Wonderland Creek (30 page)

“Well, I’m fine. I’m working in the library here. The librarian—” My mother would faint if she knew that the librarian had been shot. I’d better not mention it. “They don’t have a librarian at the moment, so I agreed to stay.”

“Is it safe? Are you with nice people?”

I thought of Lillie pointing her gun at me. I thought of Clint Arnett making moonshine and shooting at revenuers, and of the feud between the Larkins and Arnetts. I thought of all the mysterious people who seemed to have a reason to murder Mack. But I also knew that the sheriff was listening to our conversation. He probably had tapped into the telephone line while he’d made me wait.

“Everyone has been very nice to me, Daddy. I’ll write you a letter and tell you all about it as soon as I can.”

“Well. I’m glad to hear that you’re being useful. But your mother and I don’t think you should stay down there indefinitely. Cecil says it’s very rustic. When do you plan to come home?”

“I’m told that they can probably find the help they need in another month.”

“A month? Certainly no longer than that, Alice. How do you plan to get home?”

“They have trains and buses. Someone will take me to the station.”

“I don’t like the idea of you traveling all alone. Shall I find someone to come and fetch you?”

“There’s no need. I’ll be fine.” They were treating me like a child and I resented it—even though I had been desperate to get home a few days ago. “Listen, I’ll write you a letter and explain everything. Please give my love to Mom. And say hi to Freddy for me, okay?”

“I will. Thank you for calling, Alice. That was very thoughtful of you. We’ll plan on seeing you in a month’s time. Good-bye.”

“Bye, Daddy.” The line went dead.

My tears started again and I didn’t know why. Maybe it was because I had just made an important decision—one of the first big ones of my life. I had decided to stay and chosen whom I would trust. And now I was a little afraid that I had made a mistake.

O
ne of the sheriff’s deputies drove me back to the library—and back to the eighteenth century. I had asked to use the ladies’ room before leaving his office, and as we arrived in Acorn, I already lamented my decision to forfeit indoor plumbing. But for now I had decided to stay.

I found Miss Lillie in her chair downstairs, reading a chapter of
Treasure Island
to Mamaw and Faye’s boys, who were seated on the wooden floor in front of her. “There you are,” Lillie said when she saw me. “You better finish reading this ’cause my eyes are getting tired. I don’t see as good as I used to, you know.”

She struggled up from the chair before I could protest. I was weary from everything I had been through and didn’t know how I could concentrate on the story. But only a page or two remained until the end of the chapter, so I sat down to read it. My audience listened with rapt attention, including Miss Lillie, who stood in the doorway.

“Can’t you read us some more?” Little Lloyd begged when I closed the book.

“We’re almost to the end,” Clyde added.

“Come back tomorrow—no, Friday—and we’ll finish the book. I promise.”

Bobby groaned. “We gotta be good until Friday?”

“That’s not so long. Bye now.”

As I herded them out the door, Ike Arnett, the fiddle player, bounded down the stairs from the library’s second floor. What in the world had he been doing up there? He showed Lillie a red and black plaid jacket.

“Had a little trouble finding it, Miss Lillie, but thanks again for letting me have it. It means a lot to me.”

“Mack would be tickled to know you’re getting some use out of it.”

Lillie had given him Mack’s hunting jacket? I doubted if Mack would be tickled. Nor did I like the idea of Ike snooping around in the room where I slept. But Ike bounced around the foyer like a boisterous brown-eyed puppy, making it hard to stay mad at him. He halted in front of me and briefly rested his hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, Alice. Miss Lillie told me the good news.”

“The news? What news?” Had she told Ike that Mack was alive?

“That you’re gonna be staying in Acorn, after all.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I’ll come by for you at two o’clock on Saturday, then.” I stared at him blankly. He gave me a grin that would make most women swoon. “You said that you’d love to come with me and hear me fiddle on Saturday if only you was staying. Well, now you’re staying.”

Yes. I had said that. Because I’d thought I was leaving.

