Don't Let the Wind Catch You Page 2

  My mother stood at the stove, yellow apron tied around her sky blue housedress. "Go wash up, Gus. It's almost time to eat. And take those smelly shoes outside."

  "Sorry, Mum."

  My father poked his head around the corner from the great room. The evening paper crinkled in his hands. "Gus? Did you rub down your horse?"

  I nodded and backtracked to the screen door, kicking off my sneakers and tossing them onto the porch. "Of course, Dad."

  "And did you feed him?"

  I rolled my eyes, but just a little. I didn't want to get into trouble for being fresh. "Yup. And the cats, too. Everything's done."

  A look of satisfaction swept over him. "Good boy. Okay, do as your mother says. Wash up and come right back down. The roast beef smells good, doesn't it?"

  The aroma had tantalized me since I entered the kitchen. "With mashed potatoes, Mum?"

  She nodded, stirring a small pot of gravy with a wooden spoon. "Uh huh." A glimmer of a smile touched the corners of her mouth. "And fresh-picked green beans."

  I raced upstairs, splashed warm water on my face, lathered up my hands with Ivory Soap, and threw on a clean pair of jeans and a fresh shirt. I knew if I didn't change clothes, I'd smell way too horsey for the dinner table after riding all day and working in the barn that morning. Skipping down the stairs two at a time, I ran into the dining room, where both parents already sat with their hands on their laps, waiting for me.

  My father said grace—mercifully short—and we dug into the meal.

  Shadow sat patiently under the table, his head pressed against my knee.

  My mother was the best cook in Livingston County, and maybe even in all of New York State. I ate like Pancho, with gusto, slipping a few little pieces of beef and bread to my canine buddy when I could. When I finished my chocolate pudding with whipped cream piled on top, I pushed back from the table and covered a burp. "'Scuse me." I folded my napkin and looked first at my father, then my mother. "Mum? Dad? I have a question."

  They both stopped in the middle of their pudding and looked at me with expectant smiles.

  "Do you know who lives in the woods in that cabin behind the Ambuscade? He's an old hermit, lives by himself, I think."

  My father took a zealous interest in his pudding.

  My mother went white. She collected herself, exchanged a worried glance with my father, and lied to me for the first time in my life. "No, darling. We don't know who lives there. But that's private property. You shouldn't trespass in those woods."

  Chapter Four

  That night, as always, I read in bed to the sounds of crickets chirping outside my second story window. July had arrived in a blaze of heat, and the first two weeks of my summer vacation had already flown by. I was disappointed we weren't spending the whole summer at my grandparents' fishing camp in Maine. The replacement pharmacist my father had been training to take over for July and August had suddenly quit due to a serious health concern my father didn't share with me. I wondered if it were the dreaded cancer or something equally awful that people only whispered about. Dad had cancelled our vacation and stayed home to tend to the pharmacy, and our lakeside summer was put off until next year. I already missed the cry of the loons and the clear green water, but was determined to have a great summer in spite of it.

  I closed my Hardy Boys mystery and wondered if Elsbeth and Siegfried were whispering about the old hermit. Their bedrooms were next to each other, and Elsbeth told me they often sneaked into one another's room at night to talk.

  A stab of jealousy hit me. I had no siblings, and was especially envious of the twin bond they shared. I wished I had someone to talk to, other than my faithful beagle. Regardless, I stroked his smooth long ears and continued our one-sided conversation. I'd been telling my dog about the hermit, and it really seemed as if he was listening.

  As if to let me know he understood, Shadow shoved his quivering cold nose into my armpit, making me erupt in peals of laughter.

  He lifted his face and lapped my cheek with his soft tongue. I turned my mouth away so he wouldn't lick me on the lips.

  The door opened and my mother came to my bedside. "What's going on in here? It's after ten, Gus."

  Her voice sounded weary, and I wondered if she and my father had been discussing the hermit. There was something in her eyes that made me nervous. She'd lied to me, earlier. I knew it like I knew every rock, tree, and turn of the trails in our woods. She'd gone white as a sheet, had averted her eyes, and she had talked in that weird company voice she used when she answered the telephone. Almost too polite. Not like her usual mother voice.

