Muletrain to Maggody Page 9

  “We’re not going to break anything,” Lottie said. “I’ll bet that window over there will slide right open. We’ll have to enter, of course, but we shouldn’t be inside for more than a few minutes.”

  Her reluctant partners in crime followed her to the side yard. The windowsills were high, but someone had left a wheelbarrow near the back porch. Ignoring increasingly agitated whispers from Elsie and Eula, Lottie wheeled it under a promising window, settled it as firmly as she could, then grabbed Elsie’s shoulder and hoisted herself up.

  “Just as we thought,” she said as she rattled the frame. “Once the lock slips, this is going to slide up smooth as silk pie. We’ll be in and out in no time.” She continued fooling with it, mindful not to crack the panes, until at last it obliged with a creaky grunt. “All right, here I go. As soon as I’m inside, I’ll help you all climb in.”

  She hitched up her skirt and managed to get one leg over the sill. After some floundering and a few heart-stopping moments, she found herself inside what appeared to be a parlor. She put out her head out the window and said, “Let me make sure the coast is clear. Don’t either of you dare take so much as one step toward the car.”

  After pausing to admire a cherry spinet, Lottie started for the doorway into a hall. She’d taken no more than two steps when an alarm began to whoop as if a freight train was bearing down on her. The sound was so loud that she could feel the floor throbbing. A mouse scuttled for safety, coming within an inch of her foot. Luckily, it veered away, since Lottie was incapable of moving, and barely capable of breathing.

  “Are you okay?” shrieked Elsie.

  Lottie shook her head, since she most certainly was not. Would an armed guard come thundering into the room, his gun pointed at her heart? Would slavering German shepherds appear to rip out her throat?

  “Lottie!” Eula howled. “What in tarnation’s going on in there?”

  As her knees began to fail her, Lottie tried to find a reply to what was possibly the silliest question she’d ever heard in all her born days.

  Kevin found Dahlia sitting on the stoop of their back porch, her face all screwed up with misery, her red eyes hardly visible below her swollen eyelids, her nose dribbling steadily. He sat down next to her and took her hand. “What’s wrong, my love goddess? Did something happen? Are the babies okay?”

  “They’re fine. Your mama agreed to look after them so’s I could take a nap.”

  “And did you?” he said, bewildered. “Are you troubled by a bad dream? Should I fetch you a bowl of ice cream?”

  “I don’t want nuthin’. Just leave me be, Kevvie. I’ve done something awful, and it bein’ Sunday, that makes it double awful. I was greedy, and now I got to suffer for my sins. I just hope this new baby won’t be born with Satan’s mark on its forehead or cloven hooves and little horns.” Tears began to stream down her face, catching on her jowls, and then making a zigzagged path through her numerous chins. “I must have broke two or three commandments today.”

  Kevin did what he could to blot her tears with his shirt cuff. “What exactly did you do?”

  “I lost my granny,” she wailed.

  “She passed away?” said Kevin, who didn’t have a clue why Dahlia might feel responsible, unless she’d gone over to the old folks’ home and throttled her, which she’d threatened to do on more than one occasion. “She was real old, sweet-ums, and it was gonna happen sooner or later. Did someone call? Are we supposed to be making arrangements?”

  Dahlia shoved him so hard he nearly toppled off the stoop. “I dint say she was dead! I said I lost her. I swear, Kevin Fitzgerald Buchanon, if you wasn’t the father of our children, I’d move to a city like Farberville and start lookin’ for a man smart enough to come in out of the rain! What’s more, he’d be real handsome, too, and most likely speak French.”

  Kevin sat for a moment, racking his brain to figure out what in tarnation she was talkin’ about. It wasn’t raining, and as far as he knew, she didn’t speak French—or German or Mexican or even Canadian. He finally decided her hormones was actin’ up. “Why don’t we go down to my ma and pa’s and visit for a spell afore we pick up Rose Marie and Kevvie Junior?”

  “Don’t you care about my granny?”

  “ ’Course I do, but if she ain’t dead, well, I don’t know what you reckon we ought to do.”

