. You want me to borrow the postmaster’s goat cart?” It irritated me that they would dare to ask another favor, and I made no attempt to hide it.

“I plan to ride Belle. I might need a little help getting her ready.”

“This is the twentieth century! Don’t you know anyone with a car?”

“The manager of the coal mine has a big, shiny black car, Miss Ripley. So does the sheriff. But I doubt they’d be willing to give me a lift, seeing as they think I’m dead. Besides, there’s no road up to the cabin. So will you help me? . . . Please?”

“It depends. What do I have to do?”

Mack stood and moved toward the door. “Can you help me get packed?”

“I suppose so.”

I followed him into his room, which now looked as though Ali Baba and his forty thieves had ransacked it. A pair of saddlebags lay on his bed, and I helped him stuff various belongings and toiletries into the leather bags, then rolled up a couple of quilts and tied them into a bedroll. Mack’s arm was in a sling and he had to do everything one-handed. I could see that his shoulder still gave him a lot of pain and that the slightest activity left him exhausted. He already had packed a bulging burlap sack, but I didn’t want to know what that might contain, and he didn’t seem inclined to tell me.

“I guess I’ll have to leave my typewriter here for another trip,” he said, glancing around when we finished.

“What typewriter? What do you need a typewriter for?”

“Don’t ask questions, Miss Ripley. You won’t like the answers.”

I made two trips up and down the stairs, piling everything by the back door. Then I helped Mack hobble down to the kitchen. He directed me as I filled an empty feed sack with food supplies.

The night turned out to be dark and cloudy with no moon or stars. “Perfect,” Mack decided.
Creepy,
I thought. Sparse spring branches creaked and rasped as they blew in the wind. A hint of rain still fogged the damp air. Mack leaned on me as he limped down to the shed, where I was supposed to help him saddle the horse. The saddle was so heavy I had to stand on a crate in order to lift it onto the animal’s back. And the beast kept moving around, refusing to stand still for me. By the time I managed to heft the saddle into place, I was panting. Mack pointed to a strap dangling under the horse’s belly.

“Make sure you cinch that up real tight.”

“Wait. You can’t possibly expect me to crawl underneath that animal and fasten that buckle.”

“If you don’t, I’ll be on my rear end in the creek before Belle takes a dozen steps.”

“Lead me not into temptation . . .” I mumbled, imagining the scene.

“Pardon?”

“The horse is enormous! Can’t you buckle the strap yourself?”

“Not with one hand.”

“What if she lies down on top of me while I’m under there?”

“She won’t. Horses seldom lie down. Come on, I’ll make sure Belle won’t kick you.”

Kick me?
I worked fast, glancing at Mack and at the horse’s hind legs.

“Now the bridle,” Mack said. “Just slip it over her head and get her to open her mouth so you can put the bit in place.” I stared at him. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You expect me to put my fingers into the horse’s mouth?”

“Belle won’t mind. She’s used to it.”

“Well, I’m not used to it! I’ve never been this . . . intimate . . . with an animal before—under its belly, in its mouth—especially a beast that’s three times my size.”

I heard him mumble something about melodrama, but I chose to ignore him. Between the two of us, we finally got the bridle on and the horse was ready to go. As we led it from the shed to the back door where we’d piled Mack’s saddlebags and bedroll, I could tell the horse wasn’t too happy about going out for a midnight ride. It stomped its feet and snorted, acting as sulky as I felt.

The last thing Mack had me do after tying on all his belongings was drag a wooden bench over from beside the back door and help him climb up, since he was too weak to swing up into the saddle the regular way—especially with only one arm. As it was, he half crawled onto Belle’s back, stomach first. He was sweating and wincing by the time he was astride, even though the night air was cool. I was about to wish him well—and good riddance—when he extended his good hand to me. “Grab on, Miss Ripley, and I’ll pull you up behind me.”

“What?”

“You have to come along.”

“Oh, no I don’t!” I backed away from him.

“How else will Belle get home again?”

“I don’t care. That’s not my problem.”

He beckoned to me again. “Come on, hurry up before someone sees us.”

I crossed my arms. “No. This is the limit. I . . . I refuse.”

“I thought you agreed to help me.”

“I’ve done all sorts of things to help you, including crouching beneath a horse, hauling sacks of dirt, telling a pack of lies, and committing fraud. But now I’m done. Finished. No more. You and Lillie got along fine before I arrived, and from now on you’ll just have to spin your web of deceit without me.”

“Listen, this will only take a few minutes. You’ll be back home and tucked up in bed within the hour.”