  "Sorry, Mum. G'night."

  She smoothed my blanket and leaned down to kiss me. "'Night, honey. Sweet dreams."

  She swished out of the room, still in her pretty dress, but wearing no shoes. The sound of her feet padding softly on the floor was familiar and comforting. I turned over a corner of my page, realizing Miss Gifford, our librarian, would frown that I'd not kept the bookmark she gave me for my summer reading list. Actually, Shadow had chewed it up on the first day of vacation. I'd scolded him, but he'd just looked smug and smiled his doggie smile. The Hardy Boys mysteries weren't on the summer reading list, but I was hooked and wanted to read at least one in between all the other boring books on the list.

  I clicked off the lamp and turned on my side to face the window. Shadow repositioned himself in the crook of my knees, curling into a warm ball that pressed against me. Moonlight flooded the room, spilling silvery light over the bare floorboards.

  I fell asleep to visions of the old hermit floating around the sky with Casper the Friendly Ghost.

  ***

  My father dropped me off at Oscar and Millie Stone's house in Goodland Station at ten sharp the next morning. He hadn't mentioned the hermit, although I was dying to ask him why it was such a touchy subject. He'd talked about baseball, movies, and Shadow's upcoming vet appointment with such speed and intensity it seemed he was trying hard to keep me from asking anything. And I could tell he was uneasy, because his right eye kept twitching.

  "Dad?"

  He put the Oldsmobile into park and turned to me. His face tensed, as if he were braced for something. "Yes, son?"

  I couldn't do it. I couldn't upset him more. I patted his arm and grinned. "Pick me up at twelve-thirty, okay?"

  The smile spilled out of him. "You got it, sport. Do a good job on the lawn, now."

  I fake-punched him in the arm. "I always do, Dad."

  I grabbed my piano music from the seat. We'd been trading piano lessons for lawn mowing since last fall, when the octogenarian Elsbeth and I used to take lessons from had been admitted to a nursing home for heart problems. I had been upset about Mr. Mandelbo's condition, and we'd visited him a few times in that awful place that smelled of antiseptic and had a frightening collection of very sick old people in beds and wheelchairs. I'd overheard my parents say he probably would never leave the home, and I'd felt just awful for him.

  I trotted up to the Stones' white farmhouse, patted Pierrot, their little white poodle who greeted me on the porch, and opened the screen door. Millie always told me to just walk in, and after years of polite knocking, I'd finally overcome my hesitancy. William, their sixteen-year-old son, greeted me from the dining room where he sat doing a puzzle with his father. I could hear his beak-shaped nose whistling from where I stood. It always made that curious sound when he concentrated on projects, especially when he worked on his car models.

  "Hey, squirt. How's it going?"

  Oscar picked up a puzzle piece and smiled at me over his bifocals. "Good morning, Gustave."

  I nodded toward both of them. "Morning."

  William motioned toward the parlor. "Mom's waiting for you in there."

  "Thanks." I hurried into the room where Millie sat at the piano, rearranging sheet music. I wondered if we'd start a new piece today, and felt a twinge in my stomach. My sight-reading was horrible. I could do a passable job once I memorized the notes and fingering, but
cold sight-reading made me all nervous and sweaty.

  "Good morning, sweetie. How are you?"

  I slid beside her onto the bench. Millie always smelled of rose talcum powder, and the familiar scent relaxed me. "I'm fine, thanks."

  She nodded and rubbed the back of one hand with the other. They'd started to get twisted and bumpy in the past few years, and my mother had mentioned something about her arthritis worsening. She said in time we'd have to search for another teacher. I hated that idea. But you could tell her hands hurt when she played. She always tried to cover it up, but I noticed her wincing.

  Her eyes caught mine with a flash of warmth. "Ready?"

  I nodded. "Uh huh."

  "Okay, let's start with your Mozart sonata."

  I worked hard to focus on the notes. Millie corrected me gently when I stumbled or hesitated. She helped with my fingering to make awkward passages easier and lifted my wrists when they slumped.