“So put on your prettiest party dress, and I’ll be back for you at two o’clock on Saturday. See you then. Bye, Miss Lillie. And thanks again.” He jogged out of the library like one of Faye’s boys, only Ike was six feet tall.

“Do you think I should go with him?” I asked Lillie.

Maybe she would call Ike a snake, like the sheriff, or warn me to be careful like she had with Maggie Coots. Instead, she said, “He’s a nice boy. There’s no harm in going.” Mack had agreed that Ike was a talented fiddle player. He had seemed to like Ike Arnett, and I did, too. He was a little too handsome for his own good, but he was sweet. And romantic. The flowers he had brought me were still flourishing in the Mason jar on my desk. As Lillie had said, I supposed there was no harm in going. I saw her watching me from the kitchen doorway with an amused grin on her face.

“Why did you let him take Mack’s jacket?” I asked her.

“Because dead men don’t need hunting jackets.”

“But Mack isn’t dead.” I wondered if Lillie’s memory was failing or if she was starting to believe her own lies.

“Honey, you sure enough can’t keep a secret, can you? You whisper that once too many times and you gonna get Mack and us in a heap of trouble.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been a terrible day.” I sank down in the chair behind the library desk. Work had piled up again and I could barely see Lillie over the stack of books waiting to be carded and shelved. She hobbled forward to stand in front of me.

“I see you came home in the sheriff’s car. How’d that happen?”

“I went up to the mine to use the telephone—and to snoop around for Mack—and the sheriff caught me breaking into the office. He didn’t press charges, thankfully, but he drove me to his office so I could use his telephone to call home.”

“I hope you was careful what you said on that telephone.”

“I was. I knew he might be listening.”

“Did you reach your kinfolk?”

I could only nod. For some reason, the memory of my father’s calm, pastoral voice brought tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat. I hadn’t had time to get homesick until now. Lillie seemed to read my thoughts.

“What do you miss the most about home?” she asked quietly.

“A bathtub.” I gave a shaky laugh, trying to make a joke of it. Lillie didn’t laugh.

“Well, why didn’t you say so? We got a bathtub, honey.”

“We do?”

“Follow me and I’ll show you.”

Lillie led the way upstairs to her bedroom, climbing as slowly as a toddler. I followed, reluctant to get my hopes up since everything else in Acorn was as antiquated as in the pioneer days. She opened the door to her huge closet and sure enough, beneath a rod of clothes was a big copper bathtub, large enough to sit down in. In fact, it was about the same size as our bathtub back home. Lillie would drown in it. But I didn’t see any water faucets.

“Where does the hot water come from?”

She bit back a smile. She must have thought I was very ignorant. “You make a fire in the stove, honey,” she said patiently, “and you heat the water as hot as you want. It works best if you bring the tub down to the kitchen and fill it halfway with well water, then add the boiling water until it’s just right.”

It sounded like a lot of work, but I was desperate for a good long soak in a real tub, especially if I was going out on a date with Ike Arnett. “This will be wonderful,” I said. “I’ll drag the tub downstairs and take my first bath on Friday night.” I couldn’t help smiling as I maneuvered the bulky tub out of the closet, sneezing at the dust cloud I’d raised.

“You can take a bath whenever you want to,” Lillie said. “I’ll even give you a sachet of lavender to put in the water so you’ll smell even sweeter than you already do.”

“Thank you, Lillie. That’s very kind of you.” I would have hugged her if she hadn’t been so frail. She reminded me of a dried-up twig that would snap in two and crumble if you touched it. I was surprised to discover that I was growing fond of Lillie in spite of everything she had put me through. I sensed that underneath her conniving, gun-pointing ways, she was a fine person. And though it irked me to admit it, I could see that Mack was a good person, too.