  “I lost her up on the ridge,” Dahlia said grimly. “I sweet-talked her yesterday, and she agreed to show me where the caves are so we could find the gold. I did it for you, Kevvie, so this is all your fault. We can barely afford groceries what with you making minimum wage. Once the baby comes, we’re gonna be buying more diapers, more medicine, more booties, more”—she began to hiccup—“more everything! I can clip only so many coupons, you know. I got blisters on my fingers from using the scissors so we can save five cents here and twenty cents there. If Jim Bob wasn’t such an ornery cuss, he’d give us a discount and pay you extra for overtime.”

  “I still don’t understand about your granny,” he said, sidestepping a delicate subject. “You took her up on Cotter’s Ridge and then lost her? Did she run away?”

  “In a manner of speakin’. I promised her that if she was to show me where the gold was, we’d buy her new teeth and a double-wide so she could live in the Pot O’ Gold. She seemed real tickled.”

  “But then something happened?”

  She gave him a stony look. “Yes, Kevvie, something happened. When God gave out the brains, were you crouched under the bleachers trying to look up the cheerleaders’ skirts? We started here and worked our way up the ridge. She knew of some caves, but they didn’t look big enough for a body to squirm inside. Then, about a mile later, she said there was a cave where she used to sit and cool off on hot afternoons. I waited outside on account of my delicate condition while she went inside. Two seconds later she came running out, flapping her arms and squawking like a goose. As best I could tell, she thought she’d seen a ghost in a Confederate uniform. Afore I could sit her down, she pushed me out of the way and disappeared up the logging trail.”

  “Did you try to catch her?”

  “How was I to catch her? She was movin’ faster than a preacher caught with his pants down in a whorehouse.”

  Kevin gulped. “What about this ghost she sez she saw?”

  Dahlia looked away. “Well, I wasn’t about to go in the cave, so I came back here. I’ve been waiting for her ever since. I thought about callin’ the old folks’ home, but then I figured I’d have to tell them that I’d let her go running off like that and they’d think it was all my fault. She’s most likely up there somewhere, bleedin’ or already dead, but I don’t see how we can find her.”

  He knew that somehow or other it was all his fault for not finding a job that paid more than minimum wage. “Maybe I should go up to this cave and have a look,” he said, popping his knuckles for courage. “This ghost might have been in the act of collecting the gold when your granny saw him.”

  “And then dropped dead again after a hundred and forty years, leaving the gold just lying there?”

  Kevin tried to choose his words carefully. “It might not have been a real ghost. It could be it was just some feller in a gray shirt. Do you reckon you can show me the cave?”

  Dahlia sucked on her lip as she gazed across the field that led to a line of scrub pines. “Maybe, but I ain’t sure, since my granny kept darting around picking wildflowers and looking for her old ginseng patches. We must have turned ever’ which way for most of an hour, but we was a good ways up the ridge and my legs were aching something terrible when she recognized the ledge over the entrance to the cave.”

  “Were you anywhere near Robin Buchanon’s old shack?”

  “I s’pose we could have been.”

  “All right then,” Kevin said, beginning to feel right manly, like a star in one of those movies where soldiers went crawling up walls with grenades between their teeth. “I’ll go up there and take a look. Maybe your granny’s hiding inside. You go let M
a make you a nice cup of tea and wait for me there.”

  “What if it was a ghost she saw?”

  “Then I’ll just rip the gold right out of his hands.” He stood up and did as best he could to pull her to her feet. “Now you go on. I’ll be there afterwhile with your granny and a million dollars’ worth of gold.”

  All in all, it wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the best he could do.

  “Arly’s gonna be spittin’ nails,” Ruby Bee said as she pulled up in front of the foster home and parked.

  Estelle adjusted the rearview mirror so she could apply a fresh coat of lipstick. “Then we’ll buy her an emery board with our million dollars. Do we have everything?”

  Ruby Bee took the grocery bag from the backseat. “Here’s the gray wool shirt with shiny buttons, and that cute little hat we bought at the souvenir store. The drum’s in the trunk.” She paused, then said, “We don’t have to do this, you know. We’ve got no good reason to think Hammet might have seen these saddlebags filled with gold coins.”

