Don't Let the Wind Catch You (LeGarde Mysteries Book 6) Page 8

  "Mr. Tully! Can you make it?"

  Tully inched his way across. When he reached the edge, he tried to swing his leg upward, but couldn't manage.

  "Wait! I can help." I lay flat on my stomach and reached down toward his pant leg. "Okay, swing again." On the second try, I hooked my fingers into the cuff on his pants, grabbing his ankle. I worked my second hand behind his leg and slowly helped him get his boot onto the solid floorboards. "Now, pull yourself up if you can."

  Tully struggled, and finally, with me pulling on the back of his jacket, he rolled back up to safety.

  "Good God." He lay on his back, heaving for breath.

  I sat beside him and patted his arm. "You made it."

  Shadow crept toward him and licked his hand, then moved up to his face.

  "Look! He likes you."

  Tully smiled for the first time that night. "I used to have a beagle. He was a little bigger than this one. Great hunting dog."

  When he finally caught his breath, I grabbed my father's parka and we carefully made our way downstairs. I figured I could come back for the rope any time.

  "We've got to get you home, Mr. Tully." He seemed wobbly, so I pushed my shoulder under his arm.

  "Please. Wait. I need my box. It dropped somewhere in the living room when I fell through the floor."

  "What's it look like?"

  "Metal. Olive green." He pointed a shaky finger toward it. "There. That's it."

  I settled him against the doorjamb and ran for the box, which had opened and spilled its contents all over the floor. I shuffled the papers and pictures together, slid them into the box, and clicked it shut. "Here you go. I've got it all."

  Tully's voice seemed to crack. "Thanks. You're a good boy. Marlowe's grandson. God, I still can't believe it." He started to shake. "I'm so cold."

  I draped my father's parka over his shivering shoulders and helped him work his arms into the sleeves. "There you go. That should help."

  He hobbled outside, and I insisted he climb aboard Pancho. It wasn't easy, but thankfully my horse stood still while I maneuvered the old man into the saddle. I adjusted his stirrups down, slid his work boots securely into the irons, and put his hands on the pommel. "You have to hang on, okay? And if you feel dizzy or something, let me know."

  Shadow took off in the lead, nose to the ground with his white-tipped tail wagging furiously. I took the reins, tucked the metal box under my arm, and clucked to Pancho, who seemed happy to follow me along the trail. He lowered his head like a docile pony and walked solemnly under the dark trees toward Tully's cabin.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  It took a lot longer to lead Pancho to Tully's than it would have if I'd ridden him. The temperature had dropped and I pulled up my hood, which helped a little. In fifteen minutes we made it to the cabin. Light shone from an oil lamp that still burned inside, and after Tully slid down from Pancho's back, I helped steady him and quickly tied the reins to the porch railing. With my arm once again under his shoulder, we shuffled across the porch. When we opened the front door, the aroma of warm chocolate and wood smoke welcomed us. Shadow followed us inside and curled up on a corner of the rug near the woodstove as if he lived there.

  Tully's voice sounded stronger now. "I was chilled tonight. Started the fire and made some cocoa." I helped him over to the couch, and he slumped down onto it. "Oh, God. I'm sore all over. And cold. Oh, so cold." He shivered again.

  I looked around for a blanket. A striped woolen blanket lay folded on the bottom of his cot. I ran to get it, and when he lay down on the couch with his head on a pillow, I tucked the blanket around him.

  He pulled one arm out to point toward the woodstove. "Check that covered pot over there on the woodstove. See if the cocoa is still hot."

  I lifted the cover with an oven mitt. The chocolate aroma wafted up, steaming into my face. "It's still hot, Mr. Tully."

  "Good. Grab two cups from the wall. Over there."

  I remembered where they were from the day we'd trespassed to look for Elsbeth. "Got ‘em." I filled them both up and carefully carried them to the coffee table. "Here you go."

  "By jingles, you are a good boy." He reached a shaky hand toward one cup, sitting up a little to sip at the aromatic liquid.

  I perched on the edge of a chair and took a sip. It was warm, not hot. I downed the whole thing in one gulp.

  "Have more, boy. If you want."