  When we moved to a new Chopin nocturne, I tensed. Millie played it once for me, and I realized Elsbeth had learned the piece last year. I remembered it from her recital in April. The memory helped me feel it out, and Millie let me read one hand at a time, which made it easier. I tried the right hand four times, and the left two times, which was pretty typical for Chopin. Dee dum dum, dee dum dum. One-two-three, one-two-three. When I put the hands together, I stumbled a lot. But I knew eventually I'd get it.

  Millie glanced at the wall clock when the half hour was over. "You're improving, dear. You'll master this in time. Once you have the notes down, we'll work on the nuances and emotion. This is a very strong piece; it will tear your heart in two when you play it correctly."

  I didn't think I wanted that to happen. "I remember the way Elsbeth played it at the recital," I said. I closed the sheet music and shuffled it into a neat pile.

  Her eyes turned dreamy. "That girl has quite a gift. It's very satisfying to have a student like her." She looked down at me and came back to earth. "Not that you aren't a good player, dear one. You are." She leaned down and kissed my cheek.

  "It's okay. I know how she plays. It's a lot better than me." I chuckled. Elsbeth was far better than I'd ever be. And I didn't care. I was proud of her, and figured some day I'd find out what my own talents were. Right now, I could run really fast, play a mean game of checkers, and ride bareback better than any kid I knew. Even if Pancho tried to buck me off—like he did when he got stung on his belly by a hornet last week—I stayed glued to his back. I was pretty proud of that, and figured I'd win the Sit-a-Buck class again in the 4H horse show in August. The judge stuck fake dollar bills under your thigh, and made you trot and canter around the ring bareback. The last kid to lose his buck won, and I'd won three years in a row. I kind of liked baseball but wasn't very good at it. But I could eat six hamburgers on an empty stomach, which was more than Siegfried could manage, and he was taller than me.

  Oscar appeared behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. "The mower is all gassed up, son. It's in the garage."

  I took the hint and stood up. "Yes, sir."

  Chapter Five

  William sat at the dining room table looking glum. He'd broken his ankle while trying to skateboard down Goodland Hill Road last winter, and it still hadn't healed right. They said he'd need another operation, and it would probably wreck the rest of summer vacation for him. He frowned and inserted another puzzle piece. "Don't forget behind the garage. You always forget that part."

  I bristled. "I won't. And it was only that one time, William. I haven't forgotten it in ages."

  Millie followed me toward the kitchen, patting her tight curls. "Oh, honey. You do a fine job. Don't you pay him any mind. He's just cranky because he's stuck inside."

  I knew he was mad because he couldn't run and play. Who wouldn't be?

  He ignored me and frowned at the pile of puzzle pieces.

  Millie took my arm and walked me to the kitchen. "Be sure to come back inside for lunch, dear. I made egg salad with green olives. And we have some of those potato chips you like so much."

  My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten anything in hours. I laid my sheet music on the kitchen counter, but lingered at the back door watching Millie. She bent over a little as if her back hurt, and reached behind and rubbed a spot on her spine. "Oh, dear. Sitting on that piano bench gets harder and harder."

  I took a step toward her. "Are you okay?"

  She lowered herself onto a padded chair next to the round breakfast table. "I'll be okay, honey. But thank you for your concern. Come sit beside me for a minute."

  I perched on the chair beside her and watched her face relax. "Better?"

  "Yes." She stood slowly and reached for her teakettle. "The pain passes in time."

  I watched her set the kettle to boil on a gas burner. "Would you like something to drink before you start?"

  "No thank you." I scuffed one of my sneakers back and forth on the linoleum floor, trying to work up the courage to ask her about the hermit. "Millie?"

  She reached for a bag of Earl Gray in the cabinet and took a tea strainer out of the drawer, busying herself with the familiar routine. "Yes, dear?"

  "Do you know who that old hermit is who lives in the woods behind the Ambuscade?"

  She dropped the steel tea ball and it rolled to my feet. I caught it with my foot and returned it to her. Her eyes avoided mine. "Why yes, dear. That's Mr. Zachariah Tully. We went to high school together."