  “Maybe so, but I called his foster mother and he’s ours for the rest of the week. Don’t you go pretending you weren’t sittin’ right there when I called, Rubella Belinda Hanks. I promised Hammet he could be the little drummer boy that led the muletrain into Maggody that fateful morning. We are not gonna break his heart by telling him he won’t be in this documentary. He’s had a hard life, Ruby Bee, living all those years on Cotter’s Ridge with a mama that was nothing but an untamed mountain woman. You remember when Arly had to bring Hammet and his brothers and sisters down to Maggody, doncha? Not one of them had ever seen indoor plumbing, or electric lights, for that matter. I’d seen better-behaved wild dogs than that passel of foul-mouthed bushcolts.”

  “Yes, but…” said Ruby Bee, not sure how to counter this particular argument, since she wasn’t sure why borrowing Hammet from his very civilized foster home was compensation for his first ten years with a mama known for moonshinin’ and, to put it politely, entertaining gentlemen callers, many of whom had fathered her children. “Well, we don’t really have any reason to believe he’ll know where the gold is. How long do you think we can keep him hidden until he scampers away to find Arly? He’s got this crazy idea that if he keeps pestering her, she’ll break down and adopt him, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen. She got mad when I tried to give her a goldfish, said she’d flush it down the toilet.”

  “Are you saying Hammet’s a goldfish?”

  Ruby Bee knew she was losing her grip on the conversation. “I said no such thing, Estelle. I never said he was a goldfish.”

  Estelle repositioned a hairpin, then shot a last look in the mirror and opened the car door. “I should hope not. He’s not more than eleven or twelve years old these days, but I’m sure he’s still real sensitive on account of his upbringing. There’s no cause to rub his nose in it.”

  Before she could take a step, the front door of the house opened and Hammet came bounding down the steps, as bouncy as an oversized puppy. His foster mother followed more sedately, although with ill-concealed enthusiasm.

  “Here are his things,” she said as Hammet dove into the backseat. “Don’t concern yourselves if you need to keep him for a few extra days. There’s no school on Monday due to teacher conferences.”

  “Where’s my drum?” demanded Hammet.

  “We’ll get to that when the time comes,” Ruby Bee said. She pulled away from the curb before she lost her resolve—or came to her senses. “You got to get one thing straight, Hammet. Arly doesn’t know you’re coming. If she catches sight of you, she’ll have you right back here before your head stops spinning.”

  “Her said I was gonna be in a movie,” he said, jabbing at the back of Estelle’s head. “Don’t Arly know what’s happening?”

  Estelle turned around to look at him. “She knows about the movie, but that doesn’t mean she’s expecting you. We thought we’d surprise her long about Thursday evening, when you can have a picnic supper with all the famous actors. I figure we can gussy you up in the uniform and let you come marching down the road, beating on the drum, your face determined but with your little chin aquiver on account of knowing you’re in danger of being shot down in the dirt. Arly won’t have the heart to send you packing after that.”

  Hammet slithered halfway over the seat. “Jest what is it I’m s’posed to do until these make-believe Yankees shoot me on Thursday? Whittle drumsticks?”

  Ruby Bee took one hand off the steering wheel to catch his ear. “What you’re s’posed to do is what we tell you. I’m gonna let you have a whole motel room to yourself, with your very own television set to watch whatever you want. I’ll bring you nice, hot meals on trays. You just can’t go roaming around town or trying to hunt up Arly.”

  “I ain’t sure Jim Bob will be happy to see me, neither,” Hammet said as he jerked himself free. “The peckerhead was mightily pissed last time I saw him.”

  “And when was that?” asked Estelle.

  Hammet realized that he might have blurted out something best left unsaid, since Ruby Bee, Estelle, and Arly had been off somewheres when he and Jim Bob came to an agreement that had left one of them so mad he was fartin’ out his ears. “Oh, awhiles back. I disremember exactly when.” He risked leaning over the seat again. “Why is it I can’t see Arly until Thursday?”

  Ruby Bee waited for Estelle to come leaping to the rescue with some damnfool lie, but when that didn’t happen, said, “Because she doesn’t know you’re coming to Maggody. She’s real testy these days, and we don’t want to rile her. You’re gonna have to think of yourself as a secret agent right up until we surprise her. Estelle here is gonna entertain you for the next few days. Ain’t that right, Estelle? Didn’t you say something to me about taking Hammet for a picnic on Cotter’s Ridge?”