  I nodded and refilled my cup, then brought it back and sipped it more slowly this time. "That's really good."

  "I made it with special milk they store in cardboard cartons. They have it that way in countries like Germany, you know, so you don't need to refrigerate it." He pointed to a row of cartons on a shelf.

  "Really? It stays good that way?"

  "Yup." Tully drained the last of his cup. "Don't know how they process it. Something about vacuum sealed, I think. More, please."

  I obliged and returned it to him. "Here you go."

  "Wait a minute." He sat up as if something had just occurred to him. His eyebrows drew down and he stared at me. "How in tarnation did you know I was in trouble? And why would your parents let you out in the middle of the night?"

  I answered as calmly as I could. "Penni told me." I looked down at my hands. "And my parents don't know I'm here. I left a note, told them I went for an early morning ride."

  "Penni." He shook his head and chuckled. "Dear little Penni. I should have known."

  "She spoke to me. In my head."

  "Yup. That's how she does it. But you know what? Besides Marlowe, you're the only other person she's ever spoken to."

  "Really?"

  He set the cup on the table and lay back on his pillow. "Really."

  I stood and turned in a half circle. "Wow. My friends won't believe this."

  "People never believed me, either. Think I'm crazy as a loon, and that I hear voices." He chuckled. "Well, I do."

  I felt a conspiratorial bond with him at that instant, and a rush of affection filled my heart. "It's so cool. And I actually saw her."

  His eyes drilled into mine. "What?"

  I sat forward, my eyes gleaming with excitement. "I wasn't even afraid. I don't know why. But she appeared on the other side of my curtains. I could see the shape of her face, and her hand reached out to me."

  "By golly. I never saw that. I felt her touch once in a while, like a cool breeze on my cheek. But I never saw her."

  "She showed me the abandoned house, too. In my head."

  "That's how you knew where to find me?"

  "Uh huh. The twins and I had explored the house already. We didn't know who owned it or anything."

  "I'm glad you kids didn't get hurt in there. But don't worry, no one would have yelled at you, except me."

  "You?"

  "That house belonged to my family. Or it did, before my parents died of the Genesee Valley fever."

  "It's your house?"

  "It was. But it was condemned when my parents died. Folks were scared to death to cross that threshold for years. Still are, I think. That's why it hasn't been vandalized."

  "What's the Genesee Valley fever?"

  "Malaria, actually. But no one knew what it was at first, and folks started calling it the fever, after the time it hit the locals way back in the late 1700s. My father traveled a lot, mind you. He brought us everywhere. It was our last trip, the one to the Amazon, when we brought back the virus."

  "You had a sister, right?"

  "I did. We both made it, but my folks didn't. It was horrible, boy. Just horrible. But your grandfather…"

  "My grandfather what?"

  He shook his head and set his mouth. "Never mind."

  I leaned forward to touch his sleeve. "What happened, Mr. Tully?"

  Tully's expression softened. "Never mind. You're too young. I'll tell you some day, when you're older."

  I sputtered in frustration. "That's what Millie Stone told me. I'm always too young for the good stuff."

  He looked up. "Mill
ie? Millie Stone?"

  I nodded. "She and Oscar are good friends of my parents. She teaches me piano."

  "Millie was a wonderful friend to me in high school. But she wasn't Millie Stone then." Tully's eyes started to droop. He fought it, but could barely enunciate. "She… We…"

  I watched while he fell asleep, fighting the urge to do the same. I couldn't leave poor Pancho tied to the railing all night; that wouldn't be fair to him. Dragging myself off the chair, I knelt down beside Shadow and stroked his head. "C'mon, boy. Time to go home."

  Chapter Twenty-three

  "Honey? Are you okay?"

  A cool hand lay against my forehead, stirring me from sleep. My eyes felt glued shut, but sunlight finally pried them open. Strong light. Midmorning light. I startled awake. I'd overslept, and possibly missed a ride to Tully's with the twins.

  "Are you sick, Gus?"

  I peered into my mother's concerned eyes, then rolled over and slid my feet to the warm floorboards. My tongue stuck to the roof of my cotton-stuffed mouth.