  "Mr. Tully?"

  She regained her composure. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

  "What's wrong with him? Why does he live all alone in those woods?"

  She took a teaspoon from the silverware drawer and set it beside a fancy cup and saucer with violets painted on the sides. "Well, honey. He's been through some tough times, poor man." She turned to me and put a hand under my chin. "You just leave him be now. He wants to be alone, and folks in town try to respect his wishes."

  William hopped into the kitchen with his crutches. He waved a crutch at me. "Better get out there, squirt. Your dad will be back before you even get started."

  I tried not to roll my eyes. I had plenty of time. But William liked bossing me around, especially in front of his parents and other kids. Sometimes he could be a pal, and at other times he made me feel really dumb.

  "I'm going."

  He followed me out to the garage, clumping along the grass path with surprising agility. The lanky teenager stood a good foot taller than me. He poked me with one of his crutches, hopping back a few steps to catch his balance again.

  "Why were you asking about old man Tully?"

  I backed the ancient mower out of the garage and unscrewed the gas cap. "I dunno." The tank was full, just like Oscar said. Iridescent colors swirled inside and the level sloshed a bit from being rolled over uneven grass.

  He came closer and practically breathed in my ear. "No. Really. Why were you asking about him?" He spoke in a low voice, looking back at the house as if he didn't want his mother to hear.

  Startled, I looked up and stepped back. "The twins and I found his shack in the woods. We thought it was abandoned it looked so crummy. But he was inside, and he yelled at us."

  "Listen, squirt. Tully's crazy. There's something not right with him. I've seen him in town. He talks to invisible people. He wears clothes with holes in them. There's something really spooky about him."

  I looked up in surprise. "I know! We heard him talking to someone in the cabin, but couldn't figure out who was in there with him."

  "Probably nobody. But you should steer clear of him, you hear me?"

  I watched his face, sensing he knew more than he was telling me. "What else, William? Do you know why my parents acted so upset when I asked about old man Tully?"

  He scooched closer. "I'm not sure. I think something really bad happened years ago."

  "Like what?"

  "I think it had to do with your grandfather Wright."

  I blanched. I'd never known my mother's father. Marlowe Wright died before I was born, an
d we didn't talk about him much. Grandma Sarah had moved to Miami ten years ago, and I only saw her on the occasional holiday when she felt up to flying to the Finger Lakes region. "Really? Are you sure?"

  He looked back at the house again. "Shh. They don't like to talk about it, especially around your mother."

  "Why?" Visions of my grandfather being a crook raced through my head. Had he disgraced the family in some way? Had he been a jailbird? Maybe Tully was his partner in crime. Maybe they'd robbed a train or a bank. But I'd seen pictures of him, and he didn't look much like a criminal. He was always laughing in the photos, with his arm around my grandmother.

  "I never knew exactly. It doesn't really matter. You just stay out of those woods. I don't want to hear about you three being murdered on the eleven o'clock news." He put both crutches under one armpit to free a hand, grabbing my shoulder. "You hear me?"

  I shrugged and pulled the starter cord to drown him out. No way was I listening to him. I had to find out what happened between Tully and my grandfather, and no sixteen-year-old bully would keep me from those woods.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning my mother treated us to waffles with blueberry syrup. My father—dressed in his shirt and tie for work—snapped open the newspaper and read for a few minutes while drinking his coffee.

  "Well, what do you know? The Mariner 4 performed its first successful fly by of Mars."

  I stuffed the last chunk of waffle in my mouth. "Did they see any Martians, Dad?"

  My mother tried not to laugh. "Don't talk with your mouth full, son."

  Dad folded the paper and stood. "No Martians. They just took some pictures of the planet, son." With a smile for me, he took one last sip of coffee. "I'm off to save the world." He grabbed his briefcase and keys from the hook by the door. "Or at least medicate it."

  He used the same line every morning, but we always laughed. His small corner drugstore in Conaroga had kept us fed and clothed since I was born. I was proud, and loved seeing him in his white coat behind the counter when we went in to visit him.