  “First thing in the morning,” Estelle said brightly.

  Brother Verber had been aching all morning, knowing that those gripped by the deadly sin of avarice were up there on Cotter’s Ridge. If any one of them was to stumble across the gold, he wouldn’t fall to his knees to give thanks to the Almighty Lord, then go forth to found a mission in Africa, or even send a pittance to the little heathens in need of shoes and eyeglasses. No, the miscreant would most likely slink away and waste the money on gambling, liquor, and pleasures of the supple flesh.

  However, he’d been obliged to conduct the morning service, which had been sparsely attended. Sister Barbara had been there, as always, but she’d been scribbling in a notebook the whole time and had hardly glanced up to offer an “Amen” when he’d paused. Joyce Lambertino had brought her unmannersome children and her husband, who looked like he was close to passing out in a hymnal. Lottie, Eula, and Elsie had taken their usual seats in the third pew, but they were squirming like they’d been infested with fleas. Millicent McIlhaney had been in the fifth pew, sitting by herself and looking twitchy. Some other folks had been there, but none of them had looked like they was feeling the glory brought on by the purification of their numerous sins. It had been all he could do not to start scratching his head as he beamed down at them from the pulpit and related in great detail the story of the Good Samaritan.

  Brother Verber wondered if he might ought to call an exterminator, since it wasn’t far-fetched to think Satan might have enlisted fleas or lice in his battle against righteousness. The mail-order seminary in Las Vegas had never suggested such a possibility, but Satan was wily.

  The thing was, Brother Verber thought as he plopped down on the couch, the gold was likelier than not to fall into the hands of the Prince of Darkness if he didn’t take steps to rescue it and send at least some of it to the little heathens. After he’d done that, why, he just might take one of those cruises so he could see for hisself all that wickedness and lasciviousness on sultry islands where women bared their breasts and wiggled their bottoms in the moonlight.

  He blotted his forehead with his handkerchief, then got up and found the bottle of sacramental wine he kept under the sink. It
was gonna take a goodly dose of courage to approach Raz Buchanon and inquire discreetly about this particular cave. He’d gone into Farberville the previous afternoon and bought a few things he hoped might soothe Raz. Moonshine had its place, but a bottle of Kentucky bourbon might be welcome. He figured Raz ate nothing but squirrel and possum, so a nice selection of sausages, crackers, pickled okra, green tomato relish, and mustard might win over his petrified heart. And, of course, the fancy smoked ham.

  He could just picture himself sittin’ on Raz’s front porch, passing the bottle back and forth and eating thick slices of salami. Why, they’d be feeling downright brotherly, and before long, Brother Verber could steer the conversation into matters that might be to his advantage. His and the little heathens’, of course. The very first thing he’d do after he got off the phone with a travel agent would be to write a check to some mission or hospital in the middle of darkest Africa, where his generosity would be so deeply appreciated that tears would be streaming down the missionaries’ cheeks.

  He finished off the last of the wine and got up to open another bottle. It was gonna take him some time to find the courage to approach Raz’s cabin, but as a soldier in the Lord Almighty’s army, he had no choice.

  6

  Mrs. Jim Bob was prowling the kitchen when Jim Bob came home for lunch on Monday. Prowling, but not growling, although her jaw was clamped and her forehead was rutted like a forgotten back road.

  “It’s about time you got here,” she said by way of greeting.

  Jim Bob stopped in the doorway and listened for the whine of incoming missiles. “It’s about noon, same as usual.”

  “That is not what I meant,” she said as she went around the dinette table and into the hallway, then returned with a darker expression. “I am doing my level best to make this reenactment reflect well on our community, but I cannot be responsible when people have the audacity to change their schedules and then expect me to forget all my carefully laid plans and—my lists—my menus—my notes…” She reeled around and disappeared into the hallway, but before he could do more than blink several times, she was back, darn close to frothing. “No one else has seen fit to accept this burden, as you for one should know. Perkin’s eldest had to leave early today because of her ballet class in Farberville. Am I supposed to change sheets and put out fresh towels? How can I spend the afternoon doing housework when I need to be preparing dinner for these people? Just how am I supposed to do that, I ask you?”