  "I'm fine. Just stayed up real late reading." I’d crumpled up and thrown away the note I left them in the middle of the night, because I got home before dawn.

  "Oh, Gus. I've told you time and time again not to stay up late. Your bedtime is nine."

  "I know. But it's summer. And the book just got so good."

  She ruffled my hair and leaned down to kiss my cheek. "Well, don't let it happen again."

  "I won't." I hoped I wasn't lying this time, because I was starting to feel like a real sneak.

  "The twins came by earlier. You missed them."

  I looked up in dismay. "Drat!" It was my newest choice almost-cuss word.

  "Well, see what happens when you stay up too late? The early bird gets the worm."

  I never really understood why worms would be out earlier than later, but maybe they were talking about night crawlers. I stretched my arms wide and high and smothered a yawn. "I know."

  She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, my. You need a bath, really badly. Get in there and clean yourself up. Then try on this suit, here. She laid the black pants and jacket on the bed beside me. "Let's see if it still fits."

  "Okay." I'd only worn the suit about three times, but it had been a while since I'd even taken it off the hanger.

  "Call me when you've got it on. After that I'll make you breakfast. Or lunch. Or brunch." She chuckled and disappeared down the hallway.

  "Okay, Mum." It was all I could manage. My eyes were gritty, my bones ached, and I felt like the walking dead.

  ***

  After submerging myself in a hot bath, the world looked a bit clearer. I brushed my teeth, gargled, and combed my hair. It looked longish in the front, and I prayed that Ned the barber wouldn't take too much off when he "neatened" it up.

  Vague images of the previous night paraded before my mind's eye. I half-wondered if I'd dreamed it all, but when I picked up my clothes from the floor, I noticed a dribble of hot chocolate down the front of my shirt.

  It had happened, all right. Penni had warned me of Tully's danger and had shown herself to me, breathing through my curtains.

  But do ghosts really breathe?

  That part confused me.

  It had happened. I'd ridden into the dark night to the abandoned house, the old Tully homestead, and had helped the old man out of his precarious situation. I smiled at myself in the mirror, feeling proud and guilty. My parents would have killed me if they'd found out. But I knew I'd done the right thing.

  I put on clean underwear and a t-shirt and tried on the pants and jacket. I looked in the mirror and laughed. The pants were four inches too short, and the sleeves rode halfway to my elbows.

  "Mum, I'm ready."

  She came up the stairs and into the room and stared at me. "Oh my goodness!" The smirk turned to a grin, and the grin morphed into a belly laugh. I couldn't help but join her and fell onto the bed, rolling, guffawing, and weeping tears that wouldn't stop.

  She flopped onto the bed beside me. When the laughter finally slowed, she bent over to catch her breath and shot me a wide smile. "Oh, that felt so good."

  "Yeah." I wiped the moisture from my cheeks and held up one arm. "Hey, Mum? Do you think I need a new suit?"

  She dissolved into peals of laughter again. "Oh, my dear. You are definitely going to Mr. Roberts today."

  I walked to the closet and picked up my dusty, old black shoes. "I think I'll need new best shoes, too. I haven't worn these since the Snells' wedding two years ago."

  She picked up the shoes and held them to the light. "Too bad. They have lots of life left in them."

  "We could drop them at the Good Will."

  "Good idea. I'll clean them up and put them in a box with that old suit. Why don't you put on some clean clothes? Do you want a sandwich, or eggs?"

  I thought about it for a few minutes. "How about a fried-egg sandwich?"

  My mother's pale blue eyes flashed in amusement. "Well, aren't you the clever one? Hurry down, now. We've lots to do today."

  ***

  We reached Mr. Robert's Clothiers & Shoes by eleven. The old store had been on the corner across from my father's pharmacy in Conaroga for ages. Or at least since my parents were young. They often reminisced about going there to get new clothes and shoes when they were kids.

  It always smelled the same, sort of like the woolen mill my mother frequented up in Maine. It was clean inside, but the wide, worn wooden floorboards creaked and seemed dusty, in spite of the constant sweeping and mopping by Mr. Roberts' sister. Of English heritage, they still spoke with British accents. I loved listening to them chatter back and forth. Neither had ever been married, and it always seemed a little sad to me.