The next day was Thursday, so I rode my usual route to the Howard farm, the school, and Maggie Coots’s cabin. I could saddle Belle without too much help now, and I was getting used to climbing on and off her back several times a day. Everyone had said I could learn to ride a horse if I put my mind to it, and I guess they were right—unless Belle suddenly decided to quit listening to me, that is. I didn’t kid myself that I had any control over her. She obeyed Miss Lillie’s and Mack’s orders, not mine. I had never known that horses were so smart, even though Freddy and I had read
Black Beauty
and every other horse story we could get our hands on as girls.

The day’s ride went smoothly, and I looked forward to seeing Maggie and telling her that I had decided to stay. I knew we could become good friends. As Acorn’s only flatlanders, we had a lot in common. As I neared her house, though, I suddenly heard a
crack
that sounded like gunfire. Was someone shooting at me the way they had shot at Mack? I nearly tumbled out of the saddle in fear, and the sound must have scared Belle, too, because she picked up her pace, forcing me to hunch over in the saddle and hang on for dear life. She was only trotting, but it seemed like a gallop as we thundered into Maggie’s yard. I sagged in relief when I saw Maggie out by the barn, aiming her rifle at a row of tin cans. She lowered the gun when she saw us and beckoned to me. I dismounted and tied Belle to the hitching post, then sauntered over, still holding my chest to keep my wildly pounding heart inside.

“Belle and I heard shots and they scared us half to death. I’m glad it was only you. Are you doing some target practice?”

“There’s a wildcat roaming around here. I saw paw prints on my property. Make sure you keep your chickens locked up, and whatever you do, don’t come up into these woods at night.”

My heart went from a trot to a gallop again. “Do wildcats ever hunt in the daytime?” If so, my riding days were over. Done. Finished.

“Usually not. But I’m worried the cat will come after my goats one of these nights. I have two new baby kids.” Maggie reloaded the rifle, took aim, and fired. The bullet hit one of the tin cans with a metallic
plink
and knocked it over. She took aim at another can.
Boom.
Plink.

“Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

“Hank taught me when we started having all the trouble at the mine. He wanted me to be able to defend myself. He’d be worried about me now because I don’t have a watchdog anymore. That’s probably why the wildcat has been hanging around my place.” She pointed the rifle again.
Boom.
Plink
. “Want to try it?”

“No, thanks. It would be a waste of ammunition. I’d probably end up shooting myself . . . like Mack did.” I was pleased that I had worked Mack’s “accident” into the conversation. Lillie’s accusation that I couldn’t keep a secret had stung. But as soon as I’d spoken, I felt guilty for telling a fib.

When Maggie ran out of bullets, she invited me inside. We sat at her table sipping tea and talking about our favorite characters from the books we’d read. We both agreed that Jo in
Little Women
was at the top of our lists. Spending time with Maggie was like a little taste of home. I hated to leave. “But I’ll be back,” I promised.

I stopped to see June Ann on my way down the creek, even though it wasn’t my day to visit her. I arrived to chaos. The dog was barking, the baby was crying, and so was June Ann. “Here. Hold Feather for me,” she said as soon as I’d dismounted. She shoved the baby into my arms before I could refuse.

“What? . . . Why?” I clutched Feather awkwardly, unsure what to do. Her little face was crimson from crying, her tiny arms and legs stiff.

“I just need a break from her,” June Ann called as she hurried down the porch steps.

“Wait! I don’t know how to take care of a baby this small.” But June Ann didn’t seem to hear me. She jogged through the gate and up the trail into the woods. Now what?

I carried the baby inside the dreary cabin and walked the floor with her propped against my shoulder. I hummed every song I could think of to soothe her as I patted her back, but she continued to wail, her mouth uncomfortably close to my ear. Whatever was wrong with Feather, it hadn’t affected her lungs.

It seemed like a very long time passed before the baby finally ran out of steam. I felt her shudder a few times as her tiny body relaxed against my shoulder and she fell asleep. I waited five more minutes to make sure she stayed asleep, then carefully laid her in the cradle and went looking for June Ann. She was sitting on a rock near the edge of the woods, far enough away, I guessed, so she couldn’t hear Feather’s cries. Tears still rolled down her face, leaving streaks on her dusty cheeks.