  Mr. Roberts appeared from behind a blue velvet curtain when he heard the tinkle of the front door bell when we passed through it. "Mrs. LeGarde! Master LeGarde! How are we today?"

  "We're fine, Mr. Roberts. And how are you and Elsie?"

  "Brilliant, thank you. We're getting along just fabulously. Elsie's out shopping. She'll be sorry she missed you."

  When he said "brilliant," he didn't mean smart. It was his way of saying "great." I finally figured that one out a few years ago when Siegfried came in with me to get new sneakers. He explained it, and I'd been savvy ever since.

  "My boy here is growing. We need a suit and shoes for the funeral tomorrow."

  His face fell. "Oh, dear. Poor Mr. Brown. Eudora was in just this morning to buy mourning clothes. Her wardrobe from fifteen years ago doesn't fit anymore, of course. The dear woman dropped over fifty pounds in that horrible prison." With a start, he realized he'd been indiscreet and a hand flew up to his mouth. "Oh, my. Sorry, my mouth's running away with me again. Here, let's get you fitted, my boy."

  He always steered me like I was a stroller, using my shoulders to move me forward. I'd gotten used to it, but it reminded me a little of my teachers when they were mad. Brisk and efficient, he whisked me up to the block where I stood for measurements.

  "Stand still, Gustave." My mother pretended to watch me wiggle and shift my legs, but I saw her eyeing the silk scarves on display nearby. She ran her fingers through them with an almost palpable yearning. I made a mental note about her birthday in October.

  "All right, lad. Hop down. My heavens, you've grown almost two inches since last fall."

  He carefully wrote my numbers down in his ledger, slid it back into the drawer beneath the cash register, and glided toward a rack of suits. "Black, you said?"

  My mother nodded. "Yes. It's the most versatile, don't you think?"

  He tipped his head once as if there was no doubt in the world. "If one has just a single suit in their wardrobe, it must be black. After that, blue or gray are the appropriate choices."

  I rolled my eyes, but kept it hidden from both of them. Who would ever want a second suit in their closet?

  "Here we go. Let's try these on."

  The pants on the suit he showed us weren't hemmed. He noticed me looking at them. "N
ow don't you worry. I can have these hemmed and ready to go in a few hours."

  My mother practically gushed. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Roberts! That will allow time for Gus's haircut."

  I groaned, but not too loudly. The dreaded haircut.

  She gathered herself together and headed for the door. "And if you don't mind, while you pin him up, I'm going to dash over to say hello to André."

  I went into the little changing booth with the striped curtain and pulled it as tight as I could to either side. It seemed no matter how I arranged it, there was always a little slit of daylight coming through. I scooched to one side and turned my back to the audience I pictured gawking at me in my underwear. After struggling a little with the new suit, I walked out into the main showroom with the pant legs crumpled up around my ankles.

  Mr. Roberts scurried to my side, tape measure flying. "Oh, yes. Very nice. Very nice indeed." He pawed me over, pulling and pushing the coat this way and that, and finally maneuvered me back onto the block. "Hold nice and still, lad."

  While I waited for him to pin the bottom of my pants, my eyes wandered over the long wall of pictures. The entire shop was loaded with them, from photos of sports teams from England that Mr. Roberts played on as a boy, to local folks captured in and around town during key events. "Did you play soccer when you were a kid, Mr. Roberts?"

  "Hold still, now." He jerked on my pant leg. "And yes. But we call it football."

  "Football?" I chuckled. "That's funny."

  "Not to us, my boy. We take it very seriously in my homeland. Actually, it's quite popular all over the world. It just hasn't caught on in this country yet."

  Somehow I couldn't picture guys gathered around a TV set to watch soccer instead of baseball or football. But I didn't say a word. Bored to tears, I studied more pictures while he pulled and pinned, pulled and pinned. One picture in the top row featured three young men with their arms draped over each other. Steins of beer sat in front of them, and the half-timbered stucco homes in the background sure weren't local. "Who are those guys? They look familiar." I pointed to the photo.

  A wistful expression crossed his face. He actually stopped pinning me and turned to gaze at the photo. "Ah. The golden days of youth."